`Yes, in this suite sometimes. Shall we open the champagne?'
'We might as well. Another couple of drinks aren't going to make any difference after what we've had already.' She waited until Simon had opened the bottle, the cork flying off with a satisfying bang. 'It must seem rather a come-down to go home after this,' she remarked, not looking at him.
Simon glanced at her sharply, then answered, 'The service here is certainly very good and the food is always excellent.' He paused, and Cassie thought of all the meals she'd ruined or dished up out of tins at the last minute. 'But,' Simon went on smoothly, 'I must say that the chambermaid service one gets at home is much, much better.' And he came to put a hand on each arm of her chair and lean over to kiss her.
Cassie laughed and put her arms round his neck. 'Oh, the hotel doesn't provide everything, then?'
'Not as far as I'm concerned.' He straightened up and gave her her glass of champagne.
She watched him as he took off his jacket and tie, as always at this point beginning to be sexually aware, knowing every inch of the powerful body concealed by his clothes. She sipped her champagne, watching him, but then an intriguing thought occurred to her. 'Simon? You said that Mullaine's doesn't provide everything as far as you're concerned. But does it for everyone else? I mean-all those single men who work here? Is there a-you know-a place for them to go to?'
Simon had his back to her and she didn't see the flash of laughter that came into his eyes, but, schooling his features, he turned a bland face towards her and was deliberately vague. 'A place?'
'Yes. You know=-a place where they can meet girls.'
'Well, there's a dance every Saturday night. I believe quite a few local girls go there.'
No,' Cassie shook her head impatiently, 'I meant a place where they can go to-well, have sex. A—-a brothel.' She flushed as she said it and looked up to find Simon grinning widely. Setting down her glass,
she jumped up and ran to hit him on the chest with her fists. `You beast, you knew what I meant all the time!'
'Yes, but it was more fun trying to get you to say it.' He put his arms round her and kissed her. 'My darling girl, if you want to ask a question like that then you've got to come right out and say it. It only becomes embarrassing when you beat around the bush like that.'
'Well, you still haven't answered me. Do they have a brothel here?'
Simon laughed and picked her up. 'Of course they don't. This site is in the centre of a moral God-fearing community. They'd have the whole project closed down at the merest hint of such a thing. No, the men go home to their wives and girl-friends to satisfy their sexual appetites. Just as I,' he added, making for the bedroom, 'am going to satisfy mine.'
'And mine, I hope,' Cassie put in, her arms round his neck, her mouth biting his ear.
'Oh, most definitely yours as well.' He stopped to kiss her, then picked up the bottle of champagne. 'Let's finish the rest of this in bed, shall we? Why don't you put out the light?'
Cassie obeyed and he carried her into the bedroom, shouldering the door shut behind them. Setting her down, he began to undress her, his fingers sure and skilled. Cassie let him for a while and then she, too, began to undress him, but her hands often stopping to touch, explore, until Simon grabbed her hands and exclaimed, 'You little hussy! Get in bed before I take you here and now.'
She pulled a petulant face, put her arms round his neck and moved her breasts against his bare chest so that his hairs softly tickled her. 'I don't like single beds,' she complained.
'Oh, but in single beds you have to stay very, very close all night,' Simon told her as he pulled back the covers and helped her in.
`All night? You promise?'
He laughed. 'That's not just a promise, sweetheart, that's a certainty. Move over and I'll show you.'
And he did, most satisfactorily. But it was cramped in the small bed and when Cassie awoke early in the morning and tried to turn, she woke Simon as well. He grunted and reached out for her.
'No,' Cassie mumbled, still more than half asleep. 'It's too early.'
He chuckled and kissed her car. 'Always knew you wouldn't be able to stand the pace!'
'You're lying on my arm, it hurts.'
'Okay, okay, I can take a hint.' He got out of bed and climbed into the other one. 'God, this feels cold. The things I do for you!'
'Oh, shut up and go to sleep.' Cassie yawned and spread herself luxuriously, then almost immediately fell asleep again as Simon laughed at her bullying tone.
It was just as well they had split up, because a few hours later a maid brought them up breakfast and the papers, courtesy of Mullaine's, of course. Cassie was no prude, but she didn't relish being gossiped about by workers at the hotel. Not that they were directly employed by Mullaine's, because another group had the hotel concession, but she could well imagine that in a close-knit community such as this, everyone already knew that Simon had been offered the post of site director, and that she had come up to Kinray to look the place over.
'Good heavens!' she exclaimed. 'They've sent us up all the Sunday papers. We'll be able to have a colour supplement each, instead of fighting over it.'
Cassie took her time over breakfast and getting dressed, and Simon didn't hurry her, although he was ready long before she was, sitting stretched out in the armchair reading one of the papers more thoroughly. It was perverse of her to take so long, because she knew that they were due to look over the site director's house at eleven and it was almost that already. But some instinct told her that even now Simon was clinging to a last-ditch hope that she would see the house and be willing to live there.
He wasn't the type to give up easily, of course, she'd always known that, and for him to have to accept defeat would be very hard, especially as he wanted this job, wanted it badly. This weekend, if it had done nothing else, had shown her that. And because she loved him and didn't want to hurt him, she was reluctant for the time to come when she would have to say that last, definite no.
At last she couldn't procrastinate any longer and turned to him. 'I'm ready.'
He folded the paper neatly and stood up, looking her over sardonically. 'You're quite sure you haven't forgotten anything?'
Cassie flushed, knowing the barb was deserved, but said steadily, 'No, I don't think so.'
'Let's go, then.'
He took her arm and led her down to the foyer where the chauffeur was waiting. He had been waiting some time and apologised because the car had got cold, which made Cassie feel rotten. They drove out of Kinray and skirted the long perimeter of the construction site, the house being to the south of the oil terminal.
The morning was cold and frosty but very dear, and as they drove the sun carne out, turning the frozen puddles at the side of the road into eye-dazzling mirrors. Once past the construction site, they turned off the new wide highway that had been specially built to supply it, on to a much narrower road only wide enough for cars to pass at special places every quarter of a mile or so where the road had been widened. The road wound through a kind of pass between the hills, hills that were dark grey and inhospitable, the white of snow nestling in the deeper fissures of rock where the sun didn't penetrate. There was very little flora on the hills, just the dry brown sticks of heather plants, their flowers long faded.
As they rounded the shoulder of a hill, the car descended into a valley, and to her surprise Cassie saw that there were trees there, mostly firs and evergreens, growing in an area sheltered from the wind. The road ran through them and then turned in between stone pillars leading up to a house. The road didn't go past the entrance, it led only to the house. They came out of the trees and Cassie saw the sea on her right, with a long open sweep of land leading down to it, bordered on both sides by the gentle slopes of the hills. She was sitting on the right-hand side of the car so had a perfect view as they drove along, and she didn't even turn to see the house until the car drew up outside and the chauffeur got out to open the door for them.
The house was t
he type that you either fell in love with immediately or couldn't stand at any price. It was built of the same grey stone as the hills, mellowed by time and its harshness softened by the rich greenness of ivy, and had a front door set into a sort of rounded turret to one side. It was old, probably eighteenth or early nineteenth century, and three-storied, with the top storey windows set into small gables in the roof. The original windows in the rest of the house were also small, probably to let in less of the sea winds, but some on the ground floor had been enlarged at some time and there were also patio doors set into a corresponding turret at the other side of the house, leading into a garden. Not so much a garden in the English sense with neat flower beds, lawns and shrubberies, but a long expanse of rough grass hedged on each side by wilderness-like areas of spindly trees and rhododendron bushes, but with the view to the sea left open and uninterrupted so that the smell of it came clear to Cassie's nostrils on the light breeze.
A woman had come to the door at the sound of the car and for a moment Cassie thought she was going to have the embarrassing experience of meeting the woman whose husband Simon had been asked to replace. But it was soon made clear that the woman was only the maid.
'Mr and Mrs. Richards are at the kirk,' she informed them in a broad Highland accent. `They told me to show you over the house.'
The house was large, much bigger than Cassie had expected, and was well looked after and modernised. `This was originally the local laird's house,' Simon told her. `He owned nearly the whole of Kinray and all the land that the terminal's being built on. When our predecessors bought it he moved out and went to live in the Bahamas on the proceeds, and the company fully renovated and modernised this house. I understand that it had been rather neglected for some time before that.'
`Och, that it was, sir,' the maid, Mrs. Campbell, confirmed. `The old laird didn't have a spare penny to spend on it, and now they say he's a millionaire.'
Cassie looked at the middle-aged woman curiously. `Didn't you mind the oil terminal being built here?'
'No, indeed,' the maid replied warmly. 'I've a husband and three grown sons, and all of them out of work for years until the oil came.'
She took them up the wide wooden staircase and insisted on showing them every corner of the house, right up into the top storey bedrooms and down to the cellar before Simon thanked and gently dismissed her and she reluctantly left them alone. They were standing in what was probably the best room in the house.
It had a high, ornately plastered ceiling and the partly paneled walls were hung with a series of flower paintings. The floor was of polished oak partly covered by a beautiful Indian carpet and the room was warmed by the rich dark red velvet of the curtains as well as by the bright log fire which burnt in the hearth and the sun which shone through the sparklingly clean window panes. The furniture was mostly antique, but the settee and armchairs were comfortable-looking modern re-productions in a pastel pink flowered pattern.
But however beautiful the room, it was the view that drew Cassie's gaze. She walked over to the deep window embrasure with its red-cushioned seat and looked down the long vista of the garden to where the greenness of grass gave way to the soft amber of sand and the scintillating lines of light that marked the crest of each wave as it moved into the shore, only to burst into myriad rainbows of spray as they broke on the beach.
For a while they both stood silently, then Cassie sighed and said, 'You were right, it is beautiful.'
Simon came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. 'I'm glad you like it.'
He spoke lightly, but Cassie could feel the tension in his fingers as he waited for her to give her decision. And it would have been so easy to have given in, to say, Yes, all right, I'll do what you want. I'll give up my job and come here with you. And for a while it would have been worth it, to see Simon's face light up with happiness and triumph and have him show her how much he loved her for it. But she knew that it wouldn't be long before this beautiful house would seem like a prison and her naturally happy disposition begin to be eaten away by frustration and bitterness. She loved Simon very much, but she didn't know if it was strong enough to survive something like that. She owed it to them both to be honest, to say how she really felt.
Simon was saying. 'I've never seen such a magnificent piece of landscape.'
Deliberately Cassie moved out of his hold and turned to face him. 'No. But who was it who said that landscape can become extremely tedious when that's all there is?'
He looked at her for a moment, then shoved his hands in his trouser pockets; a habit he had when he didn't want to show his emotions. 'Does that mean what I suppose it does?'
'That I won't come to live here? Yes, I'm afraid it does.'
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'I was stupid to hope that this place would change your mind, I suppose, but nevertheless I clung to that. I thought that if anything could persuade you it would be this house.'
'I'm sorry,' Cassie said inadequately. 'I know how much you want this job and will hate having to give it up, but I just can't live here, Simon.'
Pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, he lit one and drew hard on it. He was still standing by the window, looking out, but his expression was abstracted, as if his thoughts were miles away. When at length he did turn to her there was a cold, withdrawn look on his face.
'All right, then I'll just have to accept the fact. But I'm afraid I'm not going to turn this job down, Cassie. Not just because it's too good an opportunity to miss, but because I've already got so involved with this project that I've got to see it through. I can't give it up any more than you can give up your job.'
'B-but you can't!' Cassie exclaimed, her brow wrinkling in perplexity. 'I've said no. I…'
'I know what you said,' Simon cut in, 'but it doesn't make any difference. Tomorrow I'm going to tell the board of directors that I'll accept the job.'
Cassie stared at him, her face hostile. 'Is this some kind of ultimatum? Are you ordering me to come and live here?'
Simon's mouth twisted wryly and he sounded suddenly tired. 'No, I'm not issuing any commands. Unfortunately you're one of the few people here that I can't order around. Ironic, isn't it?' he added bitterly. He drew on his cigarette, then looked at it and ground it out in an ashtray as if he suddenly found it distasteful. 'No, I'm simply saying that you've made your decision and I've made mine. We both want different things and neither of us is willing to make any concessions. So we'll just have to go our separate ways instead of being together.'
His words made Cassie feel suddenly very, very cold.
Her face paled and her voice stuck in her throat as she said, 'What do you mean?'
Simon turned to face her. 'That I'll live and work here while you go on living in the flat in London. I'll fly down as often as I can at the weekends, of course, but I may not be able to get away every weekend, especially at the beginning, but perhaps you could come up here sometimes. If that wouldn't be asking too much, of course,' he added cynically.
Cassie's first reaction was the overwhelming rush of relief one always feels when a great fear is suddenly removed. Her heart began to beat again and colour rushed into her cheeks.
'Oh, Simon!' She ran to him and threw her arms round his neck, pressed closely against him. 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'
His arms came round her and held her tightly, but he didn't speak.
Lifting her head, her eyes close to tears, Cassie said haltingly, 'Isn't there any alternative? I don't want us to be apart.'
Ruefully, Simon shook his head. 'Nor do I, darling. But I can't see any other way for us both to get what we want out of life.'
'But for three years! It will seem like a lifetime.' She put her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him worriedly. 'And what guarantee would we have that Mullaine's wouldn't send you off somewhere else when this project is finished?'
'A lot can happen in three years,' Simon reminded her. 'And by then, if I've made a success of this, I'll have a bit more weigh
t to throw about with the other directors.' He put his hand up and wiped a tear from her cheek. 'Don't worry; we'll both be busy, the time will soon pass, and we'll see each other as often as we can. Then I'll make sure we're together.'
'Promise?'
'Promise.' He bent and put his mouth on hers, sealing the promise with a kiss.
Slowly Cassie opened her eyes to look at him, studying each feature of his face all over again, realising that from that moment on their lives, their whole relationship, was going to change. Up until now she had been so happy, had had everything she'd ever wanted. Even now she had, she supposed, again got what she wanted, and couldn't help feeling a surge of satisfaction because of it, but she had had no idea that Simon would ever decide on such a solution. That he could even contemplate it startled and at first appalled her. Never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamt that they would live apart, but as she thought about it she realised that it made sense, and Simon was right, the time would soon pass, and they would see each other as much as possible, almost as much as they did now really, because Simon was so often away. As they left the house and walked to the waiting car, Cassie felt almost cheerful again. Even if they were apart, at least there was no conflict between them any more, there were holidays and lots of other times together to look forward to and, she thought with satisfaction, she could now give her whole attention to the improvements she wanted to make in the fashion departments at Marriott & Brown's.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT first Cassie hardly missed Simon; it was just like all the other times when he was away somewhere sorting out problems for Mullaine's, and she didn't feel at all lonely. They spoke on the telephone nearly every night, but this gradually became every other and then once every three or four nights as they ran out of new things to talk about. They each listened politely when the other talked about work and its difficulties, but perhaps they both sensed that the interest was only cursory, that their minds were too full of their own problems to pay any real attention to the other's.
Sally Wentworth Page 6