'Aren't you being rather brutal with that comb?' he said in an amused voice. 'Here, let me.' He took it from her hand and began to draw the comb with gentle, rhythmical strokes through her wet hair. Polly stood very still, willing herself with all her strength not to move closer to him, every nerve in her body quivering with sheer sensual desire, heat spreading upward from her toes to the top of her head.
With an enormous effort she moved away and smoothed her wet hair down with her hands. 'Thanks,' she said coolly. 'It will soon dry—I'll wash the salt out of it when I get back to the house.'
His look was fixed on her quizzically. 'I'm glad we decided on that blue swimsuit,' he said. 'It's the right colour for you and it sets off your charming shape better than a bikini would have done.' His eyes moved over her. 'A woman should always leave something to the imagination. Or perhaps I should say, in this case, to the memory?' His eyes, his voice, were teasing.
He'd made it quite plain that last night's lovemaking was no more than a diversion to him. He needn't go to the trouble of underlining it, Polly thought crossly. She threw a towel round her shoulders and lifted her chin high as she marched ahead of him up the beach.
Back at the house, Piran went off to his room—to do a couple of hours' work before supper, he said. Jules was tired, but begged to be allowed to stay up for supper, which suited Polly very well as she didn't relish the prospect of being alone with Piran. He might be able to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night, but she found it utterly impossible not to remember, every time she looked at his strong hard body and sensitive brown fingers.
'All right,' Polly told Jules, 'you can stay up, so long as you have a rest now. You didn't have any rest after lunch, you know—we went off to buy our beach things.'
Jules allowed himself to be settled down on his bed with his dinosaur book. 'When shall we go to see the dinosaur's footsteps?' he enquired hopefully.
'When Uncle Piran isn't quite so busy with his writing,' Polly promised somewhat vaguely, and closed the door on him.
Mrs Joe had prepared a cold supper, so there was nothing for Polly to do at the moment. She would, she thought, have a look round the rest of the house and see if she could find a smaller bedroom for herself, as far away from Piran's room as possible.
It turned out to be quite easy. There was a charming small room two doors away, round the corner of the gallery. It was modestly furnished with a single bed, a combined built-in wardrobe and dressing table, and a cubicle shower. This, Polly decided, would suit her very well. An uncharacteristically cynical thought flashed across her mind that it was just the kind of room a nanny-governess would expect.
Very quietly, so that neither Piran nor Jules would hear, she stole back to the big guest-room and transferred her things. She took the sheets off the double bed and folded them neatly for the laundry. There seemed something symbolic about that, but she didn't let herself dwell on it. When it was all done she took a shower and washed her hair. She did her face in a leisurely fashion and selected a pretty yellow dress with long full sleeves gathered into the wrist, and a wide black kid belt that nipped in her slender waist. The long mirror-door of the wardrobe told her that she looked attractive. Not in Esmée Clark's league, of course, but that didn't matter as she wasn't competing. Piran could have Esmée, if that was what he wanted. The sure thing, she assured herself with a determined tilt to her small rounded chin, was that he couldn't have them both.
Jules's bedtime was eight o'clock. Polly came downstairs at a quarter to nine to find Piran in the snug sorting through records.
'Jules is all tucked up—will you go and say goodnight to him?'
'Surely,' he said immediately. And then, 'I thought we might have some music afterwards—what's your fancy?' He indicated the record cabinet. 'Have a look while I'm upstairs.'
Polly said hastily, 'I must clear away the supper things and wash up. Mrs Joe can't come in tomorrow morning.' A cosy session with Piran, listening to music, was the very last thing she could face.
He shook his head at her, smiling. 'Going all domestic on me, are you? I can't allow that. We'll do the washing up together afterwards if we must.' He went to the door and turned. 'Now, don't move from this room until I come back, and that's an order!'
Polly wished he wouldn't smile at her like that; it made her knees go weak. She sank down into a leather-covered chair beside the hi-fi and ran her eyes down the index of records, seeing nothing but the bold black handwriting that had to be Piran's. Decisive— self-confident—sure of getting what he wanted. You didn't have to be an expert to see that in his handwriting.
She was still examining it when he came back into the room. He came and stood near to her, towering over her, and she got to her feet nervously. 'Aren't you going to write tonight?'
He didn't reply, but stood staring at her, frowning. Just as she couldn't bear to hold his gaze any longer he rapped out sharply. 'Why have you moved your room?'
'Oh, that,' she said coolly. 'I told you the guest room was too large for me. I found a smaller one that will suit me very well.'
In his most dictatorial voice Piran said, 'I don't wish you to have that room. You'll oblige me by taking your things back.'
Polly shook her head. 'I've told you, I would prefer it. I don't care for the large guest room. It—it overpowers me.' And not only the room, she added to herself. The knowledge that you are there, on the other side of the wall, is infinitely more overpowering.
She could see the anger gathering in his face, in the dark, forbidding brows, the hard line of his mouth. He looked just as he had looked that first evening when she had walked into Madame Brunet's apartment with Jules and found him there. He said between his teeth, 'Will you do as I ask and move your things back?'
'No,' she said firmly, but she was shaking inside and she felt a little sick at the unexpectedness of this attack.
He turned abruptly. 'Very well, then, I will,' he said, and strode out of the room.
She wouldn't—she couldn't allow him to dictate to her like this. He hadn't even given her a reason— merely issued an order. Before she had time to let her fear overcome her she ran after him up the stairs. As she passed Jules's room she glanced inside, to see him fast asleep already. She closed the door gently and went on into the small room beyond. Piran had pulled a sheet from the bed and was sweeping her toilet things off the dressing table into it.
Polly saw red. 'H-how dare you?' she stammered, and grabbed his arm. The brushes and pots were scattered on the carpet as he dropped the sheet.
'Oh, I dare—I dare do a lot more than this,' he rasped, and he took her wrist in a steely grip that sent pain shooting right up her arm. 'Come along, tell me the truth. Why did you want to move out of the room next to mine?' His face was so close to hers that his features were out of focus as she stared up at him. Only the dark, dangerous glint in his eyes made her blood run cold.
'I—I told you, the room was too large for me. I was afraid of having another nightmare.' She took a quick breath and rushed on, 'I hate feeling I'm not in control of myself.'
He moved away a little, so as to be able to study her face, but didn't release his hold on her wrist. 'So that's it, is it? You didn't want to put any more ideas into my head—you invite me into your bed in no uncertain manner and then you move away from me as far as you can get. What exactly are you playing at, Polly?' His voice was as nasty as he could make it.
'N-nothing,' she said miserably. 'I just thought it would be better if we didn't clutter up this situation with anything—intimate.'
'Really?' he sneered. 'You didn't enjoy last night, was that it? You were disappointed? You'd hoped for—how did you so aptly put it?—a brigand chief for a husband? What did you expect of the marriage, for God's sake?' He was working himself up into a naming rage now, shooting the questions at her one after the other, giving her no time to reply. 'Did you have some romantic idea that I might fall in love with you after all—did you want a husband who would ride u
p on a black charger and carry you off to ravish you? Was that the idea in your silly little head?' he shouted.
Polly put her free hand over her ear. 'Oh, stop— please stop, let me explain!' she wailed. She would have told him about Esmée, about her disgust at the idea of sharing him with another woman; she would have tried to make him understand, but he was long past reasoning with. He was shaking with anger now, almost out of control.
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but it was hopeless. Instead, she found her other arm gripped as he began to force her back towards the bed. 'You want to be ravished, do you?' he grated out. 'Is that what you want? Well, let's see if I can oblige you!'
The whole room was spinning round in Polly's outraged senses. She struggled with all her strength, but she might have been a small animal in the grip of a beast of the forest for all the good it did her. She was pressed down against the mattress and held there with one powerful hand, while Piran's other hand tore the yellow dress from her shoulders. She heard the thin material rip and felt his mouth hot against her breast as the dress opened and fell apart.
'Is this better, then, my darling wife? Is this what satisfies you?'
'No—please—' she moaned, as the rest of her clothing was stripped from her, but he took no notice. He pinned her down with one knee while he shrugged off his own clothes and then his weight was on her, heavy, merciless.
This was no gentle wooing as last night had been. This was all careless, thrusting, brutal masculine virility, going on and on until she cried out with the pain that was almost pleasure. Then suddenly she found resistance ceasing, felt inside her a hot mounting tide of passion that took her over completely, so that she was caught in a leaping moment of ecstasy before she collapsed limply and lay half-sobbing on the bed. She felt Piran's arm still resting on her, heard his breathing gradually quieten until he lay still beside her, very close in the small bed.
With a tremendous effort she slid away from him and pulled a nylon wrapper round her naked body. The glare from the overhead light showed her her reflection in the long mirror, her face flushed and blotchy, her hair in wild disarray. She crawled into the shower room and let the cool water splash over her hot skin until she felt blessedly cool again. Then she dabbed on lotion and powder, combed back her hair and opened the door into the bedroom.
Piran was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his trousers. He didn't say a word as Polly came across the room and stood a little way away, looking over the top of his head as she spoke.
'I'd be glad if you'd leave my room immediately,' she said in a stiff little voice. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his head jerk back as if she had struck him, but still he didn't speak.
She drew in a short breath. Inside she was quivering, but mercifully her voice was quite steady as she said, 'And I want to make it clear that I won't tolerate this sort of treatment from any man. If you want me to stay here until after the legal hearing for custody of Jules I'm prepared to do that, because I promised, and for Jules's sake. But when that's over I should like to leave and you can make the necessary application for a divorce. I think the sooner we part the better, Piran, and no doubt you agree.'
He got up then, and stood glaring down at her, his shirt tossed across one shoulder, the thick black hair damply matted on his wide chest. 'Polly—' he began, 'I—' he broke off, shrugging in a gesture of angry frustration. Then, 'Oh, hell—' he muttered.
And he turned and flung out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Polly went over and closed it and stood with her back to it, tears burning behind her eyes. That was it, then, the end of something that had never really begun. His taunt had been justified, she knew now that she had had a romantic dream that he might fall in love with her, that one day she would see tenderness in his face. But all she had ever seen was amused pity— or sometimes bitter, unreasonable anger. Nothing there to found a relationship on, and never would be. It was better that she should go when she had served her purpose.
Much better, she repeated to herself, but a black emptiness yawned in front of her, and all meaning had gone from her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jules had finished his breakfast and gone out into the garden while Polly drank a second cup of coffee. A place was laid for Piran, but he hadn't put in an appearance yet. Polly didn't know, even, whether he was in the house or not, or where he had spent the night.
It had been like this for weeks now. They had lived in the same house as strangers. Piran had talked to Jules, explaining that for a time he was going to be very busy, but after that they would go on outings together and have fun. To Polly he had hardly spoken, except as was necessary for the running of the house. When he wasn't in his room, working behind a closed door, he took the car and disappeared—presumably to the 'cosy little cottage' belonging to Esmée Clark.
Polly told herself it was better like this, but sometimes she felt she would almost rather have faced his anger than this complete indifference. Fortunately she was kept very busy. She ran the house with Mrs Joe's help, and did some of the cooking. The rest of the time was spent with Jules, reading, answering his endless questions about everything under the sun, walking along the beach and over the heath that stretched for miles behind the house, with Judy the Labrador lolloping around them. The weather had changed and it was too cold now for bathing. Piran had told Jules that he had a boat, but was too busy to take it out just now.
'Uncle Piran has promised to teach me to sail it one day,' Jules told Polly proudly.
'Splendid, you'll enjoy that, Jules.' Polly made herself smile, but inside she was aching with the knowledge that she wouldn't be here to share in the enjoyment. Piran's application for custody of Jules had gone through all its stages and now it only remained to wait for the final legal decision. After that she would start making arrangements to leave. Just like giving notice in a job, and really that was all it had been. A temporary job. She told herself that all nannies ran the risk of heartbreak when they had to leave a child they had grown to love. This was something she had to face.
As for Piran—the prospect of never seeing him again was something she couldn't face yet. The yearning for him had grown no less with his indifference. The jealousy that tore at her when she guessed he was with Esmée Clark had grown no less acute. Sometimes she felt that she was bleeding to death inside herself.
She finished her coffee now as Piran came into the dining room. He nodded to her and picked up his post.
'Wait a minute,' he rapped out, as she got up to carry her cup and plate to the trolley. 'There's a letter here from Aubrey. He says everything seems to be tied up but there are more documents for me to sign. He's coming down for the weekend to stay with his parents at Corfe Castle. I suppose he might turn up here, so will you make arrangements to be in this afternoon, please, in case I happen to be out.'
'Certainly,' said Polly, in the composed toneless voice she always used now on the rare occasions when she spoke to Piran.
So—it was nearly over. She felt hollow and empty inside, dreading what was ahead in the next few days. But she would be glad to see Aubrey, Piran's solicitor, again. He was such a cheery soul and she had liked him from the first moment she met him at the wedding. She had seen a good deal of him since then. He was unmarried and spent many of his weekends at his parents' house in Corfe Castle, a village only a few miles away. He had come over several times for lunch or dinner, and to discuss legal matters with Piran. Now, she thought bleakly, there would be another legal matter to discuss—a divorce. She shuddered at the word.
But in the afternoon, when Aubrey's white coupe crunched over the gravel sweep and drew up in front of the house her spirits lifted. He came across the forecourt towards her, a tall, cheerful youngish man with crinkly fair hair and smiling eyes, and took her hand in both his. 'Grand to see you again, Polly. And Jules too—' as the little boy came running up from the bottom of the garden. 'This is a splendid excuse to get away from London for a day or two. How ar
e you, Polly? And how's old Piran?' '
'Working most of the time,' said Polly. 'He's got this deadline for his book. We don't see very much of him, do we, Jules?'
She was horrified to hear her voice quiver on the last sentence, but Aubrey merely grinned as he said, 'That's the worst of these writers. You should have married a legal boffin like me who keeps office hours, Polly. Home on the dot every evening, complete with bowler hat and rolled umbrella!'
Polly laughed, grateful that her lapse had passed unnoticed. Or was it Aubrey's tact that had covered up an awkward moment? She had wondered several times recently how much he knew of the circumstances of her hasty marriage to Piran. Piran must have told him something—Aubrey was an old friend of Piran's as well as his solicitor.
She led the way into the drawing room, which had a breathtaking view down the garden to the expanse of sea beyond. Polly had grown to love this room. She let her eyes rest for a moment on the spectacular view— the navy blue of the sea with little white crests of wave here and there, and the green headland, falling down dramatically into it at the far end of the bay. Just another thing she would miss among all the rest, she thought, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
Aubrey joined her at the window. 'Super view, isn't it? I always envy Piran this view.'
Polly blinked and turned quickly to the side table and he came up behind her. 'Are you feeling O.K., Polly? You look a bit under the weather.'
She swallowed quickly. 'Oh, I'm fine, thanks. I was going to pour you a drink. What will you have? Or would you rather have some tea?'
'Thanks very much, but no. Too early in the afternoon for a drink, and my mother gave me tea when I got to Corfe Castle earlier on.'
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