Alex's face was brooding. 'Deb and I have swept all the water out of the house. When the newspapers dry we'll scrub the place for you.' he said. He glanced at Deborah, still not quite meeting her eyes. 'There's no need for you to hurry back, is there?' His voice was cool. 'The weekend will be finished by the time we get back to London now.'
Mrs St James watched them both intently.
Deborah looked at Alex fleetingly, then looked at her hands, linked at her waist. 'I shall be glad to help get the house straight,' she said.
'You're a very kind girl,' Mrs St James said pleasantly. 'Having seen what the place looks like, I'm doubly grateful for all you've done and for your proposal to help even further, but I've brought several women from the village with me to do all that. I expected to find the job much worse than it is, thanks to you. I shall be staying here tonight, you see. There's so little room…' Her eyes remained pleasant, but suddenly hot red colour flooded into Deborah's face, as she realised that Alex's mother must know that she had shared a room with Alex for two nights. No doubt, knowing his usual way with women, Mrs St James imagined they were lovers.
Hearing her faint intake of breath, Alex looked round at her sharply, his eyes taking in her shamed expression. A grim look came into his face. He turned and said crisply to his mother, 'I slept on the floor of your room while Deb took the bed,' and his eyes bored into the grey ones which were so like his own, a hard insistence in them.
Mrs St James surveyed him thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing her forehead. 'I should think you did, my dear.'
Hurriedly, to change the subject, Deborah said apologetically, 'I was so bored I'm afraid I took the liberty of tidying your studio, Mrs St James. I tried not to move anything essential, but I cleared the floor space and made piles of everything.' The older woman's eyebrows rose steeply. She looked at Alex, as if astonished, and he smiled twistedly. 'Deb has a passion for creating order out of chaos, Mother,' he said. 'She can't bear loose ends.'
Nervously, Deborah said, 'I'm sorry. Alex did warn me you preferred to have things left as they were…'
'Come and show me, my dear,' invited Mrs St James. Deborah slowly moved toward the stairs. Alex made to follow the two women, but his mother said, 'Alex dear, it was kind of you to free the hens in case they got drowned, but would you please shut them up again before they get into the orchards? Jacques Mareau will have them in his pot before I have a chance to stop him.' Her cool, quiet pleasant voice had a firm ring to it which Deborah realised, with amusement, made Alex obey without argument when it gave an order.
In the studio Mrs St James glanced slowly around the room, her eyes expressionless. Deborah fidgeted anxiously. 'I'm sorry,' she burst out, afraid she had seriously offended.
'My dear girl, I'm amazed and impressed,' Mrs St James told her. 'You've unearthed several valuable finds which I've been hunting for for months…' Her hand lifted a cracked red-brown earthenware pot and fingered it lovingly. 'So that's where it was!' She saw Deborah's look of surprise and smiled charmingly. 'I want to use it for a still life of onions, courgettes and red peppers. I knew it was somewhere here. Thank you.' She moved across the room and picked up the portrait of Alex.
Deborah felt her face tense and glaze with hard colour. Mrs St James stared at it for some time in silence. 'He's an odd mixture,' she said softly. 'Even as a little boy he was very tough, very independent but touchingly vulnerable. When he fell over he would never cry, even when it hurt. But if I picked him up and kissed him when he fell over he would look as if he was going to cry badly.' She sighed.
Putting down the portrait, she said quietly, 'You're in love with him?'
Deborah said nothing, her throat dry with nerves.
Mrs St James turned round and looked at her directly. 'I know Alex very well. He never confides in me, but I've known him since he was a baby, and I can feel it when something is happening. I've had that feeling ever since I saw you two together. Will you tell me? Or am I being a nosy old woman?' She smiled, her thin dark face curiously reminiscent of Alex. She had his hair, the colour faded to a silvery grey which almost matched her eyes. She had a quality of quiet serenity which was impressive. Remembering what Alex had said about his mother's belief in privacy, Deborah could imagine that her reserved manner might have seemed cold to a small child, although she was sure Mrs St James loved her son deeply. Her way of talking about him indicated as much.
Moistening her lips, she said, 'There's nothing to talk about. Nothing I can say.'
Mrs St James smiled wryly. 'You prefer not to tell me?'
'No!' Deborah spoke certainly. 'But…' She shrugged. Huskily, she said after a pause, 'To put it simply, I do love him, but he doesn't love me.' Her face reflected her humiliation as she put it so bluntly.
His mother looked at her gently. Lowering her eyes, she asked, 'He's asked you to sleep with him, though, I suppose?'
Deborah made a low, shamed sound of astonishment.
. 'Oh, my dear, I've always known Alex was no angel. I read newspapers too, you know. Mind you, I've taken it all with a pinch of salt. Alex has too much of my own nature to enjoy the sort of promiscuity gossip would credit him with, and although I imagine there've been some women in his life I suspect most of his publicised affairs have been all smoke and no fire.'
She laughed, her eyes twinkling. 'Men always like to be thought of as sophisticated seducers. I suppose it's the remnant of a race memory of man the hunter.'
Deborah stared at the floor. 'I'm not his mistress, Mrs St James.'
'I knew that,' his mother said softly, 'the moment I saw the two of you together. Alex was in a frightful temper and ready to bite if anyone gave him the chance. I saw something was eating at him, and when I set eyes on you I knew what it was.'
Deborah shrugged helplessly. 'After we get back to London I won't see him again. I shall leave my job and get another one.'
'I see,' said Mrs St James slowly. 'If you stayed don't you think it might not be better?'
Deborah shook her head, staring at the floor. 'I've got to get away from him. I might stop saying no and I…' Her voice failed. 'When he asked me to marry him I almost said yes until I realised what hell it would be to love a man who didn't love me but who was my husband.'
Mrs St James made a low sound of satisfaction. 'He asked you to marry him?
Congratulations! To my knowledge it's the first time.'
Deborah sighed heavily. 'But he doesn't love me. I had to refuse.'
Mrs St James looked at her pityingly. 'Deborah, I understand how you feel, but if you could bring yourself to marry him I would be very grateful to you. Alex doesn't know it, but he's not happy. He's rootless and permanently searching for happiness he never finds. A warm, loving marriage might solve the problem.'
Deborah looked aghast. 'No! I couldn't… it would be hell on earth.' 'He needs someone like you,' his mother said regretfully. 'Until he feels more for someone else than he does for himself Alex will be a lost soul. He shows you more concern than I've ever known him show to anyone. When you thought I imagined you'd been sleeping with him in this house Alex looked at you in a way I've never seen him look at anyone, and he sprang to protect you angrily. I was impressed. If you belonged to him as his wife I have a feeling he would make you happy.'
Deborah pressed trembling hands to her face. 'Don't!'
Alex's voice came from the foot of the stairs. 'Deb! If we leave right away we can get a lift into Nice from the son of the man who owns the orchards. Shall I accept?'
Mrs St James looked at her pleadingly. Deborah called back huskily, 'Yes, I'm coming, Alex.'
She looked at his mother, her lower lip trembling. 'Goodbye, Mrs St James. It was nice to meet you. I hope I'll see you again some time.'
Mrs St James sighed deeply. 'Goodbye, Deborah. I'll send you the portrait of Alex if you let me have your address in England.'
Deborah looked at it longingly, closed her eyes and shook her head. 'No, thank you. I would very much have liked to have it,
but I want no reminders to take away with me when I leave him.'
9
They drove into Nice seated uncomfortably in the back of a large, ramshackle old van which jolted violently as it swayed along the roads. The floods still lay across their path for a mile or so. The tyres swished through them, sending up jets of water on either side, but the water formed no impediment since it was shallow enough for vehicles to pass through easily now. Through the grimy windows Deborah could see the orchards, like snow against the brilliant sky, and now and then, as the van took a bend sharply she saw a brief backward glimpse of the swollen muddy river, almost yellow in its swirling passage along the green banks. Here and there branches snapped from trees during the storm swirled on the surface. Once she saw the soaked fur of some dead animal.
Another time a chair floated along, already beginning to sink.
Their driver, a short dark young man in dirty blue overalls and a short-sleeved blue shirt, whistled between his teeth, occasionally shouting a remark to Alex in French. Deborah held her head averted, unwilling to meet Alex's glance. They had barely spoken since they left the cottage.
They were deposited outside their hotel by their driver, who, grinning, pocketed the money Alex handed him, and assured him that their hired car would be attended to and returned to the hire firm. They were greeted with curiosity and surprise at the hotel. Deborah was embarrassed by the stares she received. Her clothes were crumpled, muddy and dishevelled. She looked like a hippie, she thought crossly.
Tightly, Alex asked for their bill and enquired about their rooms. The manager appeared, bowing, and politely assured him with an obsequious smile that he had held their rooms, imagining that they would be returning, since Mr St James was well known in Nice and he had left his luggage.
They went to their rooms immediately. Deborah was able, at last, to shed her filthy clothes and stand naked under the cool, refreshing shower, letting her body absorb the water gratefully.
Cleaned, dressed in her cool blue linen dress, she brushed her wet hair until it was dry enough to wind up into a chignon. A tap on her door made her stiffen. Summoning all her reserves of courage, she told Alex to come in.
He had showered and changed too. He looked at her across the room, his face unreadable, then a smile suddenly twisted his mouth cruelly. 'Back to normal, Miss Portman? Well, at least Robin will recognise the fashion plate which greets him in the office.' His eyes mocked her. 'I'd like to be a fly on the wall when you tell him you've spent the weekend shut up in a bedroom with me, though.'
She could not control her colour, but her eyes remained cool. 'When I tell him nothing happened he'll believe me.'
'Nothing?' His cool manner broke into open savagery. Red lights flared in his eyes. 'You lying little bitch, if my mother hadn't come back…'
'Shut up!' Her voice was trembling with shame. 'Oh, God, shut up, Alex!' She turned her back on him, covering her face with her hands, shaking.
She heard him take a step towards her, then he halted. After a moment he said harshly, 'I've rung the airport. We've just got time to have a meal before we catch a flight home.'
She nodded silently, still standing with her back to him. He waited a moment, then said, 'I'll see you in the dining-room, then. We've just got time to have a very early dinner.'
When he had gone Deborah wiped the tears from her face with shaking hands, then walked into the bathroom and washed again. For five minutes she carefully applied make-up, restoring the calm mask she wanted him to see. She finished all her packing and went downstairs without hurrying.
Alex looked impatiently at her as she sat down opposite him. They had the dining-room to themselves because it was too early for the rest of the visitors to eat. A sulky waiter came to hand her a menu, and she ordered a simple meal.
They ate in silence, almost as if they were each shut into a private world. When they had finished they collected their luggage, Alex paid the bill and they took a taxi to the airport.
The flight passed in a dream for Deborah. So much had happened since they flew in to Nice that she felt her whole life had been turned upside down. She stared blindly out of the window, the milky white cloud formations pierced with vivid blue reminding her of the orchards near the cottage, snow white against the spring sky. Alex leaned back with his eyes closed, looking grimly unapproachable. He sat up to drink several double whiskies with a determination which surprised her, since he did not drink heavily.
He insisted on taking her in his taxi from the airport, dropping her at her flat in the silence of a Sunday in London, the dark street empty except for a milk bottle rolling across the pavement pursued by a small ginger cat.
Deborah said a polite farewell, her face aloof. Alex slammed the door and leaned back without even answering. The taxi drew away and she walked shakily into the building.
Judith stared at her, eyes like saucers, as she entered the flat. 'Where on earth have you been? Deb, Robin's been like a madman. What on earth possessed you to stay away all weekend with Alex…' Her voice died away as Deborah looked at her. 'God,' she said, appalled. 'You look terrible!'
'I'm tired,' Deborah forced herself to say, dropping her case. 'I'm going to bed? Judith.'
'Robin's been ringing all weekend,' Judith said. 'What if he rings again?'
'Tell him I'm out,' said Deborah, without caring. 'Tell him I'm dead. I don't care.'
In her bedroom she undressed like a robot and fell into bed. Sleep came as a blessed relief. She slept so deeply that when she woke she had a faint headache behind her eyes. Judith looked at her quickly when she appeared ready for work next morning.
'How do you feel?' she asked anxiously.
'I'm fine,' Deborah said curtly.
'Very well, tell me to mind my own business,' Judith said wryly.
Deborah was forced to smile, her affection for her flatmate too strong for her to shut her out.
'I'm sorry, Judith, but I've had a terrible time. Alex took me to see his mother and we got caught up in a flooding river and had to stay in the cottage all weekend. I couldn't get back.' She drank some ice-cold orange juice quickly. 'I'll be late if I don't rush. See you tonight.'
She turned to leave, when Judith said quietly, That's what's known as the tip of the iceberg, Deb.'
Deborah looked puzzled. 'What?'
'Your little tale,' Judith said drily. 'It's what you left out that really matters, isn't it? From the way you looked when you came in last night something catastrophic happened in Nice.'
Deborah's face twisted. 'You warned me, Judith. I should have listened.'
Judith looked hard at her. 'Do you mean he finally got to you?'
Deborah flushed. 'I didn't go to bed with him, if that's what you mean, but it was touch and go…' Her eyes were angrily self-accusatory. 'Oh, Judith, I've made such a mess of everything! I'm hopelessly in love with him and there's no future in it, and now I've got to go and tell Robin, and how I can begin to explain I've no idea.'
Judith made a compassionate face. 'Deb, I saw this coming, but I'm sorry. Was Alex difficult?'
'Difficult?' Tenderness and wry humour turned her eyes to blue fire. 'He was bloody impossible, and but for the grace of God I would have given in to him… you told me that if he ever found how I felt I would be in trouble… well, I am.'
'What are you going to do about him?'
'Resign,' Deborah said despairingly. 'What else can I do? I couldn't stay, knowing how I feel, knowing that sooner or later he would coax me to give in.'
Judith looked at her, sighing. 'I suppose you're right. Just where you'll find another job that pays so well I don't know, but we could always find a cheaper flat.'
'I've got contacts in the business,' Deborah shrugged. 'I'll find something.'
She left the flat and made her way to work in bright sunshine. London was bustling as always on a Monday morning. In her mind she tried to prepare a series of speeches to say to Robin, dreading their meeting. She suspected he would think the worst, whateve
r she said. It was like going to the dentist, she thought. She had to face it and get it over with. When it was all over she could relax.
The girls buzzed as they saw her come in and she flushed, realising with shock that gossip had already begun to spread about the weekend. Surely to God Robin had not been talking about it in the firm?
She went into her office and automatically began her morning routine. She heard Alex's door slam and saw his shadow move across the frosted glass. Her heart turned over and she steeled herself for his summons. But before she could collect herself, he left the room again, and she relaxed. She sat down and typed out a formal note of resignation. After staring at it grimly she signed it and put it in an envelope. She went into his office and placed it on his desk. Returning to her own room, closing his door, she found Robin standing in the centre of the floor, his face rigid.
'Hello, Robin,' she said flatly.
He looked her up and down with an expression which stung. 'Why did you do it?' he asked, his voice choked with temper. 'Do you realise what a fool I looked? Was it a joke between you and that bastard St James? All those people coming to my house for the weekend, thinking our engagement was going to be announced, and you go to France to spend the weekend in bed with your lover, instead… My God, women like you are beneath contempt!'
'Listen, Robin,' she said desperately, hearing his voice rise to a bitter peak which must be heard beyond these four walls. 'I swear to you it was an accident. There was a flood, and we couldn't get back…'
'Do you seriously expect me to believe it? I've been a fool once, but you won't fool me again. The gossip was right, wasn't it? You're his mistress. You've always been his mistress!'
The door behind her was flung open and Alex came into the room, his body and face tense with rage. Robin's colour rose and he looked at Alex belligerently.
'She's telling you the truth,' Alex said tightly. 'She has never been my mistress and I've never laid a finger on her. The river flooded while we were visiting my mother at a lonely cottage and we couldn't get away.'
Duel of Desire Page 14