Playing Safe

by Claudia Jameson

  'No bets,' she said softly, wanting desperately to move into his arms but thinking better of it. As it was, she could feel the heat of his body, only inches away from hers. 'Say goodnight, Demetrius.'

  'Goodnight, Demetrius,' he said, and left.

  Grace upset her father towards the end of May. She didn't mean to, but it was when he phoned during mid-week to tell her he wasn't coming home for the weekend… the third weekend in a row.

  'No, I won't be lonely.' She smiled at his question. Lonely? With Demetrius? Hardly. 'But I miss seeing you,' she added honestly. 'If you stay away this weekend, it'll be a month since I saw you last. Hang on, I've just thought of something. Demetrius and I are going to the ballet on Saturday. Why don't we come into London during the afternoon and have an early dinner with you? You'll be in your house, won't you?'

  She expected him to say yes, and naturally she expected Phyllis would be there. But Sir Nigel was going away for the weekend. 'To meet Phyllis' son—well, to meet his wife, actually. I have met her son once, briefly. He and his family live in Warwickshire and after my surgery on Saturday morning we're driving up there, spending the weekend.'

  His surgery… he meant the period in which he was available to his constituents. 'I see. Is Phyllis there with you now?'

  'Yes, she's in the kitchen.' There was a smile in his voice. 'Do you want a word with her?'

  'No, don't disturb her. I was wondering—er— how is it going with you two?'

  There was a burst of enthusiasm. 'It's going beautifully, beautifully. You wouldn't believe how much we have in common.'

  Grace did know the feeling, it was like that with her and Demetrius. It was then that she dropped her clanger. 'Has she actually moved in with you?'

  'Grace! You can't be serious!'

  'Why not?' She had been serious, and so what? She was soon put straight.

  'You young people might have discarded all standards of proper behaviour, but we old fogies still give a damn. Most of us, at any rate. There are plenty of people who still believe in marriage, young lady, and I sincerely hope that you're one of them. Phyllis and I certainly do. She is not the sort of woman who would live with a man, and I am not the sort of man who would expect that, or desire it. Quite apart from all that, I have a reputation to maintain, or have you forgotten? And so has Phyllis. How you could even ask… Are you still there, Grace?'

  'I'm here, Daddy. I'm sorry I spoke.' She was grinning, trying not to let it show in her voice. Perhaps it had been a silly question. 'So you're going to marry her, are you?'

  Silence.

  'Daddy?'

  'I'm thinking about it.'

  Thinking about your answer, or thinking about marrying her?'

  'I don't know what's got in to you, miss. I have not popped the question, but I am thinking of doing so. Soon, actually. Does that satisfy you?'

  'Perfectly.'

  'So you'll just have to wait and see.' There was a pause. Grace thought that was the end of their conversation but it wasn't. It was her turn to be grilled. 'And what about you and Demetrius?'

  She felt herself stiffen. 'What about us?' Was her father teaching her a lesson, telling her she shouldn't have asked the questions she had asked? Or did he really want to know?

  'I hope you're not about to tell me to mind my own business, Grace?'

  'No,' she said cautiously. 'Is that what you're trying to tell me?'

  'No, darling, it isn't. I want you to know my plans. It was just your suggestion that we might be living—what is the expression?—over the brush, which offended.'

  'I'm sorry about that.' Grace was stalling for time. 'Um—everything's fine with me and Demetrius.'

  'Then maybe he's thinking of popping the question?'

  Another silence.

  She didn't know how she was going to tell him that, with Demetrius, popping the question was out of the question. 'I—can't imagine him as the marrying kind, Daddy. He—he seems very happy as a bachelor. I think he believes it to be the perfect state.'

  'Rubbish. Firstly, he can't compare the two states, he's only known the one, secondly, I simply don't believe that. From what I can gather, he's seeing you seven nights a week. To what end, one asks oneself?'

  'It isn't seven nights a week. It's… five or six,' she added lamely.

  'And you're splitting hairs.'

  'Look, Demetrius and I are…just friends.'

  'What you mean is, you'll be content just having an affair with him.'

  'I am not having an affair with him!'

  Sir Nigel sighed. 'That wasn't an accusation, Grace. I'm not that stuffy, you know, not so old-fashioned, or perhaps I should say unrealistic, that I expect my twenty-four-year-old daughter to be a virgin.'

  She groaned inwardly, wishing this conversation was not happening. Oh, how little he knew! It was ironic. It seemed he assumed she was either having an affair with Demetrius and not admitting it, or that she had gone to bed with Raymond Ferris five years earlier. In a voice which was a touch more aggressive than she meant it to be, she said, 'As you often say to journalists, no comment.' Then, with more aggression, 'Just answer me this. Are you telling me it would be all right to have an affair with Demetrius, but it wouldn't be all right to live with him?'

  Sir Nigel was shocked again. 'Is that what you're thinking of doing?'

  'No.' As if Demetrius would want that! She was handy as it was, being next door. 'No way. I'm just interested to know what you would sanction and what you wouldn't—though I shall please myself anyway, as you know. I'm not nineteen any more.'

  Another silence. Grace broke it; she had made an unnecessary remark and she regretted it. 'I'm sorry, that was below the belt.'

  'Yes, it was. And all I can say to it is that Demetrius Knight is very, very different from Raymond Ferris. I should be delighted if Demetrius were to become my son-in-law.'

  'Well, he won't. So answer my question.'

  'I'll give you my opinion, certainly. If two people want to live together and are thinking in terms of permanence, why not marry? If they're serious, if it's going to be for keeps, why not marry? There are so many advantages, social, practical as well as psychological.'

  'Psychological?'

  'Marriage represents commitment, a commitment made in public, being sure enough and proud enough to state your intentions in public. Showing one's partner that one is serious.'

  Grace looked heavenward. 'Don't get me wrong, I'm not arguing against marriage, definitely not. But I would point out that the little piece of paper called a marriage certificate can make for plenty of problems if one wishes to call it a day.'

  'Precisely!' Sir Nigel was triumphant. 'So people opt for living together—because they're not thinking in terms of forever, not sure enough to get tied up with that piece of paper. See what I mean?'

  Grace couldn't help laughing at him. 'Did you ever think of going in to politics, Father dear? You argue well. If you were here with me now, however, I would keep you at this discussion for at least two hours…and I'd probably pull your argument to pieces. Just as an intellectual exercise, of course, not necessarily with my own beliefs. But I have to go now. Demetrius is taking me out and he's due here in twenty minutes.'

  Sir Nigel wasn't laughing. 'Grace? May I end with a bit of fatherly advice?'

  'Of course,' she said warmly, loving him. He was a good man and he was entitled to his opinions. 'Go on.'

  'Just—be careful not to get pregnant. That could really complicate matters.'

  She had already thought of that. A hundred times. She had thought of getting herself the Pill, but… she hadn't got round to it. She said goodbye to her father and went to get ready for Demetrius. The conversation had depressed her.

  There was, she knew, a storm brewing. Last Saturday, Demetrius had lost patience with her for the first time. They had been here in the manor because they knew they could be alone except for Matty, who didn't count. Matty had been in bed for hours, Grace and Demetrius had been talking for hours when, inevita
bly, they had ended up together on the settee. It had been difficult then.

  She had actually fought him off the moment his hands had moved to her breasts. She had had to, for she had wanted him before he'd even touched her, had been looking at him from a distance of some yards and had been aroused purely by their conversation, an intense discussion which had stimulated more than her brain. It had got to the stage where just listening to him was a turn-on, he had been so intense about what he was saying, had looked so damned attractive.

  'Grace…' She hadn't anticipated what he was going to say when she had pushed his hands away. It hadn't been a pleasant scene. 'For God's sake, what's the matter? I've never known anyone like you, not since I was sixteen, anyhow!'

  'I'm sorry—'

  'You're not sorry. Like hell you're sorry. You're deliberately winding me up and—'

  'No!' She had been horrified. 'No, I'm not doing that. On the contrary, I'm trying to prevent it!'

  He had looked at her as if she was crazy. 'Then I suggest you keep your distance.'

  'I—perhaps you'd better go home now.'

  'Too right!' He had left then. Grace had stayed where she was, thinking. And getting nowhere. Some time ago he had suggested she make a decision. She still hadn't. And time was running out now.

  He had been fine when she saw him the following day, but… there was a storm brewing, she was sure of it.

  She was right. It happened on the following Sunday. They weren't alone in the house, but it made no difference. They were in Demetrius' house. The three of them had had a swim, Melissa had cooked dinner and went to bed around ten o'clock, leaving her brother and Grace alone in the sitting-room. They were curled up on the settee, a fourseater affair as wide as a single bed and just as soft. They were watching a play on TV when Melissa left them. At least, they were for half an hour or so.

  Then they were in one another's arms and Demetrius was kissing her hungrily. When his hands slid to her thighs, beneath the folds of her skirt, Grace didn't worry about it. Nor did she when he pushed the straps of her blouse aside, pulling it down. She was bra-less, she almost always was, and for a moment Demetrius just gazed at her, looking at her as if she were some kind of goddess. 'Grace! You are so incredibly beautiful…'

  She was too pleased to laugh. She wasn't beautiful, her body was good but she didn't think of herself as beautiful. Demetrius was of a different opinion; he was looking at her in wonder, his eyes glittering, black, hungry… His hands were still on her thighs and slid to her hips, pulling her towards him, positioning her body so she was lying down, shifting himself so he was on top of her, taking his weight on one elbow. It all happened so quickly, so easily, the way he took control, the way he covered the tip of her breast with his mouth.

  It was the first time he had done that, and it shocked her into a response—a response he didn't want. She tried to push him away. 'Demetrius—'

  He lost his temper, swiftly, completely and violently. He wrenched away from her, was on his feet in a flash, looking down at her and accusing her, demanding answers. 'I don't believe it, I just don't believe this! What the hell is the matter with you? What do you think I'm made of, what are you trying to do to me? What do you want of me, for God's sake?'

  She had covered herself up before his first question was out, as fast as she could. Tears had sprung to her eyes and there was no possibility of stopping them, there were too many emotions churning inside her, burning inside her. The tears welled up and trickled from her eyes. It made things worse.

  'Don't do that!' Demetrius yelled. He turned his back on her, every muscle of his body rigid, the fingers of one hand raking through his hair in frustration. 'I can't take it, Grace. I've had enough. What the hell do you want from me?'

  'Nothing.' It was hardly more than a whisper. She was scared, her insides knotted with tension. She was already on her feet and was groping for her bag at the side of the settee, knowing she had to get out of there. The trouble was that she couldn't see very well. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  'Answer me!' he bellowed. 'What the devil is going on here?'

  Enough, it was enough. She couldn't stand this, the sheer volume of his voice was enough to make her tremble. There was no consolation in seeing that his hands were trembling, too. She spun around and glared at him. 'Nothing! Leave me alone. I'm looking—where did you put my handbag? Find it, so I can get out of here!'

  'You're not going anywhere.' In a single stride, he crossed over to where she was standing, his hands clamping on the bare skin of her shoulders, shaking her. 'Answer me. I want some answers!'

  Grace's mind had gone blank. She couldn't remember any specific question, she couldn't think at all, he was shaking the sense out of her. 'I don't— I can't…' She started crying in earnest, great, gasping sobs.

  Suddenly the world was still again, the room was still, her head was cradled against his chest, his hand stroking her hair as he apologised over and over. 'Grace, Grace my darling, forgive me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Don't cry. Please stop that. I—I just…' He broke off, sighing, still holding her head against his chest. 'I just don't know what I'm going to do about you. You're driving me out of my mind.' Softly, irresistibly so, he added, 'Please, Grace, please tell me why you're so hung-up.'

  She pulled away, staring up at him. He was speaking from the heart, and she had to give him an answer, a straight answer. She owed it to him. 'I'm not hung-up, Demetrius. I'm just not the— the…' She couldn't go on, she didn't know how to say it.

  'What?' His eyes were pleading with her. 'What? Say it, Grace. Have you had a bad sexual experience with someone, is that it?'

  Oh, God! She looked away, then she turned away and kept her back to him. It was no use, she had to tell him. 'No. The problem is… well, half the problem is… I haven't had any experience at all.'

  She honestly thought she would die, the silence screamed at her so. It was awful, endless, saying so very much. It went on, it went on for so long that she started walking towards the door without looking back.

  'Grace, wait.'

  She stopped dead, going rigid. She had been unable to interpret what was behind his voice. She did not turn around, not until he told her to.

  'Look at me.' It came quietly, gently. 'Turn around, you idiot, and look at me.'

  She turned. Her face was pink, but she didn't even know it this time.

  'So what happens next?' he said, his eyes on hers.

  'I—don't know.'

  'Then let me make a suggestion. Marry me.'

  'What?' She thought she shouted the word; in fact, it hardly got past her lips. But Demetrius caught it.

  'I said, marry me. That's what you want, isn't it, Grace?'

  Stunned, she was so utterly stunned, so appalled, that she couldn't speak for a moment. 'Marry you! Why?' she demanded. 'So you can get your hands on my body? Legally? Legitimately? Is that how your mind is working? You must think me pathetic, pathetic!'

  He gaped at her. 'Pathetic? What the hell do you mean—'

  'Well, maybe I am!' She was shouting now. It wasn't just her hands that were trembling, her entire body was trembling. 'I've obviously given you more—pain—than I realised. I apologise for that. If you wanted to hurt me in return, you've succeeded. I might lack experience, Demetrius, but I do not lack intelligence. Do you think I'd marry someone, anyone, for such a stupid reason? Do you think I'm so "hung-up" that I have to marry before I can give myself to a man?' Her voice rose, almost hysterically. 'Why should I want to do that? Why should I—why should I do anything I don't want to do? Going to bed with you included. Stuff your stupid suggestion, stuff it back down your throat where it came from. Marriage is not what I want, to you or anyone else. You insult me, I realise full well what you're accusing me of. You think I've been angling for this, don't you? Holding you off like some Victorian maiden, in the hope that it would do the trick and get you to propose.'

  'Grace—'

  She jumped on him, hard and fast. He wasn't
going to get away with this. She was right and she knew it. 'Shut up! Don't insult me any further. I'm sick of being made to feel guilty, I'm sick of being pressurised, of your so-called patience with me. I'm nothing more than a challenge to you, I see that now. It's down to the old male ego thing, isn't it? Or your Greek blood or something. You're determined to have me no matter at what price!' Her handbag was almost under her nose, she spotted it on the sideboard and grabbed it.

  'Goddammit, Grace, will you listen to me?'

  'No!' She almost screamed at him. 'No, I've heard enough, I'm going.' She was already flinging the door open. 'Stay away from me. Find yourself another woman, one who won't try to manipulate and manoeuvre you into making a proposal of marriage. Ha! Marriage! The word wasn't even in your vocabulary an hour ago. My God, you really are frustrated, aren't you?'

  There was just time to see the expression on his face before she bolted. If he had been angry with her before, she couldn't think what word would describe how he felt in that moment. Nor did she stick around to find out. Even if she'd wanted to stay around, she wouldn't have dared.

  Fortunately, he didn't pursue her. Unfortunately, she didn't have her car with her. The nights were getting lighter with every passing day and she had walked to his house. It was chilly now, not that she registered the fact. Tears were pouring down her face and she was experiencing a frustration which was totally alien to her. It was physical, mental, emotional—everything combined.

  Hurrying home, blindly, stumbling from time to time, she felt in those moments that she hated Demetrius. And she hated herself. Why hadn't she simply behaved like the normal, red-blooded girl she actually was? Life would be so much simpler. Why did she have to complicate things?

  It wasn't until she got into bed that she began to calm down. She heard the telephone ringing and she ignored it, knowing it would be him, dreading it would be him.

  Hoping it was him.

  It kept ringing, and ringing. She put her head under her pillow and started crying again. Still the phone rang, and rang. She wanted to scream, she wanted to pick it up. She did neither, she just cried, quietly now, resignedly.