His arm lowered and enclosed her and he drew her towards him. 'It's no good fighting it, my little Gemma, it will get you in the end, you know, and you don't want to make a start with someone like Vincent Thingummy, do you?'
No word of love—just pure, unashamed sex. Suddenly she could hear his voice again as she had heard it on the tape—'Love me? I adore you.' That had been love, but he wasn't saying that to her. He wasn't even pretending to be in love with her. It's all wrong, she thought wildly as his head lowered and another, stronger thought surfaced: Oh God, what am I going to do? If he kisses me, I'm lost.
His mouth came down on hers, his lips brushing hers rhythmically, then closing over her mouth, easing her lips apart, taking his time, while wave after wave of ecstasy coiled through her. Why not—why not? she thought, weak with longing. It has to happen some time, as he said.
His hand slipped into the deep vee of her neckline and closed over the soft swell of her breast, while his other hand moved down and stroked her thigh. She heard his breathing quicken and felt a kind of elation, almost power. And then sanity left her completely and her hands went convulsively round his waist, pressing his body against hers, kissing him with an abandon that shocked her even while she gloried in it. He pulled her dress off her shoulders and his mouth moved over her neck and down to find the hollow between her breasts.
'God, you're lovely—so lovely—' he groaned, and his movements became more urgent. She could feel his heart thudding against her and her own heart pounding in response. He pulled down the zipp at the back of her dress and his fingers fumbled with the fastening of her bra, loosening it at last. In the soft light her skin glimmered whitely as he ripped off his own shirt and then she felt his weight on her, flesh against flesh, and heard her own moan of abandonment.
That was when the telephone began to sound on the other side of the room. 'Let it ring, blast it,' Harn muttered, and went on kissing her, but something had changed; there was a suddenly lowering of tension as if a stretched spring had been pulled to the utmost and then released and collapsed against itself.
The ringing went on and on, more intrusive because it was a soft purr and not a shrill bell. The noise seemed to fill Gemma's head like cotton wool and she twisted her body away with a convulsive shudder. 'Answer it,' she muttered.
Harn dragged himself up and crossed the room. 'Yes? What? Yes, she is.' His eyes never left Gemma as he spoke. She swung her legs round and pulled her dress over her shoulders, struggling with the back zipp. And then, curtly, 'All right, all right, I'll tell her.' He slammed the receiver back on to its cradle.
He came back and stood staring down at her, his dark eyes unreadable. 'That was Brenda. Do you want to go back to the party? It seems most of them are leaving.'
Gemma was suddenly overcome by guilt. Brenda had arranged the party for her and she had just walked out. It was unforgivable. 'Yes,' she said miserably, 'I should never have come away.'
'Perhaps you're right,' Harn said grimly. Seeing her still struggling with the zipp, he leaned over and fixed it matter-of-factly. 'Saved by the bell,' he said dryly. 'Or rather, by Brenda's suspicious mind.'
He fastened up his shirt and pushed his dark, tousled hair back. 'You won't believe this, Gemma, but when I brought you here I truly didn't mean any of this—' he gestured towards the sofa '—to happen. I guess my self-control isn't as strong as I imagined. Now, go along and brush your hair and tidy yourself up and I'll drive you back.'
The drive was accomplished in complete silence. When the car drew up Harn got out and opened the door for Gemma without offering his hand. In the shadows his face looked shuttered. She hesitated. What could she say? I'm glad the great seduction didn't happen? Had he been telling the truth when he said he hadn't meant it to happen?
'Goodnight,' she muttered, and dived into the entrance and stumbled up the stairs.
The guests had all gone. The living room was empty except for Brenda, who sat alone amid the residue of the party—dirty glasses and dishes, cigarette ends spilling out of ashtrays and trampled into the carpet, the stale smell of smoke hanging over everything.
Gemma walked over to her. 'Brenda, I really am sorry—please forgive me for leaving. Harn wanted me for some work, you see, and—'
The words died in her throat as she saw Brenda's face, white and haggard, two scarlet spots on her cheekbones.
'Work? Don't give me that, you little tart! I thought you were a decent girl, not a common slut!'
Gemma recoiled with shock. Then, impulsively, she went forward and put a hand on the other girl's arm. 'Brenda, you've got it wrong. I didn't—I had to go with him when he came for me. You know he puts calls through to Japan in the middle of the night. The time-change—'
Her hand was flung off violently. 'Oh, shut up, you make me sick! You went to his flat, and what did you expect to do when you got there?' Brenda laughed stridently. 'You forget I've known Harn Durrant for quite a time. I know what happens when he has a girl in his flat in the middle of the night, and it's nothing to do with phone calls to Japan. Oh yes, I know what's been going on, I can picture it all very well!'
Her face changed, became ugly and twisted, and Gemma cowered back against the door as horrible gutter words came shooting towards her. This couldn't be Brenda Johnson—the cool, collected modern young woman whom Gemma had hoped one day to be like. This was a woman eaten up and made mad by jealousy and hate.
'Get out—get out—!' Brenda screamed at last, losing all control. 'I won't have you here, coming straight from his bed! I won't put up with your filthy—' The obscene words came pouring out and Gemma covered her ears with her hands. The white, contorted face with the red blotches came nearer and nearer, getting larger and larger as it came. It was like some terrifying nightmare. Frenziedly Gemma groped behind her for the catch of the door, turned it, and then she was stumbling down the stairs as if all the furies were pursuing her.
Outside in the cool night air, she leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, shaking with fright. It had all been so sudden, so utterly unexpected. Childishly she screwed her hands into fists and thrust them against her eyes as if she could blot out the ugly scene.
After a while she began to feel more calm. All was quiet and dark and the coolness that had been so welcome a minute ago turned to a cold that made her shiver. The blue crepe dress gave her no protection and she had not stopped to put on a coat when Harn came to the party to collect her.
She peered at her wrist-watch and saw that it was ten past three. Where could she go at this time of night, with no luggage and only small change in the handbag which she found she was still gripping as if it were a dangerous snake? She looked around. That way the streets led to the City; the other way to the river.
She was shivering with cold and shock and misery. Was this the end of her great adventure, of all her hopes of life in London? She thought it was. Tomorrow—if tomorrow ever came—she would get on a train and go home. She thought longingly of the little house in Lessington. Even if Beth wasn't there it would be familiar and warm and comforting. But somehow she had to get through the rest of the night.
She began to walk towards the City. Not the river. The river brought ghoulish thoughts of muggings, and men sleeping rough, and her imagination began to work overtime. She walked the length of the apartment building and turned the corner. Then she let out a strangled scream and her body went rigid as the shadow of a man descended on her.
She turned and began to run, stumbling over the uneven surface of the roadway. Her satin pumps caught in a rough patch and she fell to the ground, whimpering with pain and terror.
He was upon her now, his great hands closing round her, pulling her to her feet. She began to fight feebly, threshing out with her fists and her handbag went flying.
'Stop it, you stupid child! It's me—Harn.'
She blinked up and saw that it was. 'Thank God—thank God—' she babbled, clutching his arm to hold herself up. 'I thought—'
His face began to s
wim in the gloom. Round and round it went until it blanked out entirely.
Gemma had fainted.
When she came to herself Gemma was sitting in Harn's car and he was leaning over her, stroking her hair back from her face, murmuring something she couldn't hear.
She struggled to sit up, her teeth chattering. Harn's arm around her was infinitely comforting. 'You all right, Gemma? Phew, you had me worried!'
She licked her dry lips. 'I—I'm sorry. I don't know what happened—'
'You passed out at my feet.'
Memory returned and she cringed inside. 'Oh lord, yes—I was terrified! I thought you were one of those muggers you read about.'
He laughed ruefully. 'I've been called a good many things, but never before a mugger.'
'Oh, I didn't—I mean—' She began to weep helplessly.
His arm tightened around her. 'It's all right, baby, it's all right, I was only joking. Now, you lie back and relax and we'll get going. I take it you'd rather not go back to Brenda's flat?'
Horrified at the idea, she blurted out wildly, 'No—no—I can't go back there. I can't!'
He laid her gently in the corner of the seat and patted her hand. 'Then you shan't,' he said firmly. 'I should never have suggested you going there in the first place. I can see I've been a bloody fool on many counts where you're concerned, Gemma. Never mind, it's not too late to put things right.'
She didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't seem to matter. She lay back and closed her eyes while he started the car, and almost immediately the soft hum of the powerful engine soothed her and she dropped into an uneasy sleep.
His voice wakened her. 'We're here. I'm afraid it's the same old spot, but there's nowhere else I can think of to take you.'
He half lifted her out of the car and supported her up the stairs to his flat. 'This time there's no argument,' he smiled. 'You're really going straight into my bed, with a hot-water bottle, if I can find where my Mrs Mopp has hidden it.' He lowered her on to the bed and took a fleecy camel-coloured robe out of the closet and wrapped it round her. 'There you are, Gemma—now you look like a teddy bear.'
She smiled back wanly. She might have been six years old, the way he was treating her. But the surprising thing was that he could be kind—and gentle—and—and nice. She wouldn't have believed it possible. She lay back and let the comfort and warmth seep into her and pushed away those awful moments outside Brenda's flat, when she felt so terribly alone.
Harn was back in a few minutes with a hot water bottle and a tray. 'More tea,' he said cheerfully. 'Good and strong and sweet. You've had a shock, my child. Want to tell me about it?'
She pulled herself up and cuddled the hot water bottle under the camel robe and sipped the hot tea. 'Nothing to tell, really. Brenda was a bit— difficult, that's all, and I thought it better to get out of the way.'
He sat down on the edge of the bed. 'Which charitable account, when translated, reads that Brenda threw one of her tantrums and scared the wits out of you and you escaped without even waiting to find a coat. A good thing I hung about to make sure you were O.K. I had a sort of idea that something like this might happen.' As she would have spoken he lifted a hand and went on, 'No, Gemma, no good trying to evade the issue. Brenda Johnson is an excellent employee, but unfortunately she can get very hysterical at times. The main trouble is that she shouldn't be married to a sailor who's away from home for long periods.' He glanced at her under the thick, dark lashes and added, 'If you know what I mean.'
'I think so,' Gemma murmured. 'She needs a man.'
'Precisely,' he said crisply. 'Unfortunately she has at various times tried to pick on me to oblige—without any success, I may add. I steer very clear of married women, they're apt to cause too many complications.'
'I see,' Gemma said slowly. 'That explains it, then.' It didn't really explain it—not Brenda's violent attack, her frenzied accusations.
'I'm sorry to have let you in for this,' he went on. 'It was something I didn't consider. I'm afraid I took it for granted that Brenda had come to terms with things, after a very rocky patch, and I thought it would be good for her—and for you— to get to know each other and provide company. But I see I was wrong. Of course, we'll have to find some other accommodation for you. Meanwhile, have a good sleep for what's left of the night, and we'll sort things out in the morning. You're very welcome to my bed—I'll be quite comfy on the sofa in the next room.' He opened the door of a closet and yanked out an armful of blankets. 'Sleep well, little one.' He bent and kissed her forehead. 'And don't worry. Everything will come right, you'll see.'
When he had gone Gemma lay back in the bed and closed her eyes, and great tears formed behind her lids and slid down her cheeks. It was no good kidding herself any longer about adolescent crushes. What she felt for Harn Durrant was a long way from that. She was deep in love as a woman is in love; so deep that it terrified her because it was inconceivable that he should ever be in love with her. He wasn't a man who would find it necessary to talk of love—he had proved that earlier this evening.
And yet—and yet—there was a woman he loved, or had loved. She kept hearing his voice saying, 'Love me? I adore you.' Would she ever find out who that letter had been addressed to?
Forget it, Gemma, she told herself. You'll never hear him say those words to you.
There was warmth all round her, but she began to shiver. She drew the camel gown closer and pulled the duvet up over her chin and snuggled down in Harn's bed.
This, she thought with black humour that cut through her like a knife, was the first and last time she would ever sleep in it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gemma was dragged out of a long sleep by the sound of the telephone peep-peeping beside the bed. She stretched out and fumbled the receiver off the hook, blinking round the unfamiliar room as the memory of last night became clearer by the moment. Of course—she was in Harn's flat—in Harn's bed.
'Hullo?' she yawned, swinging her legs out of bed with an effort. It would be a call for Harn, of course. The trained secretary in her added automatically, 'This is Mr Harn Durrant's flat.' Where was Harn, and what time was it?
'Oh, is it indeed?' said a female voice from the other end of the line. 'And who might you be?' The tone was distinctly nasty.
There wasn't any time to think. 'I'm Gemma Lawson, Mr Durrant's secretary.'
'Really?' The tone became even nastier. 'And do you usually start work at Mr Durrant's flat at this hour of the morning?'
Gemma stared round and saw a red leather travelling clock on the bedside table. It was eight forty-five. 'I—I—' she began. How could she begin to explain to a stranger? 'Shall I get Mr Durrant for you?' she floundered helplessly.
A scathing laugh. 'Isn't he lying there beside you? No, thanks, it'll do later.' There was a loud click as the receiver was slammed down at the other end.
Gemma shrugged and got out of bed. Another of Harn's girl-friends, of course. Even here she couldn't get away from them—more than ever here, she thought bitterly. She was almost sure she had recognised the voice and that it was Yvonne, the one who had promised him champagne on ice the other evening. Oh well—
Dispiritedly she tightened the girdle of the camel robe that she had spent the night in and went in search of Harn.
It didn't take long to discover that he wasn't in the flat. A note was propped against the kettle in the kitchen, and Gemma unfolded it while she boiled water for tea.
'Gemma—' she read, written in Harn's spiky black writing, familiar to her by now, 'I've gone to Brenda's to get you some clothes. Back soon. H.'
The kettle boiled and she made tea and carried it into the bedroom. When she had drunk it she felt slightly better. It seemed to her that her life was in- a horrible muddle at present, but there was no time to sit down and think things out calmly— even if she had been capable of doing it—so she would just have to live an hour at a time and see what happened.
After a shower in Harn's tortoiseshell bathroo
m she felt refreshed and more ready to face the day. She wrapped a green bath-towel round her and padded back into the bedroom. To her horror Harn stood leaning against the doorpost, a wide grin on his face.
'Very pretty!' he mused, his glance resting on the smooth skin of her arms and neck and the delightful shape of her legs that showed beneath the towel.
'Oh!' gasped Gemma, and turned to run back to the bathroom, but caught her foot in the hem of the towel, which slipped down and fell in a fleecy bundle on to the carpet. Harn stooped and picked it up before she could move and draped it carefully round her pink body, fresh and moist from her shower. For a moment his arms closed round her and hugged her tightly. 'Lovely Gemma,' he sighed. 'What a pity we haven't an hour to spare, but duty calls. There's this meeting with Mr Okimo at twelve.'
Gemma managed to pull her wits together, at least partially. She grabbed the towel tightly round her and said, 'Oh lord, yes, I wanted to get in early to print out the report for you. It's all there on disc and you revised it yesterday.'
He nodded. 'I'll get the Wright woman to get on with printing it out until you get in. She's quite capable of doing that if I find the disc for her.'
Gemma bit her lip. 'Couldn't it wait until I come? I'd be very—'
Harn shook his head. 'I want it done straight away, I need to go through it again before I leave. This is the crunch meeting, you know. No, you have some breakfast and take your time. You'd better ring for a taxi when you're ready—I don't suppose you'd find your way from here and I won't stop to direct you now. I've brought you some clothes—' he nodded towards her travelling bag on the bed— 'and there's a letter that came for you this morning. By the way, Brenda's very chastened about what happened last night. I think she wants to make it up with you, but I still feel you shouldn't go back there. Anyway, we'll sort it all out later, I must dash now.'
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