One Who Kisses

by Marjorie Lewty

'I mean, you haven't got anyone to turn to? If you need anything, or if you're in trouble of any kind?'

  'I don't see what it's got to do with you, Mr St Just.'

  'Piran—please. We're not strangers any more.' He was very serious now, not challenging, or ironic, or teasing. 'Polly, I know we've only known each other a couple of days. In effect I'm a stranger to you, but can you believe that I've been telling you the truth, as I know it?'

  He was so bland, so reasonable, but could she trust him entirely? She looked into his eyes, dark eyes meeting her own levelly and candidly. 'Yes,' she said slowly, 'I believe you have,' and the words seemed drawn out from her without her willing it.

  He drew in a breath and let it out again. 'Whew! That's a relief. It means that the first hurdle is crossed. Now, will you answer my question. Is there anyone special in your life? I think you know what I mean.'

  She looked away from him. Was she crazy if she answered the question, not knowing what all this was leading to? She only knew that when she looked into his face, so serious now, she couldn't believe anything really bad of him.

  She shook her head. 'No. I've got used to relying on myself. I was brought up in a children's home, I told you that. My father died when I was a baby. My mother—' she stopped, swallowed, and went on firmly '—my mother took me to the children's home one day when I was about Jules's age. She told me she would come back for me very soon.' She clenched her hands hard. 'She never came back. After a time I had to accept that she wasn't going to come back.'

  'You never found out why? You never asked?'

  'I—I couldn't talk about it.' The memory of that agony, all those years ago, was still with her. The bitter loss—the rejection—she had accepted it, as the years passed, but the wound had never really healed. She had just schooled herself not to think about it.

  'Please—' she said now, painfully, biting her lip hard, as tears welled into her eyes.

  He put out a hand and covered hers warmly. 'I'm sorry, Polly, I didn't mean to upset you.'

  'You haven't. It's just that—that I've never—'

  She had never spoken to anyone before like this. To have done it now—to have given her deepest feelings away to a stranger—it was unbelievable.

  She drew away slightly. 'I'm not looking for sympathy,' she said. 'I've managed very well on my own so far.'

  He smiled faintly. 'Yes, I believe that. You're an independent little cuss, that's one of the things I like about you, Polly. Thank you for telling me all this. It makes what I have to suggest to you a little easier.'

  Suddenly Polly had the strongest feeling of alarm. Whatever the job this man was going to offer her she ought not to accept it. Every hour she was in his company increased the helpless feeling of being drawn into something that was going to end in loss and black unhappiness.

  She swallowed. 'I think I should say, straight away, Mr St Just, that I really want a teaching job in a school. You're going to ask me to go on looking after Jules, aren't you, and I don't—'

  He leaned towards her and placed a hand over her lips. 'You do rush on so, don't you? Why don't you wait and hear what I have to say? Yes, I am asking you to go on caring for Jules and keeping him happy and occupied until I can ease him gently into the school "situation", as I believe the jargon has it. But that isn't the whole of what I'm asking.' He paused and looked straight at her, and she couldn't begin to read his expression. Then he picked up her left hand and grasped the sapphire and diamond ring between his finger and thumb, twisting it backwards and forwards thoughtfully. 'I'm suggesting that you let me put a plain gold band beside this, Polly. I'm asking you to be my wife.'

  The breath left her body. She sagged back against the velvet back of the sofa, deflated, staring at him out of wide blue eyes.

  'I can see I've surprised you,' he went on calmly. 'The idea occurred to me this morning. After I'd seen my acquaintance at the Embassy I phoned my solicitor in London and had a long chat with him about the possibility of my getting legal custody of Jules. Of course, I couldn't explain everything, but in effect he told me that it might depend to a great extent on what sort of a home I could offer the boy. I gather,' he went on dryly, 'that a bachelor establishment would not be looked upon with particular favour with the powers that be. Even a housekeeper or a governess wouldn't necessarily fill the bill. What they would be looking for would be a real home with a real family. So what do you think? Would you help me to provide that for him?'

  Polly found her voice. 'No—no, I couldn't. It's impossible.'

  'Why is it impossible?' he enquired reasonably.

  'We couldn't get married. We don't love each other.' Oh, but I could love you all too easily, a voice inside her wailed, and what would that bring but misery?

  'Love!' he said grimly. 'Love isn't all it's cracked up to be. I shan't fall in love again. Once was enough— I've been inoculated for life. But there's more to marriage than romantic love. Think how much this would bring to both us.' He leaned towards her, warming to his subject. 'For me it would mean that I could almost certainly get custody of Jules, as his mother appears to have deserted him. It would mean that I could leave him happily in your care and get on with my work, which I've neglected shamefully just recently. For you—well, at worst it would be a job— temporary, if that's how you wanted it. You'd be giving the boy security and I think that would give you pleasure and satisfaction. I've seen how he relies on you and turns to you all the time. And, not to put too fine a point on it, you'd be giving yourself security too, while you look around and find out what you really want to do with your life.'

  Polly shook her head. 'I can't take it in all at once,' she said. And then, partly to gain time, she added, 'What about Madame Brunet?'

  'You don't need to worry that kind little head of yours about Madame Brunet,' Piran told her. 'I have an agent in Paris—Paul Dufrais—who looks after my affairs here—has done ever since Maurice died. It was he who informed me of my sister-in-law's remarriage. Paul will keep in touch with Madame and see that she has somewhere to go and someone to look after her if necessary, when she comes out of hospital. Her precious daughter has been told of the position, but I'd be surprised if she comes hurrying back from the U.S. She'll leave everything to me, as she has done before. So—what do you think of my plan, Polly? Will you give it some thought? You don't have to decide straight away, you know. Let me know when we get back to London tomorrow.'

  'I—I don't see how I can agree,' Polly began. 'Marriage shouldn't be a—a business contract, with each of us calculating how much we would gain out of it.'

  He smiled at her ruefully. 'You're sweet, Polly. And kind. And pretty. And you have a perfect body—I know because I've seen it. I wish I could tell you that I'd fallen in love with you, but I can't. At least I've been honest.'

  'Yes,' Polly sighed. She wished she could be equally honest with him, but that was out of the question.

  Piran stood up and took both her hands, pulling her to her feet. 'Sleep on it,' he said quietly. 'And remember, we have a good deal to offer each other, even if it isn't undying love and happiness-ever-after. Goodnight, chérie.' He leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead. 'There!' he smiled, drawing away. 'That restraint is a proof of my good faith. Sleep well, Polly.'

  He went out and closed the door.

  Sleep well! Polly scarcely slept at all. She tried to persuade herself that she was turning over Piran's extraordinary proposal—weighing up the pros and cons for herself, while also taking into account young Jules's welfare which, she was forced to admit, had quickly become a very important matter to her. There is nothing so strong as fellow-feeling to arouse the deepest sympathy. 'I know how you feel,' when it is said truthfully, provides the link between human beings that makes them human. Polly didn't put it in so many words, but she was dimly aware that by helping Jules she would also be helping to heal her own wound of so long ago.

  But marriage to Piran St Just? To this fabulously attractive man who would merely be using her for his o
wn ends, as he had frankly, almost brutally, admitted? There was no way she could think reasonably about that. She only knew that when she was in his company everything was fresh and shining, like a new-minted coin. When he went away it was as if a shadow had fallen across her eyes, and when she saw him again her whole body leapt in wild response. Just the sound of his voice sent tremors coursing through her. There wasn't a moment when he wasn't in her mind, and when she was near him she had this insane longing to touch him, to go into his arms. If this was love, then she was deep, deep in love with the man. And all this after only a couple of days! How would it be if she were living with him? If they were sharing days together and—face it, Polly—nights too? She kept on hearing his voice saying, '—and you have a perfect body, I know because I've seen it,' in that quizzical, cool voice. Oh no, he didn't need to keep on stressing the fact that he wasn't in love with her—that was all too painfully obvious. He would sleep with her if he felt like it. In that, too, he would use her for his own purpose. There would be no lovely sharing of tenderness, no fusion of mutual passion. Only—for him—the satisfaction of a physical need. And for her? She couldn't begin to imagine.

  From somewhere there came into her mind a saying that she had heard somewhere: 'There is always one who kisses and one who proffers the cheek.'

  She shivered and pulled the bedclothes closer round her, although the night was warm. She must decide— she must decide.

  What she didn't know was that she had already decided.

  Heathrow seemed even busier than when Polly had started out on her holiday, not much more than a week ago. But then she had been alone. Now she had Piran beside her, organising everything, and Jules clinging to her hand trustingly, his dark eyes wide with wonder at this new experience, but not, Polly was relieved to note, frightened any longer.

  There was a long wait at Customs, but at last they were through and Piran was looking for a taxi. They were going, he had informed Polly, to his godmother's home in Hammersmith. 'Her name is Alice Ashton, she's an artist—a portrait painter—and she has a studio that's in constant danger of falling into the river.' His lips twisted with affectionate amusement, and Polly, who had got to the stage when she could sometimes interpret his expression, had the feeling that this godmother of his was someone special to him.

  The taxi dropped them in an alleyway and Piran carried his bags and Polly's while she managed the small holdall she had packed with Jules's clothes and' one or two books that he had pleaded to be allowed to take with him. They passed under an archway, through a covered passage and out again on to a wharf where the Thames washed against stone walls that looked as if they had stood there for hundreds of years. A small boat was tied up against the wall and on the far side of the river a line of willows stood vaguely outlined in the gathering mist. Polly shivered in the damp, cool air.

  'Not far now.' Piran glanced over his shoulder to where Polly and Jules were trailing behind. 'Tired, you two?'

  'We're O.K.,' Polly told him, but she glanced down at Jules's bent head and dragging feet. He had been over-excited on the plane journey and now the reaction was setting in. The strangeness of everything was beginning to have its effect on him, and she only hoped that Piran's godmother would prove sympathetic and understanding.

  'These are all artists' studios.' Piran stopped outside a cluster of buildings on his right and took a key from his pocket. 'Alice loves it here, she wouldn't work anywhere else.' He paused for a moment, his eyes on Polly's pale face. 'You'll like Alice,' he said, 'she's a grand person.'

  He pushed open the door, disclosing a steep flight of wooden steps, and called upwards, 'Hi! Anyone in? We're here.'

  A figure appeared at the top of the stairs. From below she looked to Polly to be tall and gaunt, with a voluminous smock flowing round her and greying hair that spiked untidily from her head. A voice, deep for a woman, called gruffly and joyfully, 'Splendid! Come on up.'

  Piran turned and lifted Jules in his arms, carrying him up the steep steps. He put him down in front of his godmother. 'Success! Success!' His voice was triumphant. 'I return with a nephew—and what's more, a fiancée.' He put his arm round Polly's shoulder and drew her forward. 'Alice, this is Polly. Polly—Alice.'

  Alice Ashton put one paint-stained hand to her forehead and regarded her godson in comical bewilderment. 'My dear, you should have warned me!' She turned to Polly. 'Forgive me, Polly, this is something of a bombshell. But a very pleasant bombshell, I hasten to add.' She had a wide, humorous mouth which was smiling at Polly now in such an easy, friendly way that Polly found herself relaxing and grinning back as she said, 'I feel a little shattered myself just at present.'

  'And this is Jules. How do you do, Jules?' Alice offered her hand to the little boy, who grasped it politely and said, 'Very well, thank you.'

  Alice looked up at Piran. 'Enchanting!' she murmured, and he nodded in a pleased way.

  They all went into an enormous room, part of which was furnished as a studio and part as a living room. A wide window overlooked the river and the variety of craft passing along it. Jules was immediately fascinated and stood peering out at a canopied pleasure boat, probably returning from Kew. Alice led the way to the far end of the room where armchairs were arranged round a log fire burning in an open grate. Piran leaned an elbow on the mantlepiece, smiling down at this godmother with a wicked smile. 'Surprised you, did we?'

  'Surprised! I need to get my breath back. You wretch, why couldn't you have warned me?' She turned to Polly. 'There don't seem any appropriate words for a situation like this. I can only say Welcome, my dear, and I'm simply delighted. Now sit down, both of you, and I'll make tea and you can tell me all your plans. You're not going to dash down to Dorset straight away, are you, Piran? It would be lovely if you could all stay here for as long as you like. I've got a quite respectable spare room, Polly, that you could share with Jules, and Piran would have to shake down on the studio couch in here. What about it?'

  Answering for them both, Piran said, 'That's very handsome of you, Alice dear, and—speaking for us both—may I say we'll be delighted to accept your offer. As for our plans—well, we want to get home as soon as possible, but we think it would be rather jolly to have the wedding here in London, where you—as my nearest and dearest—could be present. I'm not quite sure how long notice one has to give, but I should think that if we got going tomorrow we should be able to arrange the wedding for about three days hence!' He turned to Polly and put an arm tightly round her shoulder. 'How about it, darling? That wouldn't be hurrying you too much, would it?'

  Polly stood holding on to the back of a chair as her knees suddenly seemed to disappear. She was vaguely conscious of the happily untidy room around her, with its canvases stacked against the wall, of the smell of oil-paint and the apple logs burning on the fire; vaguely conscious that both Piran and his godmother were turned towards her, waiting for her reply.

  It's too quick, she thought desperately. I haven't had time to decide and now he's tricked me into this, it's not fair. It's just like his arrogant assumption that everyone will agree to do as he wants. I don't know— oh, I don't know—! Plain common sense demanded that she should wait longer before she made up her mind.

  Jules came running across the room, his face beaming. 'I like it here,' he announced. 'Please can we stay here, Aunt Polly? Uncle Piran?' He looked pleadingly from one to the other of them.

  Piran's dark, hooded eyes were boring down into Polly's, and there was a questioning half-smile on his lips. She was conscious of nothing but the two of them standing there, linked together in some strange fashion—but not by love.

  'What do you say, Polly? Jules and I are agreed that we should accept Alice's invitation and thrust ourselves upon her until our wedding. I think that would be a delightful idea, don't you, sweetheart?'

  The dark eyes were still holding hers, turning her bones to water. Her mind was incapable of thought; she only knew that whatever the risk she couldn't say the words that would mean the end
of this extraordinary situation. The prospect of never seeing him again if she did was totally unbearable. She drew in a quick breath and commonsense went out of the window.

  'Oh yes,' she said. And turning to Alice, 'Thank you so much. I think that would be a delightful idea.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  'Turn round a bit further. That's right—hold it there.' Alice, a pincushion beside her on the floor, knelt beside Polly at the living-room end of the big studio, making final adjustments to the outfit that Polly would wear for her wedding tomorrow.

  Polly stood as still as she could (which wasn't very still as she was suffering from acute nervous jitters) while the soft material took its final shape around her slender body. Alice had come with her yesterday to one of London's most prestigious stores, and when Polly appeared from the fitting room wearing the suit of softest delft-blue corduroy with a shimmering frill of white crepe-de-chine showing at the neck against the delicate fragility of her skin, Alice had clapped her hands together and declared immediately that they need look no further. 'It would have to have a few minor alterations, but I'd gladly undertake to do those this afternoon. Don't you agree it's just perfect, Polly?'

  Polly had regarded her reflection in the long, gilt-framed mirror dubiously. The waisted jacket emphasised her youthful figure and the full skirt swung round her slim legs, making her ankles appear even more fragile. 'You don't think it makes me look a bit—sort of—young and—well—ingenuous?'

  'It makes you look delicious,' Alice declared emphatically. 'My godson will want to eat you up on the spot!'

  Polly, who, after two days and a half in Alice's company was beginning to get used to her colourful and sometimes abrupt mode of expression, smiled faintly. It would be nice, she thought, if she could believe that. But she had grave doubts about whether Piran would even notice what she was wearing when they faced the registrar side by side tomorrow morning. Ever since she had agreed—or been tricked into agreeing—to marry him, he had seemed to lose interest in her. There was nothing she could put her finger on, he was polite and reasonably thoughtful. But the comradeship, the sense of sharing an important enterprise, had dwindled away. He had left her with Alice most of the time—'to arrange about clothes and things', he said vaguely, while he took Jules around with him to show him the sights of London. Jules seemed quite happy to be with his uncle now and, although he was always pleased to return to Polly, he didn't cling to her as he had done at the beginning.