The Judas Trap

by Anne Mather

  ‘Loving,’ he said, bending his head to touch her parted lips with his own. ‘Making love. I never knew the meaning of the word until now.’

  Sara’s heart was not immune to statements of that kind, but the knowledge that somehow she had cheated him was tugging at her. What did he expect of her now? What could she give? When she had so little to offer?

  ‘I love you,’ he added, rubbing his tongue against one pink-tipped nipple, and her body was still not proof against that tantalising arousal. ‘You taste delicious, you know,’ he continued, his hands conducting their own exploration. ‘Soft, and smooth, and inexpressibly sweet!’

  ‘Oh, Michael…’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ he commanded softly, his mouth moving up to her mouth, and beneath its searching pressure she had no will to deny him.

  When he at last released her lips she was breathless, and there was a curiously possessive smugness in his disruptive gaze. ‘You do love me,’ he muttered, as if he only just believed it. ‘Oh, Sara, when will you marry me?’

  ‘Michael—Michael—’

  * * *

  ‘Would someone like to tell me exactly what is going on here?’

  The stridently feminine tones were totally unexpected. Mrs Penworthy would never have dared to interrupt them in quite that way, but Sara was so drugged with the aftermath of their lovemaking that not even the sight of Diane Tregower, glaring at them from the open doorway, could inspire more than a disbelieving drawing-together of her eyebrows. Shock and reaction would come later, but now all she was concerned with was pulling the bed-covers protectively about them.

  Michael’s reactions were much less obvious. Turning on to his back, he surveyed Diane with narrowed, calculating eyes, and his response to her question was as cool as hers had been heated.

  ‘You must be Diane!’ he observed, without concern. ‘I thought you would turn up sooner or later.’

  * * *

  Sara’s hands trembled as she drew the brush through the long silky length of her hair. She was trying to hurry, but her nerves would not let her, and although she kept telling herself that she had nothing to fear, the words had a hollow ring. Why had she chosen to wear the velvet pants suit? she wondered, regarding her reflection with something akin to dislike. Diane was always so elegant, so feminine; why hadn’t she worn a skirt or a dress, anything to reinforce her failing confidence? It was too late now to change again, but in any case she could not compete with Diane, not on those levels. Instead she turned her mind to the confrontation ahead of her, and wished that somehow she might escape it. If only she could run away, hide, do anything which might relieve her of the necessity of facing Diane so soon after what had happened.

  Putting down the brush, she leant closer to the mirror to brush an imaginary eyelash from her cheek. Her cheeks were not pale at the moment; they were warm and flushed with colour, accentuating the limpid clarity of her eyes. There was a fullness to her mouth which had not been there before, and no matter how she tried, she could not erase the unmistakable languor of Michael’s lovemaking.

  Michael…

  Her heart skipped a beat. Just thinking of him, of what he had done, brought a stirring awareness of how vulnerable she was. It had not been easy deceiving him, yet she had done it. But now Diane was here, and she could destroy her carefully-contrived illusion with just a careless word.

  She moistened her dry lips. Of course, it had been a shock for Diane, too. Sara knew her so well, and she knew when the colour flared into the other girl’s face that Diane was having difficulty in holding on to her temper. It must have been a revelation, after all. Sara—quiet, unassuming, delicate Sara—sleepy-eyed and cat-content, after the kind of interlude Diane would never have expected her to experience. Cool, studious Sara, with her love of books and writing, avoiding all emotional entanglements, able to be manipulated, in spite of the latent weaknesses of her condition. Diane had always treated her with a certain amount of contempt, she realised that now, and finding her in bed with the kind of man Diane always found most attractive, must have shaken her to the core of her being.

  Drawing an unsteady breath, Sara straightened and surveyed herself once more. Diane was downstairs now, waiting for her to dress and join her. Michael was supposedly dressing, too, although he seemed infinitely less concerned about his sister-in-law’s appearance than she did. Of course, he did not know she had any reason to fear Diane, or more accurately, what she knew about Sara, and he had seemed to find her anger amusing. Unlike that other occasion, when he had allowed Sara to escape him as soon as Marion Morton appeared, he had forcibly prevented her from getting out of bed, holding her against him, and taunting Diane with the evident intimacy of their relationship.

  Diane had been furious—Sara had known that. But instead of demanding to know who Michael was, or what he was doing here, she had turned on her heel and left them, throwing the words that she would speak to Sara downstairs back over her shoulder.

  Sara shivered now, in spite of the fact that outside the sun was making its presence felt. She didn’t know why Diane had come here, or what her intention was, but she was experienced enough to realise that having angered her, her position was that much less secure. Diane did not take kindly to being embarrassed or humiliated, and Michael had done both.

  As if thinking of him had conjured his image, the door behind her suddenly opened, and he appeared. Like herself, Michael had dressed. He was wearing similar clothes to her own—tight-fitting black pants, a loose-sleeved white shirt, and a black waistcoat. But whereas she had hesitated over their suitability, there was no doubt that they accentuated his maleness. With his dark hair smoothly combed, and the shadow of beard shaved from his jawline, he looked much different from the lover who had tumbled her on his bed, and yet, when she looked into his eyes, they held exactly the same question.

  He came into her bedroom and closed the door, and immediately she panicked. ‘I—why—we ought to be going downstairs,’ she began anxiously. ‘I mean—Diane will be wondering what we’re doing, and as I don’t know why—why she’s here—’

  Michael used a word before Diane’s name that Sara had never actually heard spoken before. But its meaning was unmistakable, as he continued: ‘I know why she’s here!’ And as Sara digested this, he added: ‘I sent for her. Yesterday. When you thought I went to buy some cigars!’

  ‘You—sent—for—her!’ Sara stared at him disbelievingly. Then she shook her head, as if to clear the fuzziness of her brain. ‘You sent for her?’ she repeated blankly. ‘But—why? How?’

  Michael thrust his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, his expression mirroring his own self-disgust. ‘I—I was worried about you,’ he muttered. ‘You seemed—oh God!’ He raked back his hair impatiently. ‘How was I to know—do you think, if I’d thought—’ He broke off and came towards her, and although she backed away, her thighs came up against the edge of the dressing table. ‘Hey…’ he muttered, his hands curving over her shoulders. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You frightened me yesterday. I guess…’ He looked down at her tenderly. ‘I guess I thought I was to blame for—well, for the blackouts. It wasn’t until you told me—when I found those pills—’

  ‘Michael, please—’

  She found she couldn’t bear to listen to him, knowing she had lied to him all along. She wanted to tell him the truth, oh God! how she wanted to tell him the truth. But the words simply wouldn’t come.

  ‘Sara…’ His voice had thickened perceptibly, and he swore softly under his breath. ‘Sara, we have to get things straight between us, before we get involved with that bitch downstairs. I love you. I think you know that now, don’t you? And I believe you love me. Say you’ll marry me. Please! Don’t let Diane foul this up for us. Remember, she sent you down here. Remember what she did to Adam. Don’t let her corrupt your feelings by persuading you I’m any more of an unprincipled swine than I already feel!’

  ‘Michael…’ Sara caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Michael, you don�
��t know what you’re saying.’ ‘I do.’ The hands on her shoulders tightened, and the lines that bracketed his mouth became a little more pronounced. ‘Sara, what do I have to do to persuade you? I’m not a poor man, if that’s what you’re thinking. I may not be a wealthy one either, but we won’t starve. And if you don’t want to live in Portugal, then I’ll find a job in England.’ His eyes softened as they rested on her parted lips. ‘You know, Dona Isabella is going to love you.’

  ‘Michael, no! No! I can’t marry you!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  His face was paler under his tan, and somehow she managed to free herself from his grasp. He was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard, yet beneath the mask of pain that contorted his features, there was a dawning bitterness that brought a grim twist to his mouth.

  ‘I see,’ he said now, between clenched teeth. ‘I’m not good enough for you, is that it? The by-blow of an over-sexed landlord and a gipsy! Oh, yes, I understand. You wanted a sexual experience, and I supplied it, is that it? My, my, that cool exterior of yours does hide a multitude of contradictions, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’ve misjudged Diane. At least she doesn’t attempt to hide the faults in her character. She’s honest about her failings. She doesn’t pretend emotions she’s incapable of really feeling!’

  ‘Nor do I!’ Sara caught her breath, unable to deny the instinctive retort. ‘Michael, it’s not that I don’t—that is—it has nothing to do with—with you, with your parentage or your prospects. Oh, God! I—just—don’t want to marry—anyone!’

  Michael’s expression mirrored the scorn he felt for her futile protestations. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’ he snapped. ‘This—man you came away to forget. It’s him, isn’t it? You’re still in love with him! What will you do now? Go back to him, in spite of his apparent shortcomings? Was he married? Was that it? And couldn’t you take the chance of going to bed with him, in case you got pregnant? Well, how do you feel now? Secure? Experienced? Or simply reckless?’

  ‘I tell you, it’s not like that!’ Sara was desperate now. ‘Michael, there is no one else.’

  ‘No?’ Clearly he didn’t believe her. ‘Well, no matter. For some reason best known to yourself, you’ve turned me down. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with Diane.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sara paled perceptibly, and he sneered.

  ‘Why not? I don’t think she’ll object. I got the distinct impression that your alter ego would not be averse to taking your place!’

  ‘Oh!’ Sara was shocked now. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t. You—you couldn’t!’

  ‘Couldn’t I?’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’

  Sara gulped, a sickly nausea sweeping over her as she stared into his unrelenting features. ‘You—you—I—I—’

  ‘—hate me?’ he supplied coldly, and she turned her head helplessly from side to side.

  ‘You—you say you love me, and then—and then—’

  ‘Jealous?’ he queried, but beneath the mockery there was an underlying note of intensity in his voice that she desperately wanted to respond to. Instead she shook her head again, turning away, a feeling of complete impotence threatening to engulf her.

  She heard the door slam behind her, and only then did she turn to look after him, fighting back the tears that burned behind her eyes. But what else could she do? she asked herself despairingly. She could never put him in the position of feeling obligated to honour the commitment he had proposed. Better to be despised than pitied.

  Realising she could delay no longer, she cast a final look at her reflection before walking towards the door. Right now, she had Diane to face, and she would need all her strength to combat the kind of malice the other girl was likely to display.

  Downstairs, she hesitated before making her way to the dining room. The sound of Mrs Penworthy’s voice was reassuring, and she paused for a moment in the doorway, wondering what that lady was making of this sudden change in the situation.

  Michael and Diane were seated opposite one another, and the housekeeper was in the process of setting a pot of coffee beside Diane’s plate. They all looked up when Sara appeared, and after only a momentary hesitation, Michael rose politely to his feet.

  ‘Oh…’ Sara was embarrassed. ‘Please—sit down.’ She flushed, glancing awkwardly at Mrs Penworthy and moved towards the table. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  She was forced to take the chair beside Michael, because Diane was sitting in the place she usually occupied, and Mrs Penworthy had laid a third place beside her employer. She slid on to the seat, feeling ridiculously that she was intruding, and refused all but coffee when the housekeeper spoke to her.

  ‘Will that be all, then, Mr Tregower?’ Mrs Penworthy asked, after filling their cups. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some ham and eggs? It’s not like you—’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Penworthy.’

  Michael’s tone brooked no argument, and with a resigned shrug the housekeeper left them. She was obviously curious, and not a little put out by this unexpected turn of events, and Sara wondered what she was really thinking.

  With Mrs Penworthy’s departure, Diane withdrew her attention from the slice of toast on her plate and fixed Sara with a baleful stare. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think some explanations are in order? Like for instance, why did you send me that ridiculous telegram?’

  ‘Why did I—?’ Sara’s eyes widened. ‘I never sent you any telegram.’

  ‘Of course you did—’

  ‘I sent the telegram,’ Michael interposed coolly. He looked at Sara without apology. ‘I regret, I was forced to use your name.’

  ‘My name?’

  Sara had scarcely absorbed this before Diane broke in again, her voice shrill and furious. ‘How dare you?’ she snapped, looking at Michael, and then back at the girl opposite her. ‘How dare you bring me down here on false pretences? How dare you suggest—’

  ‘Adam is dead,’ declared Michael coldly. ‘He died over a month ago.’

  ‘What?’

  As Diane slumped back in her chair, shocked for once out of the complacency of her indifference to anyone’s feelings but her own, Sara turned to Michael again. ‘My name?’ she echoed. ‘What—what did the telegram say?’

  Michael shrugged, his eyes coldly appraising. ‘That Adam was dead, of course. I knew that was the only thing that might bring some reaction.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I meant what I said,’ he declared flatly, and Sara’s eyes clung to his, mesmerised by the sudden dilation of his pupils.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Diane’s choked demand severed the tenuous connection, and with a wry shrug, Michael turned back to her. ‘Don’t you know?’ he taunted, meeting her bewildered stare. ‘Don’t you have any idea? Did Adam never mention me?’

  ‘The—the stepbrother?’ Diane faltered faintly, and Michael inclined his head in mocking assent.

  ‘Adam’s half-brother, actually,’ he corrected her. ‘We had the same father.’

  ‘Yes…’ Diane was obviously striving for control. ‘I—I vaguely remember your name being mentioned. But weren’t you in South America or somewhere? We never saw you.’ She frowned as another thought struck her. ‘And—and if Adam is dead—’ Her voice broke off abruptly. ‘It must have been you—you who sent that message!’

  ‘What message, Diane?’ It was Sara who spoke now, indignation giving her a defence she had not known she possessed. ‘You said the house was empty, remember? What did Michael say in that message that frightened you so much you had to send me in your place?’

  For a moment, Diane was nonplussed. For once in her life she could find no glib answer to the question, and she gazed into Sara’s accusing face with tightly clenched lips.

  ‘You thought Adam was here, didn’t you?’ Sara went on, her own words uneven as she strove for breath. ‘You sent me here believing he meant you some—some harm! Dear heaven, Diane, didn’t you care what happened to me? Didn’t you car
e what Michael might do?’

  Diane cleared her throat, plucking at the rope of pearls that were knotted in the hollow between her breasts. ‘You were not in any danger, Sara,’ she countered, succeeding in halting the other girl’s tremulous flow. ‘It seems to me, my dear, that the situation has not worked out entirely to your disadvantage, or we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing it now, would we?’

  Sara flushed then, but as if taking pity on her, Michael intervened once more. ‘You really believed Adam would threaten you, did you, Diane?’

  ‘What else was I to believe—Michael?’ Her words were defiant, but watching her, Sara could see the deepening of colour below the cowled neckline of her cashmere sweater, the revealing line that ran up behind her ears, turning them pink at the tips. Knowing her as well as she did, Sara knew Diane was by no means as controlled as she would like to appear, and obviously whatever Michael had said in that message was still relevant so far as she was concerned.

  Michael, for his part, was infinitely more relaxed. Sara envied the unhurried way he spooned sugar into his cup, the coolness with which he placed one of his narrow cigars between his teeth. There was the patience of the predator about him, and recalling his fury over his brother’s death, she wondered if he could be as indifferent as he seemed.

  The silence was ominous, and Sara’s nerves stretched. It was all too easy to remember her own fear of him, particularly after the row they had just had, and his scathing denunciation of her own character. What did she know about him, after all? Only what she instinctively felt, what her emotions told her. He could be as clever an actor as Diane, and she no more than a useful pawn in his hands. But would he have proposed to a pawn? she wondered anxiously. Or was even that proposition suspect in the light of his present attitude?

  ‘How—how did you get here, Diane?’ she found herself asking suddenly, anything to dispel the feelings of unease that filled her. But it wasn’t pity for Diane that motivated her words. Whatever Michael was, whatever he had done, she loved him, and she could not—she would not—stand by and allow him to ruin his life without a fight. Diane simply was not worth it. If he was planning revenge, then let it be a more subtle one. Adam was dead, and destroying Diane would not bring him back to life again.