Some Sort of Spell

by Frances Roding

  *No, not that. It makes you look like a middle-aged spinster, if such a thing still exists.'

  'But it's all I've got.'

  *Mm...' Still frowning, Mirry said, 'Hang on, I won't be a minute.'

  She was back in less than five carrying a clear perspex box; inside it was something in brilliant jade-green satin.

  *I filched'this from Lucilla's room. Don't worry/ she chided as she saw Beatrice's worried expression. 'She won't even notice it's gone. It's one of her mistakes, but it'll look great on you. Look...'

  Beatrice felt her eyes rounding in appalled despair as Mirry shook out the rich fabric.

  It was a blouse, only a blouse like none that she would ever dream of wearing. It had a demure collar and three-quarter dohnan sleeves, but its sole fastening was two long ties at the front that apparently knotted in a large bow. Beatrice stared at it with horrified and fascinated eyes, wondering how Mirry ever thought she would be able to wear an article Uke that that quite plainly needed to be worn without a bra.

  *I can't wear that,' she said wildly at last. *It's... it's... It would be indecent!'

  'Rubbish, you'd look stunning in it,' Mirry corrected firmly. 'It looked ridiculous on LuciUa; she's far too flat-chested.'

  'I can't wear it. It would mean going without a bra...'

  'So?' countered Mirry, eyeing her judiciously. 'Come on, Bea, you've got exactly the right sort of figure for it. Catch me hiding away my main assets, if I had a figure Hke yours!' she added teas-ingly, watching the flush of colour come and go in Beatrice's pale face. 'Look, it isn't that shocking once it's on,' she told her, taking pity on her. 'Just try it and see.'

  *I haven't got anything I could wear with it.' For which she was eternally grateful, Beatrice thought fervently, recognising the light of determination in her sister's eyes,

  *Of course you have,' said Mirry. ^There's that black silk skirt.'

  Beatrice frowned and then remembered. The skirt belonged to a two-piece she had bought on impulse in the sales, and then discarded, feeUng that the vivid cerise and black top really did nothing for her.

  The skirt in question was short and fitted her perfectly.. .too perfectly, she thought despairingly now, knowing that once Mirry got the bit between her teeth, so to speak, she would not let go. One look at her sister's determined, vivid face told her that as far as Mirry was concerned her elder sister's transformation into someone fit to be taken out by a man of EUiott's discrimination was becoming a cross between a challenge and a vocation.

  *Trust me,' Mirry pleaded now, confirming her thoughts. 'After all, it is my job, and you can't possibly go out with EUiott wearing that ghastly velvet rag.'

  Somehow or other, mainly due to the threat of Elliott being called upstairs to give his view on Mirry's chosen outfit, Beatrice allowed herself to be buUied into 'just trying it on'.

  This took some time longer than envisaged, due to the fact that Mirry insisted on running back to her own room to find a pair of sheer black tights, essential with the silk skirt, so she assured Beatrice.

  Beatrice had never worn black tights in her life; she always stuck to brown.

  Rather grudgingly, Mirry agreed that she could wear her faithful black satin pumps, and somehow Beatrice found that she had allowed herself to be chivvied into her sister's chosen outfit.

  Mirry wouldn't let her look at herself in the mirror until she had everything on. She grinned when Beatrice rather blushingly agreed to remove her bra.

  *Honestly, Bea,' she teased, *rm your sister, not some rampant male intent on having his wicked way with you! Don't worry so much. It's not as though EUiott has designs on you either, but we want him to be proud of you, don't we? You're not doing this for yourself,' she added with mock gravity. 'Think instead that you're doing it for the family.' She assumed a soulful expression, and then spoiled the whole effect by giggling.

  *You know, you do have a really sizzling figure. You shouldn't cover it up so much with those awful bulky sweatshirts and things.'

  She tied the satin blouse in the requisite bow as she finished speaking and then gently turned Bea to face the mirror.

  *There,' she said softly. *Now you can look.'

  Bea didn't know if she dared, but at last she plucked up her courage and studied her reflection.

  Her legs in their black tights looked unfamiliarly slender, her ankles almost fragilely narrow. The skirt, rather too faithfully for her taste, followed the curvy outline of her hips, narrowing into her

  waist. The blouse... She could feel heat scorching her skin as she saw what the blouse did to her body.

  The deeply slashed neckline revealed a long dart of pale creamy flesh; the satin hinted at rather than moulded the voluptuous shape of her breasts, but it was plain for everyone and anyone to see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it, Beatrice thought frantically, and she was just starting to pluck at the bow, desperate to take it off, when Elliott rapped on her door and walked in.

  Mirry greeted him with relief.

  ^Elliott, doesn't Bea look great? She thinks everyone's going to be staring at her because she isn't wearing a...'

  *Mirry, please!' begged Beatrice in agonised accents. She knew that her face was bright red and there was no way she could look at Elliott. She waited in mute agony for him to make some sardonic comment, but to her relief all he said was, *You look fine, Beatrice. I'm afraid there isn't time for you to change again—I promised my friends we'd be there at eight.'

  He had barely looked at her, Beatrice realised on a surge of relief as he left the room; hadn't exhibited the slightest bit of notice in her or her body. It was disconcerting that relief should mingle so oddly with pique.

  There you are,' Mirry told her triumphantly. *You look fine. Now just let me put a bit of makeup on for you and do your hair.'

  It was useless to protest, Mirry was well into her stride. She supposed she ought to be relieved that she didn't want to paint her skin with colourful

  butterflies like her own, Beatrice reflected wryly as she surveyed the undoubtedly flattering addition of soft jade eyeshadow and warm pink lip gloss to her suddenly luminescent face.

  *I don*t know why you always wear your hair up/ Mirry complained as she unpinned and brushed it. *It's got a lovely natural curl.' Like a magician she produced a couple of tortoiseshell combs, deftly clipping back the soft auburn hair and somehow achieving a style that was both attractive and chic.

  *Now remember, no coming in late.' Mirry grinned, wagging a forefinger at her. ^And no letting Elliott run out of petrol on the way back!' Her teasing laughter followed Beatrice downstairs.

  As though by magic, Elliott appeared in the hall just as she came downstairs, and somehow managed to whisk her outside and into his car before she could protest that she hadn't said goodbye to the boys.

  At the back of her mind had been the conviction that somehow either Benedict or William would need something doing that would legitimately prevent her from accompanying EUiott, but now it was too late; he was setting the car in motion and they were on their way.

  But to where, she wondered with a start, and with whom? He had told her nothing about his plans for the evening or his purpose in forcing her to accompany him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Beatrice had got into Elliott's car determined to express her disUke of the way he had outmanoeuvred her by not voluntarily addressing so much as a single word to him, but she soon discovered her guns were well and truly spiked when EUiott turned on the tape machine and, far from appearing to want to engage her in conversation, seemed perfectly content to listen to the Bach pouring smoothly from his car's powerful speakers.

  There is nothing, Beatrice decided wrathfully, quite as infuriating as a person who refuses to give one the opening for a justifiable venting of one's temper. They had only gone a hundred yards or so when she became aware that she had made a grave tactical error, and she suspected from the grin that flashed across Elliott's face as he surveyed her stormy countenance that he was wel
l aware of the state of her temper.

  They appeared to be driving towards Chelsea, but although she was aching to ask him where they were going she forced herself to keep silent.

  When he parked his car in an attractive Chelsea mews, she deliberately averted her head. She heard him laugh softly beside her, and she could almost feel the tiny hairs Ufting on her skin as she fought to subdue her fury.

  As they climbed the small flight of steps outside one of the mews houses, Elliott relented and leaned towards her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear in a distinctly disturbing fashion.

  *Some friends of mine are having a house-warming. I think you'll like them.'

  *Not if they're friends of yours I won't,' Beatrice muttered bitterly beneath her breath.

  She saw his eyebrows Uft, but before he could say anything the front door was opened and a tiny blonde was flinging herself recklessly into Elliott's arms.

  ^Elliott darling, you made it after all!'

  It was several seconds before he was released, seconds during which Beatrice stood icily to one side, wondering bitterly why on earth he had insisted on dragging her out with him.

  ^Shelley, this is Beatrice,' Elliott introduced when the blonde had released him.

  The speculative look to which she was subjected told Beatrice that Shelley was not predisposed to approve of her. The blonde was not only tiny, but so slim that she made Beatrice feel positively clumsy.

  *David and the others are in the drawing-room,' she said at last, her smile warning Beatrice that she was reserving judgement on her. *Go through and help yourself to drinks!'

  Beatrice didn't recognise any faces among the crowd of people milling round the attractive drawing-room, but then she hadn't expected to. Elliott moved in a different milieu from the stage and

  television world her parents and the rest of her family inhabited, and although he was scrupulous about introducing her, she was too conscious of the covert interest the two of them were causing to concentrate on the other guests' names.

  She was longing to ask why EUiott had insisted on her accompanying him, and now bitterly regretted her silence in the car. She suspected from the mocking smile that Elliott gave her that he was perfectly aware of her feehngs, and that, infuriat-ingly, he was amused by them.

  The party was a very relaxed affair, and if she hadn't been so angry with EUiott she suspected she might have enjoyed it. Rather guiltily she discovered that it was a relief to be in the company of people whose interests did not lie exclusively in the world of drama. It was also a relief not to be constantly on the receiving end of comments and questions about her illustrious parents and the inevitable and unflattering comparisons that went with them.

  In fact if she was honest she was enjoymg herself far more than she had done in ages, and it was rather an unpleasant shock to be interrupted by Elliott just as she was settling comfortably into an interesting discussion on the merits and demerits of Nouvelle Cuisine with a fellow guest.

  *Sorry, James, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take her away from you,' Elliott drawled lightly, coming up behind her and placing his arm round her shoulders.

  Beatrice was stunned to see her companion flush slightly before excusing himself and hurrying off.

  Correctly interpreting her puzzled frown, Elliott murmured against her ear, *He*s frightened he might have been poaching/

  His arm was still around her and, quite inejq)l-icably, as she started to move away it tightened, imprisoning her against his side.

  Wary of an undignified struggle, and knowing that ElUott was delighting in tormenting her, Beatrice demanded crossly, 'Why on earth should he think that...'

  *.. .you and I are lovers?' Elliott asked softly.

  Beatrice could feel the hot colour sweeping over her skin. It was ridiculous to react to his provocation in so gauche a manner, but she couldn't help it. Elliott knew quite well that she hadn't been about to say anything like that at all, and as she fought to get her embarrassment under control, she was amazed to discover that mingled with her anger was a fine thread of pain that came from the realisation that a man like Elliott could never desire a woman as ordinary as her.

  Tell me a bit more about this job you've got.'

  The resentment she would normally have felt at his inquisitiveness was lost beneath the relief of finding herself on more familiar and firmer ground. As calmly as she could, she told him about her new job.

  *You mean you're giving up nursemaiding your family to take on nursemaiding one man instead,* he mocked when she had finished.

  His comment hurt, not just because of its kernel of truth but because it underlined the fact that she

  had neither the qualifications nor the training to equip her for anything else.

  She was glad that their hostess chose that moment to interrupt them. The diminutive blonde was obviously one of ElUott's fans, Beatrice decided waspishly. Maybe at one time before her marriage they could even have been lovers.

  It worried her, this uncomfortable awareness she seemed to have developed of Elliott as a man. Hitherto all her awareness of him had concentrated on the antipathy she felt towards him, and her awareness of his own indulgent contempt towards her family. She realised with a small sense of shock that beneath her dislike there was also a faint thread of fear. But fear of what? How on earth could Elliott possibly threaten her? Their lives barely impinged on one another.

  But they were doing, now that they were sharing the same roof.

  Several times tonight he had introduced her as his new 'landlady' and she had been furiously aware of the interpretation some of her fellow guests had put on that description. It had been quite obvious that they thought that she and Elliott were lovers and that he had moved in with her, but she was all too miserably conscious of how ridiculous she would sound if she tackled ElUott on the subject. He would probably tell her she was imagining things, she decided bitterly; indeed, he might even take it into that Machiavellian mind of his to suggest that she was not just indulging in imagination but in wishing it were true as well.

  It was gone midnight when he skilfully disengaged her from the group she was talking with, his hand oh, so casually tucking her against his side in a manner that made several of their fellow guests eye them knowingly. And yet there was nothing particularly proprietorial in his touch, so how could she complain?

  *Come on. Cinders,' he drawled lightly. 'It's way past your bedtime.'

  Infuriatingly Beatrice felt herself flush betray-ingly—not because their fellow guests were so obviously thinking that he wanted to take her home to make love to her—how could it be that, when she herself knew he had no desire to do so?—but because of that mocking reminder of his eariier taunt in calling her 'Cinders',

  She hadn't been gifted with the silvered tongue of the rest of her family, and she knew it was useless to risk indulging in verbal swordplay with Elliott anyway. She had heard him too often both with Lucilla and Benedict. Beneath that solid, powerfully muscled body lurked a subtle and dangerous psyche far too complex and deadly for her to master.

  'Enjoy yourself?' Elliott asked her as he opened the car door for her.

  She was just about to let him know exactly what she thought of the way he had compelled her to accompany him, when the moon edged out behind a cloud and she caught the anticipatory and mocking gleam in his eyes.

  *Why is it you're so determined to provoke me?' she sighed instead. 'You force me to come with you... You.. /

  *I what?' he invited, helpfully waiting until she had fastened her seatbelt before he started the engine.

  *It's ahnost as though you actually want me to lose my temper,' Beatrice told him, perplexed.

  He laughed softly and mocked, 'Got it in one, Bella Beatrice.'

  His laughter and the cruelty of that oh, so inappropriate nickname made her instinctively withdraw into herself. She knew she wasn't beautiful; there was no need for Elliott to underline the fact.

  She had taught
herself to accept that the unthinking and sometimes unkind comments of her family sprang from their own lack of awareness of how much they could hurt, but where Elliott was concerned she was prepared to make no such allowances. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  She ignored his comment and averted her head to stare out of her window, and when eventually she did glance at him again, he was concentrating on the road with a rather grim smile.

  She hadn't realised how tense she was until they turned into the familiar drive and EUiott stopped the car. When she breathed out, even her ribs seemed to ache as though her whole body had been under intense pressure.

  As she turned to open her door, she realised that it was locked, and automatically she looked back at Elliott. He had moved in his seat so that he was

  facing her, his expression hidden from her by the shadows. She opened her mouth to ask him to unlock the door, but he forestalled her, questioning lazily, 'Why did you get so uptight and embarrassed when Mirry mentioned the fact that you aren't wearing a bra?'

  Her fingers curled tightly into the palms of her hands as she fought the hideous wave of shamed embarrassment engulfing her.

  He let her wait several seconds before adding, *Why are you so uncomfortable about your body, Beatrice? It it because it isn't the Bellaire body? Because you aren't tall and flat-chested like the rest of the clan?'

  She couldn't take in the fact that she was actually sitting with him and listening to this. It was so out of character, so alien to everything that had gone before. She had always suspected that Elliott didn't particularly Uke her, but hitherto his dislike had always taken the form of the same amused contempt he showed all the rest of her family. Never once before had he singled her out the way he was doing now. Never before...

  As her senses relayed to her the fact that inexplicably the distance between them seemed to have narrowed considerably, she struggled to respond to his comments in a suitably cutting fashion, but could only manage a confused mingling of, *I.. • They... You...'

  'Yes?' Elliott encouraged helpfully. 'You... They... I... What? Is it this, Bea?' he demanded, his voice suddenly roughly unfamiliar, one hand imprisoning her waist while the other smoothed up