by Flora Kidd
door and turned; his jacket was over his arm and his white shirt was undone, the purity of its colour and the crispness of the material contrasting starkly with the dark tan of his torso.
'I said undress, not dress,' he murmured, his glance on the nightdress, and he turned away to hang his jacket in the closet. Quickly Tory flung the nightgown over her head and thrust her arms through the armholes, and scooped up her toilet bag from the dressing table.
'I'd like to clean my teeth,' she said.
He was pulling off his shirt. Muscles rippled under the tanned, hairy skin, and as she watched she felt a twinge of desire in the region of the pit of her stomach.
'Okay," he said, 'you do that. I'll be waiting in the passage for you to come out of the bathroom, so no thinking up any more getaway tricks.'
He stood at the doorway of the bedroom and watched her go along to the bathroom. Tory took as long as she could over washing her face and hands and cleaning her teeth. She did think of trying to escape through the window, but common sense suddenly asserted itself. Where could she go if she escaped? Nowhere.
Denzil was leaning against the wall waiting apparently patiently when she opened the door and stepped out into the passage, and he followed her back to the bedroom on bare silent feet. He kicked the door closed after him and as she turned from dropping her toilet bag on the dressing table she found him there right behind her, a big-shouldered man whose skin gleamed in the oblique light from the bedside lamps, and whose eyes twinkled and danced with mockery as he stared at her.
'Ready now?' he asked softly.
'Denzil, I can't,' she said rather weakly. The closeness of him was having its usual effect on her, making
her legs shake and her arms want to reach out to hold on to him.
'Yes, you can, lover,' he murmured, putting his arms round her. 'I'm going to show you how.'
They stood face to face like enemies. He stepped closer and Tory felt the hard thrust of his body against hers, smelt the musky smell of male hair and skin as he bent his head towards her, felt a sensuous tingle spread through her as his lips touched the delicate curve where her neck and shoulder met. Involuntarily her ,body arched against the thrust of his and as he felt that response, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
There she tried to roll away from him, but a 'long arm reached out and the chiffon of the nightdress tore apart with a soft hiss under the pull of his ungentle hand. Once again face to face but now lying down, they stared at each other challengingly, then the dark glitter of his eyes was hidden as he glanced at her mouth. As his lips possessed hers again he lifted her hand in his and placed it palm down against his chest. Liking the warm pulsing feel of him, she slid her hand down of its own volition, smoothing it against the cool curve of his waist and the sinewy hardness of his thigh.
Desire was swelling slowly within her, threatening to take over. She made one last effort to resist it.
'I don't want to be a reward,' she complained, snatching her hand away from him.
'What the hell are you talking about now?' he exclaimed.
'I heard what you said to Peter,' she muttered.
'So that's why you slammed the bathroom door,' he accused. 'See what happens when you eavesdrop? You get half a story and usually the wrong half. Pete was being nosy about us, too personal, I was trying to put him off. I made him laugh and so was able to change
the subject without him feeling as if I'd snubbed him. We didn't discuss you any more.' He blew gently at the tendrils of hair which clustered about her brow. 'Was that why you were going to walk into the sea?' he teased. 'Just because you didn't like the idea of being a reward?'
'It wasn't only that. Carla has been telling everyone that you had to marry me. Moira told me. They're all gossiping about us.' Her voice shook a little.
'And that troubles you?'
'Yes, because it isn't true, is it?'
With the point of his forefinger he traced the line from the tip of her chin, under it and down her throat so that delicious shivers shook her. His hand slid down further, pushing aside the torn chiffon to curve under her breast. Her senses swam and she pressed closer to him, luxuriating in the slightly sticky feel of her skin as it rubbed against his.
'No, it isn't true,' he said. 'I married you because I want you to live with me, and don't you forget it, and the way we're going to do it, it's going to be as much a reward for you as it will be for me.'
Sensuous pleasure swelled within her, searching for a way out. She flung her arm around him and smoothed the powerful curves of his back with her hand.
'Oh, Denzil, I do love you,' she cried, and knew she meant it with all her heart.
'Now you're getting the idea,' he scoffed softly. His mouth came against hers again as he pushed her back against the mattress so that he could lean over her, and slowly, tenderly the passionate persuasion of his lips and hands brought her feelings to bursting point for which there seemed no release. But release came as he took her, in a lovely flowing feeling compounded of pain and ecstasy, and as they lay in each other's arms in a state' of drowsy relaxation Tory understood what
Denzil had meant about their union being as much a reward for her as it was for him.
Being together next morning was both a joy and a torment; a joy because they both remembered the pleasure of the previous night, a torment because they woke late and had to hurry, with the result that they argued about who should use the bathroom first, who should make breakfast, and about how Tory would get to work.
'I can't take you and bring you back every day,' Denzil snarled as the jeep hurtled round bends, and Tory felt she was in danger of being thrown out into the hedge of myrtle and wild poinsettia which edged the road.
'You don't have to,' she replied with dignity. 'I'll buy a bicycle and ride it.'
That silenced him and not another word was spoken. In front of the big house he let her off, then drove away in a cloud of pale dust. For a moment she stared after the vehicle feeling a flicker of insecurity, wondering whether now he had got what he wanted from her he would treat her carelessly, taking for granted that love that she had expressed so impulsively in the night.
Her confession of love for him had disconcerted her. She had not realised she loved him · so many times she had thought she had hated him for his arrogant intrusion into her life. Yet he had admitted nothing of love for her. He had admitted only that he had married her because he wanted her to live with him, share bed and board, something that Tory was sure other women would,have done without marriage.
She turned away to walk to the lab building. The door of the house opened and a husky voice called to her.
'Miss Latham ... oh, I beg your pardon ... Mrs Hallam, I'd like a word with you, please.'
Rita Jarrold stood on the top step, a slim figure in a dark red caftan-style housecoat, leaning against one of the white pillars which supported the portico.
Tory waited at the bottom of the steps.
'I'm a little late for work, Mrs Jarrold,' she replied politely. 'Couldn't we talk later?'
'What I have to say won't take long,' said Rita as she pushed away from the pillar and came down the steps. She moved with a feline sinuousness and her gold slippers glinted as she walked. When she reached the bottom step she stopped so that her eyes were on a level with Tory's.
'I suppose you think you've been saved from losing your job by marrying that ruffianly adventurer who manages the marina,' she drawled.
'Denzil maybe an adventurer, but he isn't ruffianly,' retorted Tory, conveniently forgetting that she had once considered Denzil to be a ruffian. 'He's a well-bred man who cares about other people.'
'And you believe he cares for you, no doubt,' said Rita mockingly. 'I can scarcely credit that a young woman of your intelligence and upbringing has allowed herself to be blackmailed into marriage with a man about whom nothing is known. Why, you've no idea where he's been or with whom he's been.' Rita shuddered slightly with distaste, as if Denzil we
re a stray cat or dog.
'If that's all you have to say I'll be on my way,' Tory said in a stifled voice as she tried to control the anger boiling up inside her. 'I've no wish to listen to you insult my husband.'
'I wasn't insulting your husband. I was just stating facts, and I want to warn you that you still have to step carefully. I shall be keeping a close watch on you and your dealings with my husband, so don't think for one moment your marriage to Denzil Hallam has altered my opinion of you.'
Tory turned away and ran, not wanting to hear any more. She was convinced now that Rita was not just physically ill but also mentally disturbed. Surely no one in their right mind could carry spite to such lengths? Having failed in her attempt to remove her from her job, Rita was now trying to rouse her distrust of Denzil.
Her breathless arrival in the lab brought kindly jeers from the other botanists who congratulated her on her marriage. Soon she was absorbed in her work, writing a talk to be given to a women's church group in a village in the north of the island. Rita Jarrold's remarks were forgotten, and for a while so was Denzil, but towards five o'clock Tory began to feel anxious, recalling his testiness of the morning. He might not come for her. He might forget to send Josh for her if he couldn't come himself. Although her ankle was much better she didn't fancy trying it out on the pathway over the hill. She supposed she could call a taxi, but she would have to pay for it to come out and pick her up as well as for conveying her to the marina.
All her anxiety vanished as she left the lab building and saw the blue jeep waiting. She kissed its smiling driver with joyous abandon and settled into the seat beside him.
'I've bought a present for you,' Denzil said as they charged round the bends of the road.
'Oh, I forgot! I didn't buy one for you,' she exclaimed, surprised that he had even thought of a wedding present.
'That's okay. I didn't expect one.'
'What is it?' she demanded.
'Wait and see,' he taunted. 'There's no fun in giving presents or receiving them unless they're a surprise.'
Never had the sky seemed so blue, the trees so green, the water in the bay so glitteringly inviting. This was what being in love felt like; this soaring of the spirits,
this contentment to be where she was as long as he was there too. And he had bought her a present.
When Tory saw it leaning against the steps of the bungalow her delight knew no bounds. It was a motorised bicycle, the sort used by many of the islanders and hired by tourists as an economical way of getting about.
'I don't know how to thank you,' she exclaimed, turning to him.
'Never has one moped aroused so much joy,' he scoffed. 'You can give me my reward later ... tonight.'
Not every day began so unpleasantly and ended as happily. Squabbles between them blew up quickly like tropical storms, but they often ended in shared laughter or lovemaking. As the days became weeks Tory became aware of changes in herself. She was not so inclined to retort angrily to Denzil's remarks, but considered them first to find out whether they were made in fun or whether they were serious, for he often teased her unmercifully. When she found that he was very particular about everything being kept in its right place she tried to be more tidy, and noticed on his part less of a tendency to snarl at her every time she left her books or clothing scattered about the place. They were adjusting to each other in many ways, and as time went on her happiness seemed to create a golden capsule around her, making her immune to contact with other people. People like Magnus and Rita and Carla were still there, still played a part in her life, but they no longer had power to hurt her.
With the end of November and the approach of Christmas the tempo of life on the island quickened slightly as more tourists arrived. Business increased at the marina so that sometimes Denzil went away for a week to skipper one of the yachts himself. The first
time it happened Tory spent a miserable first night longing for him with an intensity which alarmed her. It wasn't right to become so dependent on him, she warned herself, because he was probably enjoying himself in some yachting haven and not longing for her.
Christmas came and she decorated the living room of the bungalow with huge crimson pin-wheels of poinsettia which she had gathered from the Gardens. It was odd to spend the day sailing in bright sunshine over dancing white-crested water, to swim in a secluded cove and sunbathe on a shimmering crescent of white sand, to eat barbecued steak from cattle raised on the island instead of turkey, and fragrant golden mangoes instead of plum pudding.
Cards had arrived from relatives and friends. Even Denzil had two, one from his grandmother and another one from Cornwall which had been signed simply 'Wanda', followed by the message 'See you soon'.
Looking through the cards after they had returned to the bungalow on Christmas night, Tory teased Denzil about the message.
'Who is she?' she asked. 'Someone from your neverto-be-related past?'
'Yes.' The answer was curt, pushing her away.
'Do you think the message means she's coming to visit
you soon?' she persisted, ignoring the danger signs. 'I don't know.'
'Would you like her to visit you?'
'Tory, why don't you shut up about it?' He got up from the settee where he had been sitting and moved rather restlessly about the room;
'I'm sorry,' she faltered, 'I'd no idea I'd touched such a tender spot.' Then she added in a low voice, 'You must have loved her very much.'
For answer he swore viciously, opened the screen door and went out. Tory heard him pound down the steps and then there were only the sounds of the night and the rustle of leaves, the croak of frogs and the distant shushing of waves.
Tory placed the card back on the side table where she had set out all the cards, and bit her lip to hold back the tears which rushed to her eyes. Why had she made the last remark? She knew very well why. She had been hoping he would turn to her and say something like—'I did love her once, but it's all over now. I love you.'
She was always hoping that he would say he loved her. But now she could only think he was still in love with a woman called Wanda, who was coming to see him, Why, then, had he married her?
She sat for a while waiting for him to return, but the day of sailing had its usual effect, making her sleepy, and she went to bed. She fell into a doze almost at once and didn't hear Denzil come into the room, but was disturbed by his quiet movements as he undressed in the dark.
She raised herself up on her elbows and peered through the dimness.
'Denzil, are you all right?' she whispered.
'What do you mean by all right?' he growled.
'I've been worried about you. You went off without a word and were a long time coming back. What have you been doing?'
'Drinking.' The mattress sagged beneath his weight as he lay down beside her.
'Oh, why?' Tory was more worried than ever now. 'It was my fault, wasn't it? I shouldn't have said what I did ...' She broke off because she could feel him shaking with laughter. 'What's so funny?' she demanded.
'You are,' he replied, putting an arm out and drawing her down to him. She smelt rum on his breath and the tang of tobacco smoke. 'You're so easy to tease,' he
murmured. 'I went for a walk and called in on Josh, had a drink with him and his wife, that's all; and you get all worked up thinking I'd been drinking to forget something unpleasant.' His mouth touched hers and as always his passionate persuasion roused an answer within her and the strange little disturbance was forgotten.
But she did not forget the message in the Christmas card entirely, and every day when the ferry or the small charter planes brought a new load of visitors to the island she half expected to find a woman called Wanda at the bungalow when she returned from work. January passed without anyone coming. February brought crowds of visitors to see the usual Mardi Gras festival and a letter came from her mother saying that her parents couldn't see their way to afford a trip to the island in March as they had hoped.
Tory was s
urprised at her own disappointment. She hadn't realised she had been looking forward so much to their visit. As a result she suffered from a bout of homesickness, and longed passionately for the soft gentle rain of northern fells. One evening she babbled to Denzil about snowdrops and primroses, and about the carpets of daffodils beside the lake where her parents had their summer cottage.
'Perhaps you should take a holiday and go over,' he murmured. He was writing to his grandmother again. 'Surely your contract provides for some time off?'
'I don't know, I'll have to look at it. If I took a holiday and flew home, would you come with me?' she asked.
'Not this time of the year. It's too busy here. It would be best if you went on your own, saw all your friends and killed that nostalgia for good and all. It's the only way.'
'What if I didn't come back?' Tory challenged, alittle hurt by his refusal to accompany her.
'You'd break your contract, wouldn't you, lover?' Denzil retorted lightly, and turned back to his letter.
Looking at the contract she found that it did provide for her to have two weeks' holiday in the year, and so she asked Magnus if he would mind if she went to England. He was disconcerted, as usual, at the thought that something might interfere with his work, but agreed reluctantly and Tory went ahead to make the arrangements to fly from Antigua in two weeks' time.
She didn't really want to leave Denzil, because she found she felt a little insecure where he was concerned. There was just the possibility that he might leave. Airouna while she was away, sail off into the blue and not come back. She had noted a restlessness about him lately, a withdrawn mood which brought all her doubts about him to the surface of her mind to nag at her.
She was packing her clothes late on the day before her departure for Antigua by ferry when she heard footsteps come up the steps to the front door, followed by a gentle tapping on the frame of the screen door.
She went to open the door and at the sight of a woman standing with her back to the door, dressed in a smart striped cotton dress, she hesitated. The woman turned and looked through the mesh screen.