The Honeymoon

by Violet Winspear

  'What makes you think I was alone?' she asked. 'I do have a husband.'

  'And he was playing cards, sweetie. I saw him go limping in.'

  Jorja caught her breath and her eyes flashed up and down the figure in front of her, his porky thighs straining against the grey flannel slacks. 'My husband is more of a man than you'll ever be,' she said furiously. 'He's more fascinating asleep than you are when you're awake!'

  The pale blue eyes registered instant shock at the remark, as if never in his spoilt life had someone dared to oppose his self-satisfied opinion of himself. 'You little bitch!' With temper reddening his face he pushed Jorja through the partly open door of the reading room, which was quite unoccupied and had vast windows from ceiling to floor, overlooking a side garden.

  Jorja couldn't help feeling dismayed at finding herself alone with this glowering young man, who was pinning her to the wall and pressing his fleshy thighs against her. She could feel their heat through the summery fabric of her dress, and her frantic struggles made him all the more persistent.

  'Your airs and graces make me laugh.' His breath fanned her face and muscles stood out in his jaw as he thrust himself against her. 'You're just a cheap little tart who strips and performs in front of a camera, but with that wide-eyed look of yours, sweetie, you could fool an archbishop. If s quite an act you put on.' And holding her hands pinioned he lowered his lips to her left ear. 'Come to my room and show me some of the tricks of your trade.'

  His breath was hot, and Jorja could feel him making body movements against her, like some beastly great animal, she thought, as with all her energy she thrust upwards with her knee and hoped she disabled him for the rest of his stay at Duke's.

  As he gaspingly doubled over and nursed his injury, Jorja made a dash from the room, eyes blazing as she crossed the reception area and went out into the sunshine. Her feelings were all churned up. It was unbearable the way Angelica's shadow fell over everything, so that all at once the morning had lost its zest and she couldn't stop thinking of those intimacies which her sister had performed in front of a camera. Intimacies which were supposed to be an expression of love between a woman and a man.

  Jorja walked slowly along, hardly aware of the holiday gaiety all around her. The laughter and the talk floated past her ears, and she was blind to the glances which followed her slim figure. It would always be this way, she told herself. Each time she felt a little happiness, there would be some unhappy reminder of the part Angelica played in her life and Renzo's. They would never be free of her, and Jorja lacked the assurance that would have made her sister seem less threatening.

  She sat down on one of the seats set among the flower beds along the esplanade. It was no use pretending that Renzo's feelings for her were on a higher plane than those of the wretched young man back at the hotel. Renzo was a distinguished man of the world, but his basic desires were no different... not where she was concerned.

  It was in this mood of mixed feelings that Jorja noticed the pony. He was one of a trio of ponies who were giving rides to children on the beach, and Jorja felt a lurch of pity at the way the animal hung its head as another child was placed wriggling and energetic on its back. The man in charge gave him a slap and as the pony started to move, it became obvious to Jorja that he was not only lame but overheated and thirsty.

  As the child pulled on the bridle and the pony raised its head in weary obedience, Jorja found herself pushing her way through the group of parents to where the owner of the ponies was lighting a cigarette. Maybe it wasn't any of her business, but the utter lack of feeling and comprehension in these people made her heart burn.

  'That pony's lame,' she accused the owner. 'If you don't take care he's going to flop down and probably injure the child.'

  The man slowly removed his cigarette and stared at her, but not in amazement. Jorja saw from the look in his eyes that he was fully aware of the pony's condition and wasn't in the least concerned that the animal was suffering.

  'Why don't you run along, girlie, and mind your own business?' he asked. 'I've been handling ponies for years and I don't need you to tell me my business.'

  'I'm quite prepared to report you to the RSPCA,' she retorted. 'If you're going to make your living out of exploiting animals, then you should be made to take proper and humane care of them. That little piebald is not only lame but he's just about ready to keel over—you'll find yourself in real, trouble if the child gets hurt and the parents sue for damages.'

  This time Jorja had hit a nerve and she knew it. The man dropped his cigarette and stamped his heel on it, then he marched across the beach to where the piebald now stood unmoving except for the weary twitching of its tail. The child was kicking at the pony's sides and urging him to move, but obstinacy had joined forces with pain and the piebald refused to obey its young rider.

  'Off with you, sonny.' The child was lifted out of the saddle and returned to the parents, who wanted to know why sonny hadn't had his money's-worth of pony ride.

  'The pony's none too bright. Gone a bit lame,' Jorja heard the owner say as she approached the piebald. She stroked his shaggy mane and he gave her a look that made her want to weep.

  'You poor little scrap.' She wondered what she could do for him and felt certain she couldn't leave him in the hands of a bully who instead of giving him some care would probably beat him for going lame. Even a visit from the animal welfare people wouldn't guarantee the pony's future treatment, and Jorja had taken a liking to the patient little animal who needed to be rested before he gave any more rides to boisterous children.

  'Here goes,' she thought, and zipped open her purse on its shoulder strap. She couldn't imagine what Renzo would say when she turned up with a lame pony, but she hoped he would understand that she never had been able to pass by on the other side of the road when a creature, whether human or animal,, had needed a bit of help.

  'I'll buy him.' She held out the wad of money to the owner, every pound of it her pocket money from Renzo. 'He deserves a better home than the one he has with you.'

  The man glowered down at her. 'You're a right little madam, aren't you? How much you offering? He might be spent out right now, but he's a good worker.'

  'I'm giving you fifty pounds,' she said, and she had taken firm hold of the piebald's bridle. 'He won't last much longer with you, and it's more than you'd get from the knacker.'

  After a battle of glares, which Jorja was determined to win, the man snatched the money out of her hand. 'All right, he's yours, and you're welcome to him.'

  'Has he a name?' she asked, uncaring that people were staring and making comments as the pony exchanged hands.

  'I call him Patch.'

  'That will do fine,' she said, and led her new acquisition past the gaping onlookers. For the money Renzo was paying for their stay at Duke's they could allow the little fellow into their stable. There would be someone to attend to his lameness and to see that he had a proper meal for a change. He was hers, and to hell with what people thought. She was more than a little weary herself of people and their inhumanities. The majority of them seemed to over-indulge in everything but compassion, and with a look on her face which scorned the looks she and Patch were collecting, she led him along the esplanade at a pace which didn't put too much strain upon his sore leg.

  When they appeared in the stable yard at the rear of Duke's four riders were returning from a gallop, and as one of the young women slid from the saddle she let out a laugh. 'Haven't you come to the wrong place?' she asked. 'This hotel doesn't provide stabling for one of those nags from the beach.'

  'He's from the beach,' Jorja agreed, 'but he's staying here. I've bought him and I don't think the management will argue with my husband.'

  She led Patch to the water trough, where he lowered his weary head and relieved his thirst. After looping his bridle into a wall-ring, Jorja went in search of a stable lad; she wanted oats for the pony and she also required a vet. A lad in a striped jersey was mucking out a stall and she went and spoke to
him. 'Him, miss?' He stared towards Patch. 'You kiddin' me?'

  'I don't kid about suffering animals,' she said coolly. 'My husband and I are staying here at Duke's, and I want my pony fed and attended to by a vet. You can call the one who deals with the hotel's horses, and don't worry about the bill because I can assure you it will be paid. My name is Signora Talmonte.'

  The stable lad gave her a quizzical look and decided not to argue with her. 'Been worked till he's ready for the knacker's yard, miss?' He walked with her to where-the pony was lapping the water with a shade more energy, and after talking a look at the lamed leg he gave a whistle of dismay. 'Goin' to cost you a packet in vet's fees.'

  'I don't care how much the treatment costs.' Jorja removed the worn old saddle and stirrups and flung them aside. 'I don't know what the people of this country are coming to! There they were, watching with silly smiles while their offspring bumped up and down on this poor fellow's back. It was obvious he was lame.'

  'Not everyone's got your kind heart, miss.' The stable lad grinned at her. 'The manager of Duke's is hardly famous for his soft heart and I can't see him letting this pony of yours stay here among the thoroughbreds. No, miss, he won't buy it.'

  'He's got to.' Jorja stroked her fingers through the pony's tangled mane. 'Renzo will see to it —he's my husband and he usually gets what he wants from people. Now how about getting me some oats for Patch?'

  'If you say so, miss.' The lad was whistling as he crossed the yard, but he broke off as two men appeared, one of them arguing and gesticulating while the other calmly listened as they approached Jorja and the pony. She felt instant relief at seeing Renzo, and guessed that the riders who had seen her enter with Patch had gone to the management and kicked up a fuss about both of them.

  'This animal will have to be removed.' The manager shared an affronted look between Jorja and Patch. 'This just will not do, signora. We cannot allow such a creature on the premises; it is quite against our rules.'

  'Most rules have a certain pliability, or such has been my experience.' Renzo was looking steadily at Jorja as he spoke but she couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed by her purchase of a poor weary beast who nuzzled her shoulder as if his animal instincts were telling him that she was the only person in the world who cared what became of him.

  She fixed her blue eyes upon Renzo's face and put every ounce of appeal into that look. She knew only too well that when he chose to be forceful there were few people who had the nerve to oppose him, and she wanted him to defend her action in bringing the pony to a stable where he could be taken care of.

  Renzo reached out a hand and ran it along the pony's back, feeling the thrust of the ribs beneath the piebald hide. Then he swung to face the hotel manager, and Jorja knew it was no accident that he slightly raised his ebony stick. 'You would charge well to stable a thoroughbred,' he said, 'so charge me the same rate for the pony.'

  'But the animal could be infectious.' The manager was looking down his nose at Patch, who waited in a patient kind of daze for kicks or kindness. Jorja patted him to let him know that he could rely on her for the kindness.

  'He's lame and underfed,' Renzo said decisively. 'I think you will take him in, signore. It would be humane, as well as good business, eh?'

  'This really is against my principles ‑' The manager continued to look doubtful.

  'What are principles when an act of kindness is at stake?' Once again Renzo's eyes flicked Jorja's face in a look which she couldn't quite read. 'With some care the animal will begin to look quite respectable in a few days, and I would hate you to disappoint my wife, signore, by refusing to stable the pony. She's set on it, as you can see.'

  The manager gave Jorja a rather helpless look, for standing there in her white dress, her arm about the neck of her pony, her eyes so intensely blue, she had something about her that reflected both challenge and vulnerability.

  Abruptly he relented. 'I ask only one thing of you, signora,' his smile came and went, 'don't make a crusade of bringing to my hotel any more animals in distress. It isn't that I am unsympathetic, but not all my guests have your benevolent nature.'

  'Thank you,' she murmured. 'I am grateful.'

  'Then the matter is settled?' Renzo asked. 'If there are further complaints, you will let it be known that the stabling of the pony has your approval, signore?'

  'Complaints come with the responsibility of running an hotel,' the manager said, resignedly. 'I will leave you to deal with the stable hands, Signore Talmonte. You seem more than capable of getting people to do your bidding.'

  The moment they were left on their own, Jorja gave Renzo a smile which he didn't return. He stood looking down at her, slightly shaking his head as if he found her something of an imponderable. 'I can't leave you alone for half an hour, can I?' he murmured. 'I had business at the bank, and in that short time you manage to become the owner of a bag of bones who couldn't win a three-legged race. How did it happen, eh?'

  She regaled him with the details, and now that the manager had made his departure the lad in the striped shirt appeared with half a bag of oats and latched them around the pony's neck. 'Got your own way, did you, miss?' he grinned.

  'With the help of my husband.' Jorja watched with satisfaction as Patch tucked into the oats. 'We have to speak with the man in charge of the stables—-is he around?'

  The lad glanced up at the stable clock, which was attached to the stone archway which led into the yard. 'He pops out for a Guinness around this time, miss, but he'll be back in about half an hour. Old Duffy's all right. Likes anything on four legs, and he can't abide some of the snobs who come to Duke's. Says they're not the real upper crust any more, apart from one or two.'

  The cheeky green eyes flickered towards Renzo, as if taking note that he was the genuine article as he stood there in a perfectly cut, light beige suit that intensified his air of Italian arroganza.

  'What's your name?' Renzo asked him.

  'Freddy, sir.'

  'Then I shall trust you, Freddy, to take care of the pony and arrange for the vet to see him as soon as possible.'

  'Glad to oblige, sir.' Freddy tucked his tip into a pocket of his grubby breeches. 'It must have been Patch's lucky day, getting himself noticed by your missus.'

  'Yes,' Renzo drawled, 'my missus must have had her heart on fire with good resolution this morning. Bid arrivederci to your somewhat bedraggled pet, my dear. It will soon be time for lunch.'

  'See you soon, Patch.' Jorja felt warmly pleased, with her morning's work, and this was in the smile she gave Freddy. 'I'll be along this afternoon to see him and to hear what the vet had to say about his leg. Don't forget to tell Mr Duffy that it's all above-board for Patch to be stabled here.'

  'It's going to put a few noses out of joint,' Freddy said gleefully. 'Patch is looking brighter, miss, now he's got some oats in his belly.'

  'Yes, poor old love.'

  'He isn't the only one who needs his oats,' Renzo remarked, taking Jorja firmly by the elbow. 'Are you going to join me for lunch, young woman, or do you prefer to stay here?'

  'I'm coming, signore.' As she walked with Renzo to the side entrance of the hotel she glanced up at him. 'I couldn't help myself—you aren't annoyed, are you?'

  'No.'

  'Then what are you thinking?'

  'That I am anxious to be alone with you.'

  'Oh dear --'

  'No need for alarm.' He laughed briefly. 'I want to kiss you.'

  As they rode up in the lift there was a tension between them which found its relief the moment he closed the door of their suite and tossed his stick to a chair. He caught Jorja's slim body into his arms and pressed her to him. His eyes were brilliantly alive as they held her gaze ... held it until her lashes fluttered and her hands pressed against the nape of his neck.

  'I don't even start to know you,' he murmured against her mouth. 'You keep surprising me.'

  'I often surprise myself.' Their lips met with a sensuousness that turned to hunger, and whatever her r
esolve of the night before it was abandoned as she sank with him to the couch and lay in his arms, enjoying his kisses and the feel of his hands on her body.

  'You did mention lunch.' Her eyes played with his.

  'I mentioned oats.'

  Laughing, she ran ahead of him into the bedroom, peeling off her dress, kicking off her shoes, laughter fading to a catch of desire as he stood over her and flung off his jacket. Her hands reached up and assisted with his tie, and in another half-minute he was gathering her willing body close to his.

  They came together without preliminary, the sunlight through the windows bathing them in its warm beneficence. Their passion was generous and exultant, white limbs locked with hard brown ones, slim hands moving up and down the supple muscles from shoulder to thigh. The vibrant throbs, the deep and quickening thrills drove Jorja to incoherence... to a wanton wildness of feeling.

  'Darling, darling.' She clutched him with pleasured desperation.

  Strong hands supporting the small of her back, Renzo raised her to him until their pulses fused into one resounding beat, held and shared until the tremolo quivered into a stillness of bronze flesh welded to white and softest gold.

  'Oh—girl!' His breath raked across her throat and she felt the hammering of his heart against her breast, a motion which actually stirred her sensitive skin.

  They lay there with their bodies unified, and Jorja's lips trembled into a smile as she felt the excitation of her innermost nerves. How could anything on earth be more wondrous than the unity she had just experienced with Renzo? She would like to stay like this for ever and never have to see or speak to anyone but him. She wanted nobody else in all the world. He sufficed. He was the centre of her being and her one and only necessity.

  She threaded her fingers through his thick black hair and thought briefly of the lascivious young man who had pressed her up against the wall of the reading room. He had made physical desire seem cheap and nasty, and she quickly pushed him out of her mind and tenderly kissed Renzo's mouth with softly parted lips. Love trembled inside her but before she could speak the telephone started to ring, filling the room with the intrusive clamour of the world they had forgotten for a while.