Sweet Compulsion

by Woolf, Victoria

  The small church had some impressive stone monuments, brass plaques glinting in the sunlight. When she had arranged the flowers she walked around the church, her own bright head like brass, as she read the names.

  Rainbow light filtered through the stained glass

  windows, falling in shifting patterns of brightness over the pews. The smell of dust and the flowers, the chill coldness of the stone under her feet, were nostalgic of her childhood. She went out into the churchyard with its white tombstones and grey pigeons and looked curiously along the narrow village street.

  She was turning to make the half mile walk back to the house when a bright red sports car pulled up with a jerk beside her, and a grinning, friendly face appeared over the lowered window.

  `Need a lift ?' asked the young owner.

  Marcy gave him a thoughtful scrutiny. He was in his twenties, a rather gaudy yellow shirt open at his slim neck, his eyes full of brown gaiety and recklessness.

  `Where to ?' she asked.

  `Aunt Anne's,' he said mischievously, grinning, a lock of bronze brown hair falling over his temples, watching the look of surprise and puzzlement coming into her eyes.

  `Who are you ?' she asked, staring at him.

  `I'm Perry Horsnall,' he said lightly. `Randal's cousin. And you're the mysterious and magical Miss Marcy Campion who took on the might of the Saxton Empire and beat them hollow by snatching their emperor from under their noses.'

  Marcy laughed, instantly and childishly. 'You're an idiot,' she grinned, but she flung her plastic bucket into the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

  He dramatically started the engine and raced away

  down the road. Sideways glances inspected her from head to foot in her silky peacock blue shift which, for all its expensive allure, merely enforced the effect of her youth and faint wildness.

  `That's Anthea's dress,' he observed. 'I've seen her wear it.'

  `Go to the top of the class,' said Marcy. 'Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to make personal remarks ?'

  `Frequently,' he nodded. 'All the same, how come you're wearing it? She isn't here, is she ?'

  No, I think she's still in Switzerland,' Marcy agreed. 'Randal lent some of her clothes to me. He didn't like my own.'

  `Not surprised,' said Perry frankly. 'You don't have a London accent. How come you were living in that dump, anyway ?'

  `You didn't read your papers closely enough,' she said reprovingly. 'My home was in Cornwall. I just inherited the London house.'

  `Ah,' he said. 'I've got it. Randal's in Canada, isn't he ?'

  Marcy flushed. Every day postcards had been arriving with brief, almost remote messages from him, as if they were strangers.

  `Yes,' she said quietly. 'He goes on to Japan soon.' Perry grinned at her. 'I don't believe he's going to marry you. You look about sixteen.'

  `I'll tell Chumble how rude you are, and she won't let you have any cake for tea,' she said.

  He gave a roar of laughter. 'Get on with Chumble, do you? Oh, lord, that tears it! There's just one

  person in this world I'm frightened of, and that's Chumble. She gave me nightmares when I was a kid—God, I was glad she wasn't my nanny. When Anthea came to tea Chumble used to look at me as if I was a caterpillar she was going to step on.'

  `I can imagine why,' said Marcy. 'You aren't coming to stay, are you?'

  `If Aunt Anne lets me,' he said. 'My father sent me with a box of books he found at an auction. Dull old horsy books. She'll love them. It may put her in enough of a good mood to ask me to stay.'

  He roared down the drive and pulled up outside the house with a violent jerk. Marcy gave him a frosty glare. 'Thanks for the lift, and in future I'll walk. It's safer.'

  She went into the house and he followed her after a moment, staggering under the weight of a huge box of books. Lady Anne appeared, astonished by the sight of him.

  `Perry! What on earth are you doing here ?'

  He gratefully dropped the box and leaned, puffing against the wall. For you, Aunt Anne, from Dad with love. Horse books.'

  `You're badly out of condition,' Marcy told him. `You puff worse than Ladybird.'

  Lady Anne knelt down and opened the box, exclaiming with delight over the contents. 'How kind of dear Peter to think of me. Good heavens, this one is a very early edition . .

  `Aunt Anne, can I stay for a day or two ?' Perry asked idly. 'I'm on holiday now and I can't afford to go away this year.'

  `Of course; dear,' said Lady Anne absently, taking out more of the books. Then she looked up in alarm. `If Chumble says you can.'

  Perry looked alarmed. He gazed at Marcy imploringly. 'You ask Chumble, there's a dear . . . she terrifies me.'

  `Ask her yourself,' said Marcy.

  Lady Anne was deep in the box of books, so Perry seized Marcy by the arm and marched her towards the kitchen, hissing, 'Don't be a bad sport. She'll say yes if you ask her, and I'm stony broke.'

  `Where do you work ?' she asked him.

  `Where do you think ?' he asked gloomily. 'I'm one of the slaves in the Saxton saltmine, but I'm only earning a crust.'

  `Which part of the saltmine ?' she enquired.

  `Legal department,' he said glumly. 'I was fool enough to take a law degree and for my sins I spend all day poring over the most atrociously dull documents under the very stern eye of Miss Julia Hume . .

  Marcy halted, looking at him sharply. 'Was it her idea you should come down here ?'

  Perry's open, frank face flushed crimson. 'Oh, lord,' he said in horrified tones. He gave her a gloomy look. `I suppose now I've let the cat out of the bag with a vengeance. Julia warned me to be casual and cunning . . .' His mouth grimaced. 'You're quick-witted. How on earth did you jump to that conclusion?'

  `I've met her,' Marcy explained, 'She detests me.'

  `Are you surprised ? She's been toiling around after Randal for centuries and you just walked in and

  pinched him in five minutes,' Perry said. He sighed.

  `I suppose bang goes my chance of staying here now.'

  `Why not ?' said Marcy. 'It makes no difference to me.'

  `It doesn't ?' He gazed at her in astonishment. `No,' he said wryly, 'I don't suppose it does. Why Julia imagines any girl would look at me if she could have Randal I don't know.'

  Marcy laughed. 'She must be desperate.'

  `Oh, thanks,' said Perry, offended. 'I know I'm not exactly Prince Charming, but there's no need to be unpleasant about it.'

  `Are you really hard up ?' she asked, eyeing his clothes and thinking of his expensive car.

  `You'd better believe it. Every penny I earn goes in five minutes, and I somehow seem to get worse. My car eats money and my girl-friends have very expensive tastes.'

  `You've got girl-friends ?' Marcy mocked.

  He grinned. 'Piranhas, all of them. They strip me bare and then vanish.'

  `Poor Perry,' she said. 'Come and see Chumble.'

  Chumble eyed him distastefully. 'What on earth are you wearing Mr. Perry? It looks like a tablecloth.'

  He looked at his eye-catching yellow shirt uneasily. `It's silk,' he said hopelessly.

  `Very vulgar,' said Chumble. 'You wouldn't catch Mr Randal wearing anything like that.'

  Marcy perched on the edge of the table. 'He's broke, Chumble,' she told her.

  `I'm not surprised. Yellow silk shirts. Well!'

  `He wants to stay for a few days,' Marcy added. But it will be too much work for you, won't it, even if I help out ?'

  Chumble looked affronted. 'I'm not in my dotage yet, miss. When I'm senile, I'll tell you so, don't worry. Of course Mr Perry can stay.' She gave him a sharp, reproving look. `If he behaves himself like a young gentleman.'

  `Oh, I will,' Perry promised, beaming.

  `Humm,' said Chumble disagreeably.

  Perry's presence made a difference at once to Marcy's life. He made a threesome during the morning rides, easily and capably riding the tall, bay gelding which belonged
to Randal, and Marcy found him an excellent teacher. When she was not helping around the house and garden, he taught her some easy jumps in a flat meadow at the back of the house, shouting abusively at her when she landed badly, and demonstrating with careless grace exactly how she should do something.

  In the evenings, instead of embroidery, she and Perry played cards and quarrelled noisily over them, gambling for matches. Lady Anne ignored their nursery squabbles as she embroidered, but Chumble would come in and eye them broodingly. 'Time for bed, Miss Marcy,' she would announce, as if longing to smack both of them.

  Perry took her for rides in his sports car, driving with wild speed around the narrow country lanes, telling her stories about Anthea as a little girl. 'Is she pretty ?' Marcy asked, and Perry made a peculiar face.

  `She's . . . oh I don't know. She's Anthea.'

  His tone made her laugh. 'You know her better than Randal ? Perry grimaced. `Randal's a pirate, a chip of the old block. I wouldn't turn my back on him for a second.' And he told her stories about the foupder of the family who had built his fortunes by nefarious, suspected means. 'I know people who think Randal's just a playboy,' he ended grimly. 'They just don't know him. He's ruthless, tough and bloody unpleasant if he gets mad.'

  `Yes, I can believe he might be,' Marcy agreed solemnly, her small face filled with thought.

  Perry had been at the house for a week when he and Marcy were playing croquet on the old lawn at the back of the house, with the fragrance of the roses filling the warm air, squabbling in their way over the rules of the game.

  Marcy threw down her mallet, announcing that she would not play with a cheat any more.

  As she stalked away, Perry caught her hand, laughing, Tax, Marcy, pax, I won't cheat anymore.'

  `Liar,' she said, beginning to laugh at the expression of cunning on his face.

  Perry bent forward and kissed her lightly. `Promise,' he said, then he looked down at her, almost curiously. 'You're a very pretty girl, Marcy,' he said, kissing her again, lingeringly. She stood still under his kiss, wondering why it gave her none of the strange, nervous excitement Randal's kisses gave her. Her wild, marmalade mop of hair blazed in the sunlight above the slightness of her

  body in the clinging peacock blue silk she wore. Turning, pushing Perry lightly but not disagreeably away, she faced Randal, and felt a sharp plunge of the heart as she saw the look on his face.

  Randal was holding a branch of a green-laced lilac tree in his tense hand as he stared at the two young people. He had been watching for a moment or two, long enough to feel the ease and companionship between them, the amiable, carefree friendship which the closeness of their age gave them. He had been childishly jealous of Perry from the first, bitterly envious of his young cousin's ability to meet Marcy on such ground. But when Perry bent to kiss her his whole body had blazed into savage jealousy. He stared at them, narrow-eyed, intentionally menacing, filled with a primitive desire to do something violent.

  Perry dragged his feet, flushed and awkward, petrified of his cousin's expression. 'Oh, hallo, Randal . . . welcome back. I . . . I'll go and tell Chumble you're here.' He rushed past him, avoiding meeting the dangerous blue eyes.

  Marcy quietly met Randall's glare. He released the branch of the lilac tree and slowly walked over to her. She did not move or look frightened, staring at him almost assess ingly.

  Randal's long hand lifted her chin. The other carefully brought out a white handkerchief and brushed it across her lips, erasing Perry's kiss firmly.

  `What's he doing here ?' he asked her tersely. `Staying for a holiday,' Marcy said steadily. The long fingers tightened on her chin. Was that

  the first time he'd kissed you ?'

  Marcy felt a trembling in the pit of her stomach. `You don't own me, Randal,' she said huskily. 'We agreed that I made you no promises, remember ?' Why did she feel suddenly so frightened ? she asked herself.

  Randal jerked her forward into his arms and for the first time a. bitter, punitive violence entered into his kiss. He bent her wild bright head back, burning her mouth with the savagery he felt, his arms an unbreakable barrier around her, his lips hard and seeking. Marcy struggled, impotent, frightened. Randal would not release her, kissing her with crushing hungriness, bruising her soft mouth. Marcy whimpered under the fierceness of his mouth, pleading with him. He drew a shaken breath, pulling back, and she turned to run, but tripped over her croquet mallet and fell headlong lying face down in the grass.

  Randal sank down beside her on his knees, lifting her, turning her over gently. The smell of warm, crushed grass filled her nostrils. Randal grimaced, looking at her terrified face.

  `I'm sorry,' he said roughly. 'I'm not going to hurt you, Marcy.'

  She looked at him warily, her lashes fluttering, the gilt tips lying softly along her flushed cheek.

  Randal made a sound in the back of his throat and began to kiss them, his lips gliding softly over her warm skin. Marcy relaxed. The touch of his mouth, the restless pressure of his hands on her back, were sensually arousing. Without understanding how she felt, she lifted her mouth, and with a groan Randal took it, parting her lips softly.. Something strange

  seemed to be happening to her. She kept her eyes shut tight, her slender body arching towards him, quivering in the hard, desiring hands. .Her hands slid round his neck. She kissed him back eagerly, and felt her own breathing begin to quicken. She could not halt the trembling in her limbs. She was hot and shuddering as Randal moved away, and with closed eyes, she moved instinctively after him, her mouth lifted in unsated need of his kiss.

  Randal stared so long at her face that she opened her eyes and shyly met his look. Thickly, he said, `Marcy, have you missed me ?'

  Very pink, she nodded dumbly.

  His hands framed her face, his thumbs pushing into her burning bright hair. 'Marcy, I love you,' he whispered,

  `Randal . . .' Her voice was its own answer, her eyes closing in surrender.

  Randal lifted her against his chest, 'holding her, the small face pressed against his shoulder. Into her hair he whispered, 'Darling, oh, my darling, don't make · me wait for years for you . .

  She had ceased to consider consequences. She lay against him, utterly melting and pliable, pressing her cheek against his body.

  He ran tender, possessive hands over her slender body, his skin warm upon her through the clinging peacock blue of the silk. 'Answer me, Marcy,' he asked into her ear, his lips playing with her small white lobe.

  He caught a whisper but so muffled and incoherent

  that he could make nothing of it, and pulled her away to look down into her flushed face.

  `What did you say, darling ?'

  She slowly opened her eyes. 'You don't play fair, Randal,' she said. 'How can I make up my mind when I feel like this ?'

  His eyes were eager. 'Like what, Marcy?'

  She looked uneasy under his searching gaze. 'I don't know. You make me feel . . . as if I was standing on the beach and a great wave came and knocked me off my feet. I can't think when I'm off balance like this.'

  He grimaced. 'Marcy . . .' His sigh was grim. 'Very well, I'll go on waiting, but you're trying my patience, darling.'

  She looked at him through her lashes. 'We agreed I should go to drama school.'

  He gave her a disturbing smile. 'That was before,' he murmured.

  `Before what ?' she asked innocently.

  Randal's smile was triumphant. 'Before I was sure you were beginning to want me,' he said in satisfaction.

  `Oh,' she said, annoyed. 'Is that what you think, Randal ?' And her flushed cheeks grew more scarlet.

  He touched them with the back of his hand lovingly. 'You aren't going to pretend you don't know ?' he teased.

  Her eyes were frank. 'I don't know anything, Randal.'

  `Then I shall have to teach you,' he said, with

  immense pleasure. He lifted her to her feet, brushing grass stains off her silken skirt. 'You look as if you've been wrestling on the lawn,'
he said, grinning. `Chumble will scold like mad.'

  `Oh, Randal, I like Chumble,' she said.

  He grilled at her. 'She likes you. In fact, I came back early because she sent me a telegram.'

  Marcy looked at him in bewilderment. 'A telegram? Why ?'

  His face darkened. `Chumble was suspicious of Perry's arrival while you were here. She thought I ought to know.' He bent a cool blue gaze on her face. `She's just been telling me that you and Perry get on like a house on fire.'

  Marcy looked at him warily. 'We do,' she admitted nervously. 'I like Perry.'

  Randal watched her penetratingly. 'He's not much older than you are, is he ?'

  `I think he's much younger,' said Marcy, with a faint giggle.

  Randal's eyes relaxed in their watchful stare. 'He is a bit of an idiot.'

  Marcy laughed. 'That's an understatement! He's a schoolboy at heart. Oh, but he's fun, Randal. We've had such fun, riding, playing cards, quarrelling . . . I never had a brother, and Perry is a surprise to me.'

  `So long as he stays in the fraternal class,' Randal murmured. 'Brothers don't generally kiss their sisters.'

  Marcy blushed.

  He lifted her chin with a commanding finger. 'Did you like it when Perry kissed you?'

  .

  She met his eyes defiantly. `Do you want me to say I didn't? Well, I did.'

  Randal's face stiffened. 'Did you, Marcy ?' His tone held ice.

  `I like being kissed in a friendly way,' she said frankly. 'Perry is nice and he kisses nicely. I think you're being silly, Randal. I never made a fuss when you kissed me, did I? That first time ?'

  He stared at her, his brows drawing together. `That's different.'

  `Why?' she asked pointedly.

  `I'm in love with you, Marcy,' he said soberly.

  `But I wasn't in love with you,' she said, her face defiant.

  That strange eagerness came into his face. 'And now, Marcy ?' he asked quickly.

  She bit her lip. 'You're rushing me again, Randal. Please, don't . . . give me room to breathe.'