The Judas Trap

by Anne Mather

  ‘I flew to Penzance,’ Diane answered now, between taut lips. ‘I’m flying back this afternoon. Why?’ She paused significantly, glancing at Michael. ‘Do you want to come with me, Sara?’

  ‘I—I—’

  ‘Sara stays,’ declared Michael flatly, before she could gather her thoughts. ‘We have some—unfinished business.’

  ‘Do you?’ Even as Sara turned to gaze at him, wide-eyed, Diane spat the words, resentment bringing a tremulous anger to her speech. ‘The—business—I interrupted upstairs, I suppose.’ Her lips curled contemptuously now. ‘Oh, my dear, I never thought you could be so stupid!’

  ‘Shut up!’ It was Michael who answered her, his features drawn into a grim line. ‘Sara doesn’t need any advice from you.’ He had lit his cigar and now he exhaled smoke into the air above their heads. ‘She’s a normal, feeling human being—not something you would know a lot about.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Diane’s fists clenched on the table beside her plate. ‘And you do, I suppose.’

  ‘More than you, Diane, more than you.’ His tawny eyes were menacing. ‘Sara knows how I feel. She knows how I reacted when I thought she was you—’

  ‘You thought—oh, no!’ Diane was incredulous now, deliberately trying to turn his anger aside. ‘But how aggravating for you.’

  Aggravating! Sara felt a sob of hysteria in the back of her throat and gulped it away. Had Diane really no conception of what Michael had intended?

  ‘It was, rather,’ Michael answered now, his tone ominously mild. ‘But, as you pointed out earlier, it was not entirely to our—disadvantage.’

  Diane licked her lips again. ‘Look isn’t this all a little—intense? I mean, Adam’s dead. I’m sorry. But what more can I say?’

  Sara had to admire her courage, but she was alarmed by the darkening of Michael’s expression. ‘You could have gone to see him,’ he retorted harshly. ‘He wrote to you. He begged you to come. But you ignored all his letters.’

  ‘I was busy. I was working.’ Diane defended herself with appealing candour. ‘Michael, I’m an actress. I can’t just—abandon my commitments. Surely you can see that. You’re a reasonable man, I’m sure. Adam and I were separated. We had nothing left to say to one another.’

  ‘You left him,’ said Michael bleakly. ‘And his appeals to you were at Christmas. Are you telling me that actresses work all over Christmas? I don’t believe it.’

  Diane shifted uncomfortably beneath his withering stare. ‘I—I hate illness. I can’t stand sickrooms. Adam knew that. He—he would understand—’

  ‘Would he?’ Michael spoke scathingly. ‘Adam took his own life, that’s how much he understood! He killed himself with your tainted image clutched in his bloody hand!’

  ‘No!’

  Diane was horrified, but Michael was merciless. ‘Yes,’ he insisted, his mouth twisting almost pleasurably as he watched her visible disintegration. ‘He didn’t want to live, knowing you no longer cared about him. He climbed into his bath and slashed his wrists with a shaving mirror. There was blood—blood everywhere!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Diane almost moaned the words, her face pale and almost as tormented as his. The ugly word-picture he had painted seemed to have knocked her sick, and she lifted a shaking hand to cup her mouth, as if afraid she might vomit at the table. Even Sara could not deny the twinge of pity she felt for her, a fleeting wave of sympathy for the guilt Diane must be feeling. Michael’s verbal castigation would have shaken anyone, let alone someone as emotionally volatile as Diane, and for a few moments she shared her burden. Michael had not said these things to her, she realised belatedly, and she briefly wondered why not. He must have intended to, they were a damning indictment, but for some reason he had remained silent.

  Now, he thrust back his chair from the table and got to his feet, and both girls looked up at him with varying degrees of apprehension. He inhaled deeply on the cigar, as if giving himself time to formulate his next words, and then, when Sara’s pulse had begun to palpitate alarmingly, he spoke again, his voice heavy but no longer threatening.

  ‘You will have realised by now that I no longer intend to enforce my own kind of justice,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t?’ Diane’s voice was faint, but he heard her and shook his head.

  ‘No. Time—and circumstances—’ he flicked a glance at Sara, but she averted her eyes, ‘have served to moderate my desire for revenge. You’re free to go. I won’t stop you.’

  Diane cleared her throat. It was a nervous sound, made the more so when she attempted to rise to her feet, and in so doing overbalanced her chair. It fell noisily to the floor, and Sara could feel the waves of resentment emanating from her as she bent to pick it up. Diane didn’t like to be at a disadvantage, and Sara guessed she would already be seeking some way to turn the situation to suit herself.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said then, when the chair was safely restored to its feet, ‘was this the only reason why you sent for me? Or is there something else I should know?’ She looked interrogatively at Sara. ‘I thought perhaps—after what has apparently happened—’

  Now it was Sara’s turn to get to her feet. ‘You’ve been very fortunate, Diane,’ she declared, realising she had to divert the course of the conversation somehow. ‘You used me as a scapegoat, as bait in a trap of your own making! Don’t try to patronise me now.’

  ‘My dear! I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Diane’s eyes were cold chips of ice. ‘I can see you don’t need any help from me. You’ve—er—made your bed, as they say. I just hope you’re going to enjoy lying on it.’ Sara was aware of Michael’s eyes upon them, but she was no more able to play his game than she was Diane’s. The easiest—the safest—solution would be to leave Ravens Mill, as soon as possible. But not with Diane. Their friendship was over. She had driven herself from London; she could drive back again, just as soon as Diane had left.

  ‘I’m an adult, Diane,’ she said now, her hands balled at her sides. ‘I don’t need anyone’s permission for—for anything.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Diane slanted a malicious glance at Michael. ‘I’m sure you both know what you’re taking on.’

  ‘I’ve asked Sara to marry me,’ Michael said abruptly, his hand closing possessively on her shoulder. His mouth curled in sudden irony. ‘That should relieve your mind, Diane. I’m sure you care what happens to her.’

  Sara’s knees shook. She had never expected his backing, not after what he had said upstairs, and while she appreciated his support, it was the last thing she wanted him to say in Diane’s hearing. Particularly after her humiliation at his hands.

  ‘But—but I’ve refused,’ she burst out recklessly, now uncaring in that moment of agonised alarm how that might sound to him. ‘I—I’ve explained, I don’t want to marry anyone. And—and that’s all there is to it.’

  There was a poignant pause, like a requiem for the brief spell of freedom she had enjoyed, and then Diane spoke, as Sara had known she would.

  ‘Well, that’s doubtless for the best, my dear, isn’t it?’ she drawled. ‘After all, no man wants an invalid for a wife, and Michael was probably only offering marriage because he felt obligated to do so!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘YOU COULDN’T BE more wrong!’ Michael’s crisp tones rang in the awful silence that followed Diane’s spiteful revelation. ‘Sara’s—illness—is nothing to be ashamed of.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Nor is it something to be brought out and disparaged like some pitiful skeleton in the cupboard. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Diane, but you’re telling me nothing new.’

  Sara gathered her scattered senses, as Diane’s face revealed her utter incredulity. This was the last thing she had expected, Sara guessed correctly, and her own weakening relief was tempered by the awareness that Diane had not gone yet. There was still time for her to say something else, something that would destroy for ever Michael’s assumption that she was talking about an attack of asthma.

  ‘You know?’ Diane was saying now in arrant disbelief. ‘Y
ou mean—she told you?’ She turned malicious eyes in Sara’s direction. ‘That’s new!’

  ‘I found out,’ stated Michael flatly. ‘Now, I think you’d better leave before you say something I can’t forgive. Adam’s solicitors will be contacting you in London, once I give them clearance, and if there’s any complication, you can always contact me via the company in Coimbra.’

  ‘I see.’ Diane looked at each of them in turn, her eyes narrowed and calculating. ‘And I suppose you’re set to inherit Adam’s share of the business.’

  ‘Adam had no—share in the business, as such,’ replied Michael, with immaculate control. ‘Goodbye, Diane. I doubt I’ll see you again, and if I have anything to do with it, nor will Sara!’

  ‘Ah, but Sara isn’t going to marry you, is she, Michael?’ Diane drawled, pushing her luck to its limits. ‘And despite your—rather touching championship, Sara needs all the friends she can get.’

  ‘With friends like you, she doesn’t need enemies,’ retorted Michael caustically. ‘Oh, get out of here, Diane, before the urge I have to get my hands around your neck becomes irresistible!’

  Diane hesitated, but something in Michael’s expression now warned her that he was not joking. However, she transferred her attention to Sara as she walked towards the door, saying casually: ‘I saw Tony Fielding on Tuesday, Sara. I think he’d been trying to ring you. I told him you’d be back from the country within the next few days.’

  Sara’s lips parted in dismay. Tony! The reason she had been so eager to come down here. It seemed weeks, rather than days, since she had thought about him, and she realised now how trivial their relationship had been. Thinking of him, she felt nothing but indifference, and a faint incredulity that she had imagined she cared for him. He had been there, that was all, and after years of her mother’s protection she had responded to his admiration, as a prisoner starved of food might grasp at the first crust of bread.

  Aware of Michael’s intent gaze, Sara moved her shoulders in an offhand gesture. ‘Tony and I have nothing more to say to one another,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the message, but Tony and I are through.’

  ‘As you like.’ Diane subjected them both to a brooding scrutiny. Then she shrugged. ‘Well, at least coming here seems to have taught you a lesson, Sara. Adam and I never had any children, and look what happened to us!’

  ‘You’re beginning to bore me, Diane!’

  Michael’s voice was curt, but she ignored him, going on: ‘Oh, I know I had my career, and that was—is—important to me. But perhaps, if we’d had a family—children.’ Her eyes narrowed vindictively. ‘You have explained that you can’t have children, haven’t you, Sara? Or at least, that it would be highly dangerous to take that risk? I wonder…’ Her tongue appeared with provocative consideration. ‘Are females in your condition allowed to take the pill!’ Her smile was pure malice. ‘Ah, well, never mind. What a pity it was such a short acquaintance, Michael. I’m sure we have more in common than you think.’

  * * *

  She was gone before they could detain her. Not that Sara wanted to, but somehow, looking at Michael’s stormy features, she guessed he would demand a more detailed explanation. And from her!

  It was too much. Diane’s sudden appearance had been hard enough to bear. Her departure created difficulties Sara did not think she had the stamina to face. If only she had never gone into Michael’s bedroom that morning! If only she had packed her bags as she had intended to do, she might have got away before Diane appeared to reduce her to the enfeebled idiot she felt now.

  Without saying a word, she hurried out of the room, crossing the hall and hastening up the stairs with a feeling of near panic. She just wanted to get away, to be on her own for a while, and when he came after her into the hall and called her name with evident impatience, she ignored him.

  He followed her, of course. She had known he would, even though she had prayed that he would not. After all, he had a right to an explanation, and he was not a man used to taking insolence from anyone. He was angry, and there was not the slightest chance of her getting away without having this out with him.

  In her bedroom, she tugged her suitcase from the wardrobe and threw it on to the bed. Then she pulled open the drawers of the dressing table and proceeded to transfer all her belongings into the case. He came to stand in the doorway as she was rolling sweaters into unwieldy bundles, and she spared him a fleeting glance before continuing with her task.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he enquired, his voice as controlled as it had been when he spoke to Diane. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘You—you know what and—and where,’ she got out unevenly. ‘I—I can’t stay here. Not now. And—and besides, there’s no point, is there? I mean, it was good while it lasted, but—’

  She broke off with a gasp as his hand fastened tightly around her arm. ‘Stop it!’ he snapped savagely, his breathing almost as laboured as hers. ‘I don’t know what all that was about downstairs, but I sure as hell intend to! What did she mean? Why did she say you can’t have children? This is the first time I’ve heard that an asthmatic shouldn’t get pregnant! For God’s sake, Sara, tell me the truth. Don’t I have a right to know?’

  Sara moved, trying to escape his hold, and with a stifled oath, he relaxed his grasp. His fingers seemed to respond to the softness of her skin, and obviously against his will, he was consumed by the haunting beauty of her eyes.

  ‘Sara…’ he groaned hoarsely, and it required all her powers of resistance to move out of his reach.

  ‘What do you want me to tell you?’ she asked at last. ‘Why should it matter to you what Diane was implying? I’ve said I won’t marry you, so you have no cause for concern, one way or the other. In any case, she was lying. No one has ever told me I should not have a child.’

  That at least was true, but Michael did not look as if he believed her. On the contrary, he looked strained and drawn, confusion pulling down the corners of his mouth and bringing a deep crease to his forehead. Her heart went out to him in his pain and bewilderment, but whatever his feelings, she could not take what could never be hers.

  ‘What is wrong with you, Sara?’ he demanded now, staring at her with tortured eyes. ‘Is it only asthma? Or is there something else? For God’s sake, you can trust me. I only want to make you happy.’

  ‘What else could there be?’ she countered, pushing shoes into plastic bags and stowing them in corners. ‘Michael, please! We’ve said all there is to say. It was said before Diane chose to make her comments. Why can’t you accept that I don’t want to get married—for whatever reason?’

  Michael expelled his breath noisily. ‘You’re determined to leave, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Only this morning, you said—’

  ‘That was before.’

  ‘Before Diane came.’

  ‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Before you started talking about getting married. Oh, Michael, you’ll soon forget about me. You said yourself, there have been other women…’

  ‘There has.’ His words were cutting and violent. ‘But I never cared about any of them—until now!’ He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Well, this should teach me not to be so reckless in future.’

  Sara winced, but he didn’t touch her again. Instead he turned and left the room, and presently she heard the outer door slam also. He had gone. Where, she didn’t know, but the knowledge that she might never see him again almost achieved what his fingers had not. What price pride, now? she wondered bitterly. Would it have been fairer to tell him the truth? She would never know. One thing was certain, she would never suffer the pangs of remorse that would come once their marriage started to go sour. As it surely would, once pity gave way to frustration, and sympathy to resentment.

  She finished packing without haste. She guessed he would not come back until she had left the house, and she carried her own suitcases down the stairs with an aching heart. To think she had come here to escape from one impossible situation, and woun
d up with an infinitely more impossible one.

  * * *

  It was raining in London, not a clean, drenching downpour but a steady, uninspiring drizzle, that fell from a low-hanging, leaden sky. The flat that Sara had moved into after her mother’s death was dull and uninspiring, too, and the first few days she was back home she missed the open spaces she was used to seeing from the windows. She missed the cries of the sea-birds, and the continuous thunder of the ocean, muted below the craggy cliffs; but most of all she missed the excitement of Michael’s presence in the house, and the unpredictability of their relationship.

  Tony had phoned, as Diane predicted, and Sara wondered whether her absence had affected his feelings. Perhaps he had realised her potential in terms of a listener, Tony could be an awful bore at times, particularly when it came to photography, or maybe he really had missed her. Whatever, she had halted his flow of facile pleasantries with polite but cutting firmness, and replaced her receiver feeling a little mean, but definitely relieved.

  Her return to the office was heralded with a seasonable overflow of work. Her own manuscript had been stored away again, in lieu of the day she could really settle down to it, and she tried to submerge herself in other people’s contributions. Reading was, at least, an escape, and for hours at a time she could hold her painful thoughts at bay. Nevertheless, the strain took its toll on her, and Arthur Stringer, her boss, was not slow to notice the fact.

  ‘Where was this place you went for that holiday?’ he asked, coming into her office one morning to find her slumped on two elbows, pouring over a manuscript loosely based on a presidential assassination. ‘Cornwall?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have done you much good. You look positively drained!’