by Flora Kidd
“No. Only to expect him when I see him,” replied Brooke with an inner ripple of amusement. That was just how it was between herself and Owen and how it had been between her own father and mother. Then she noticed an expression of mystification flit across Stella’s face. “It’s a saying we have in English,” she explained. “It means that I will not be anxious about Owen if he does not come. He was not sure when he would return, so I shall not expect him until he comes.”
“Oh, you English, so cool and indifferent,” complained Stella. “It is difficult for those of us who are more emotional to understand you. Did you know that I lived for a while in this house?”
“No, I didn’t. Please won’t you sit down? Pilar will bring some coffee soon.”
“Thank you.” Stella sank gracefully into a corner of a huge sofa which was covered in rose-coloured brocade. “On Sunday I have little to do - there is no performance of the ballet. Have you any idea when Senor and Senora Meredith are returning home?”
“Owen said that they should be here before the end of the month,” said Brooke.
Pilar entered the room and set a laden tray down on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. She smiled beamingly at Stella, who addressed a few words to her in Spanish. When the housekeeper had left the room, Stella said,
“Pilar is my great friend. She was so good to me when I was here. Two years ago I hurt my leg and Senora Meredith, who is a patron of the ballet, brought me here and nursed me. Julius was very ill and I was very unhappy. Owen was here then. He had given up the apartment in the city. His wife - pardon me, I mean his first wife - had gone away and he was also a little unhappy, I think. We used to talk together many evenings together on the patio. We became friends, close friends—” The husky voice trailed away suggestively, then added, “Owen can be very kind. But then you will know that too.”
Brooke murmured that she did and busied herself with pouring coffee.
“It must have been very sad for you when your husband died,” she said conversationally as she handed a cup and saucer to Stella.
“Sad not just for me, but for this country,” replied Stella. “He was a great man. I admired and respected him above all other men.
I loved him, too, although not in the way, perhaps, that one would love a younger man, one nearer to one’s own age and one whom has more in common.”
She slanted a sharp glance in Brooke’s direction and Brooke found herself wondering what this delicate-seeming yet steel-like woman had in common with the blunt and sometimes rough Owen. Could it be the attraction of opposites, perhaps?
“I was only eighteen when Julius began to take an interest in me,” continued Stella. “I had just begun my career on the stage. I was mesmerized by his position, his handsome face, his great courtesy and above all by his vision of the future of our country. I am a staunch patriot, as he was. I helped him a great deal in his political life and gave up my own career to be with him on all occasions.” The dark eyes glowed with an inner passion. “I enjoyed every moment of those public appearances with him, but then once one has known the limelight one cannot live without it. Then he became seriously ill and had to go away to a sanatorium, where I could not be with him, so I returned to the ballet. I had to do something when I was told that Julius would not recover but would be an invalid for the rest of his life. I met Senora Meredith. I came here, and I met Owen.”
Again Stella paused dramatically and, as she had intended, the pause underlined the last words she had spoken as if they were very important. I met Owen.
Brooke sipped coffee and tried to pretend that the statement had no effect on her. Stella’s long black eyelashes lifted slowly and she looked directly at her hostess, her eyes bright and cold, sharp as daggers.
“You realize, senora,” she said softly, “that when I learned he had married again I was greatly shocked.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” said Brooke coolly, setting her empty cup down on the tray. “May I pour some more coffee for
you?”
Stella made an impatient little gesture with her slim hands as if she was irritated by the matter-of-fact offer.
“You see, I had assumed that he would know that once Julius had died I would be free to marry again where I loved,” she said.
“One should never assume, senora,” chided Brooke gently. “Owen may not have realized that your husband was near death and of course he had to do something quickly to provide his daughter with a settled home background before he lost her.”
“He acted too quickly, and now he is regretting it,” snapped Stella, her anger beginning to show in reaction to Brooke’s quiet manner. “Has he told you so?” asked Brooke.
The brilliant eyes were veiled.
“Not in actual words,” admitted Stella slowly. “Owen is not like that - he does not talk much. But I can sense how he feels. His marriage to you is one of convenience and it should never have taken place.”
With difficulty Brooke held on to her temper. It was not the time and place to react angrily. After all, Stella was only voicing her own thoughts on the matter. Perhaps Owen had acted too hastily. “But it has taken place,” she said quietly.
“It could be annulled easily,” asserted Stella.
Brooke stared at the other woman reflectively, wondering if Owen had suggested to Stella that she should come and sound out herself about the possibility of an annulment. Then she rejected the idea. It didn’t fit in with what she knew about Owen. Reserved about discussing his emotions he might be, but he could be painfully blunt and honest when he wanted his own way. If he wanted an annulment he would tell her so himself.
“Only when Owen tells me he wants it annulled,” she replied. Stella’s white hands fluttered again as she made that impatient gesture.
“You have no subtlety,” she complained, and it was easy to see that the calm answers she was receiving from Brooke were making her angry. “You and only you can put such an idea into his mind.”
“How?”
“Oh, do I have to tell you how to behave like a woman? Appeal to his chivalry, his sense of fairness. If he knew that you have fallen in love with another man I’m sure he would be willing to release him from your commitment to him.”
“But I’m not in love with another man,” exclaimed Brooke, half laughing, and she realized suddenly that she wasn’t in love with Kevin any more. In fact it was now debatable whether she had ever been in love with him.
“Are you so sure?” asked Stella. “You seem to like Miguel Perez.” She paused and then added nastily, “But then Owen’s first wife had a tendency to go about with other men when he was away. Maybe you are like her.”
Brooke swallowed hard in her struggle to maintain her composure. When dealing with someone as fiery and as aggressive as Stella it was difficult not to strike back.
“You don’t understand, senora,” she said patiently. “I’ve been seeing Senor Perez with Owen’s knowledge. In fact it was Owen himself who suggested before he went away that I should consult Miguel about the continuation of the search for my father who has been lost in the Gran Sabana for over two months.”
“And does Owen also know that consulting Miguel involves attending concerts and bullfights?” sniped Stella. “Ah, yes, you have been seen many times in his company this week.”
“He has been kind enough to show me something of the way of life here in Caracas. So has his sister,” replied Brooke, lifting her chin.
“I see,” drawled Stella, her dark eyes narrowing to gleaming slits. “Miguel is an old hand at the game of using Manuela as a cover.” She rose gracefully to her feet and held out a slim hand. “I must go. This has been a most interesting conversation. I have learned much. I hope you will consider seriously what I have said to you about an annulment of your marriage. Thank you for the coffee. I will see myself out of the house - I know the way very well.”
Upset by the conversation with Stella, Brooke worried about it for the rest of the day. Had she inadvertently
come between two people made for each other who had been unable to marry because they had not been free? There was no doubt in her mind that she would have to discuss the situation with Owen when he returned home. But how to approach him, that was the problem. And then there was that curious remark of Stella’s about Miguel using Manuela as a cover. A cover for what?
Worried and wondering what to do for the best, Brooke slept badly that night and awoke early to the sound of rushing water coining from the bathroom. A sense of well-being, almost of happiness, danced through her mind. Owen was back!
She lay listening, quelling a desire to bound out of bed and bang on the bathroom door and shout her welcome. He would think she was out of her mind if she behaved like that. The water stopped gushing and there was silence. It continued, and she realized with a faint sense of disappointment that he had left the bathroom and had returned to his bedroom. He could have put his head round the door and wished her good morning, she thought.
What was wrong with her? Had the mantle of Glynis fallen on her shoulders and did it fit well? Was she in danger of becoming a neurotic and possibly jealous wife, who had no real reason to be jealous when her husband went away because he was not really her husband? She must always remember that she and Owen had not married for love. They had married for convenience.
When she went out to the patio for breakfast Owen and Megan were already there. He looked the same, big-shouldered with slightly rumpled curly hair, and the sight of him put the last of suspicion to flight. He was home and he seemed happy to be there.
“Have a good week?” he asked as she sat down opposite to him.
“Yes, thank you. It passed very quickly,” she replied.
“You look tired,” was his next remark as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her with alert grey eyes. “Too many late nights? Perhaps you should have slept in this morning.”
“I’m perfectly all right, thank you, and I never sleep in,” she replied coolly.
He grinned at her, but he didn’t tell her what was amusing him and she drew the usual conclusion. Something about her amused him.
“I’ve a busy day ahead of me and I’ll be home late,” he said. Brooke longed to ask him why he would be late, but decided that it would reveal undue curiosity in his affairs which he might resent. Consequently she was contrarily annoyed when he added mockingly, “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’ll be late?”
“If you want to tell me I’ll ask you,” she countered serenely, refusing to reveal her irritation. “Why will you be late, Owen?” “Always as cool and as fresh as a mountain brook. You’re well named,” he taunted. “I’ll be late because I have to go to a meeting of a club to which I belong. It’s to do with horse- racing, so Diego will be there too. Don’t wait up for me.”
“I wasn’t thinking of doing so,” she returned, and he grinned as he rose to his feet.
“Not in your contract, I suppose,” he retorted.
“Which contract?”
“The one you signed with me a few weeks ago. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten again.”
Colour washed into her cheeks. She avoided his eyes and began to eat her fresh grapefruit.
Owen bent over Megan to kiss her before he left for work. “Why don’t you kiss Brooke?” asked the child. “All daddies kiss mummies goodbye in the morning.”
“That’s a good idea,” he drawled. “Maybe I will.”
He stepped round to Brooke’s side and she sat stiff and un-moving while he kissed her chastely on the cheek. His mouth was firm and cool against her hot skin, and it brought back memories of the way he had kissed her after the marriage ceremony.
Megan clapped her hands in glee.
Now I feel as if Brooke is my real mummy and that we’re a real family,” she crowed delightedly.
“And that’s important, isn’t it?” said Owen softly, looking down at her, his face serious. “I remember when I was little like you it was very important to me that I had a mother just like the other children at school.”
“Did you have a mummy?” lisped Megan.
“Yes, in the same way that you have Brooke. Not my real mother, but someone else just as good instead.”
“But you have a sister too. It would be even more like a family if I had a baby brother or sister. Tomas has a baby and so has Barbara Ann Atkins, but I haven’t. Do you think we could have a baby, Daddy? I’d like a boy best of all, for Christmas.”
“I think something could be done along those lines,” said Owen, not betraying by a flicker of an eyebrow or the twitch of a lip how he felt about the matter. “I doubt if you could have one for Christmas, and I couldn’t be sure that it would be a boy. I know -you discuss it with Brooke. You see, we can’t have a baby in our family unless she wants one too.”
Across the table his eyes met Brooke’s. There was a killing expression in hers and one of unholy amusement in his.
“Oh, Brooke wants one,” asserted Megan. “I heard her telling Aunty Eva that she loved babies and that she would like one day to have one of her own, when she was nursing Bonita. Aunty Eva said Brooke is very good with babies. She knows how to change their clothes and how to bring up wind... ”
“Well now, we wouldn’t like all that talent to go to waste, would we?” said Owen, his voice slightly choked with suppressed laughter, while Brooke sat furious, but mute for the child’s sake, trying to smile as if she was interested. “You talk about it and let me know what you decide.”
His eyes met Brooke’s again, mockery dancing and flickering in them. Oh, he was enjoying her discomfiture, and some time she must find a way of retaliating, when Megan wasn’t there.
“Why can’t we have one for Christmas?” persisted Megan, whose thoughts seemed to have got into a groove.
“That’s something which Brooke will be very good at explaining, I’m sure. I haven’t time right now,” answered Owen smoothly. “Have a good day, girls.”
He went indoors and Brooke was sure his shoulders were shaking with mirth. He’d passed the buck to her, leaving her to answer Megan’s questions. They were to let him know what they decided. What had he meant by that? Her face flamed suddenly as she realized what her part would involve. She tried to imagine herself going to him, hand in hand with Megan and saying,
“Owen, Megan and I have decided that we should have a baby.” Then she imagined what his answer would be. A man of few words, who acted fast in a crisis! Oh, there was no doubt in her mind that he would take action immediately and expect her to comply.
But how could she without love? Without her loving him and him loving her. It was completely out of the question. It couldn’t be done - at least, not yet.
The day passed pleasantly in routine jobs. The sun shone and the distant towers of the city glittered against their background of mysterious mountains. Megan walked further than she had ever walked before and it took Brooke all her time to stop herself from going to the telephone to call Owen to ask him to come home and celebrate the fact instead of going out with his racing friends.
She had said she wouldn’t wait up for him, but after Megan had gone to bed she felt restless. As usual the warm dark night had an effect on her senses and she began to wish she had made some arrangement to go out.
But why should she go out? She was a married woman and her place was in her home with her husband. Only the problem was her husband was not at home and he wasn’t really her husband!
She was beginning to think like Glynis again, and that mustn’t happen. She must always remember she was Brooke Marston, as cool and fresh as her name, daughter of Tony Marston who had always been calm and courageous in the face of difficulties or danger.
The thought of her father cleared her mind. Going into the study, a room whose walls were covered with shelves of books, she searched for a map of Venezuela. Having found one she looked for the area of the Gran Sabana and found it, down in the state of Guayana close to the border of Brazil. Then she searched the shelves for a book in English about the geog
raphy of the country. When she found that, she sat down and was soon absorbed in reading.
She was still sitting reading when she heard the front door open and close. Glancing at her watch, she saw with surprise that it was eleven-thirty. Owen must be back. The open book in her hand, Brooke went to the hallway. He was standing by one of the crimson-shaded lamps, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his shirt collar undone and his hair rumpled untidily, as he glanced through some papers which had arrived for him that afternoon and had been left on a table in the hall.
Hearing her approach, he looked up and she saw that his face was tired, almost gaunt in the soft pink light.
“I thought I told you not to wait up,” he said abruptly.
“I wasn’t going to, but I’ve been reading and I forgot the time. Owen, is something wrong?”
His glance was sharp, almost resentful.
“No more than usual,” he remarked dryly. “Why do you ask?”
“ I . . . I thought you looked upset about something. It helps sometimes to talk about problems to a person who’s not involved with them.”
He threw down the papers on the table and came across to stand before her.
“What’s all this?” he queried softly. “Been taking lessons in how to be a wife while I’ve been away? Supposing I told you my problem concerns you, would I be able to talk to you about it? Or would I have to talk to someone who’s not involved with it?”
“Oh, how you love to twist everything! No wonder....”
“No wonder Glynis went back to England,” he said roughly. “That’s the next line, I believe. You shouldn’t have waited up.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” she retorted. “It’s obvious you’re in a filthy mood.”
She turned to go back into the study to replace the book she was holding, but his hand on her elbow jerked her to a stop.
She was pulled round to face him as if she were no more than a puppet on a string. His eyes were unrevealing, but the faintest of smiles pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” he said. “You’re quite right - I am in a filthy mood, and I’m not used to coming home and finding someone here who’s willing to share my problems. What have you been reading? Must be interesting to have made you forget the time.”