`Devil's Food Cake,' she said. 'It's a recipe he got out of a magazine. If you tell him you're on a diet I'll never
speak to you again. Anyway, you look as if you could do with some more flesh on your bones. No one would think you've had a holiday.'
In the kitchen Frank Silk was swinging the wheelchair deftly from one counter-top to the other. His face was red, as much with pleasure as with the heat from the oven. On the baking tray stood a rich-looking chocolate cake. Diana looked at it with real admiration, repressing sternly the tears that pricked at her eyes.
`When can we start it?' she asked.
`I'll make tea now,' said her mother. 'It'll be cool enough by the time the kettle's boiled. Go and sit in the fresh air and I'll bring it out into the garden.'
Frank buzzed the wheelchair briskly down the specially constructed path and swung round to a stop under the pear tree. Diana dropped to the ground beside him. He looked down at her fondly.
`So you had a lovely holiday with Miles,' he said. He and Constance managed to communicate telepathically, Diana thought sourly. 'How is he?'
Her father had been shocked and angry when Miles left her. He seemed to have got over it now.
Diana said carefully, 'Fit. Very tanned.'
Frank nodded. 'Good. The last time we saw him he was looking like a ghost, I thought. Working too hard.'
`Yes,' said Diana automatically. She was trying to assimilate this piece of surprising news. 'Er—when was that, Dad?'
Her father thought about it. 'Oh, quite a while now. Couple of months. Before he went to Australia. He dropped in to say he'd be out of the country for a bit.'
Diana choked. 'How often have you been seeing him?'
It was Frank's turn to be surprised. 'Every month or so, I suppose. Didn't he mention it?'
Diana could have screamed. Instead she drew several long breaths and said in a careful voice, 'We've parted, Dad. We don't see each other.'
`But you've just been on holiday together,' he pointed out.
`Not,' she said between her teeth, 'voluntarily. If I'd known he was going to be there, wild horses wouldn't have got me to that damned castle.'
He looked worried. 'Oh, dear. I had no idea.' He bent down, peering into her face. 'But I thought ... I mean your mother said ... Aren't you getting back together again, then?'
Very slowly her hands closed into fists. She could feel the nails digging into her palms. But she said calmly, `No, Dad. Not the last time I looked.'
He shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said simply. 'You're never going to be happy without him, you know.'
She winced. It was too horribly close to what she felt herself.
`Nor happy with him,' she said quietly.
He smiled at her affectionately. 'You're just going through a bad time,' he said. 'Marriage is a difficult relationship. But when Miles put that ring on your finger he meant it to stay there.'
She took it off that night when she got back. She thrust the ring deep into her handkerchief drawer, not looking where it fell. She should, she knew, have taken it off years ago, If she had really wanted to be free, she would have done.
`Heaven help me,' she muttered.
She began to work. It was late and she was tired but she knew if she went to bed she wouldn't sleep any more than she had slept last night. And the night before that, her hurt heart reminded her, she had slept dreamlessly deep in Miles's arms. Until he had left her.
She was at her desk, poring over a sketch plan by the light of an angled lamp, when the doorbell rang. She jumped, looking at the clock. After nine. Joan Dryden making house calls?
She picked up the entryphone. 'Hello?'
`And where the hell have you been?'
Even through the distorting device she could hear the menace in his voice. She clenched her hand round the instrument until her knuckles showed white.
`Who is that?' she demanded in as cool a voice as she could manage.
`Don't play games with me,' he advised softly. 'Let me in, or I'll raise the neighbourhood.'
He would too. It was a small residential square, with the house fronts facing inwards over a pedestrian path and the central shrubbery. It would be all too easy for him to bring the residents of all twelve houses out into the communal garden. He would probably, thought Diana in helpless anger, enjoy it.
She punched the entry button with quite unnecessary viciousness. At least she wasn't going to go down to the ground floor and let him in.
He came up the stairs two at a time. She listened for his steps as she had listened for them so many times before in the house they had shared.
I am not going to be sentimental, she vowed. And I'm not going to let him persuade me or browbeat me or seduce me. Particularly not seduce me.
She switched on the wall-lights as he got to the top of the stairs. He stood there looking round the open-plan sitting-room, pushing his hands through his hair.
`Sitting in the dark?' he mocked with a nod to the light-switch where her hand still lingered. 'Moping?'
Diana glared at him. 'Working,' she said coldly, indicating the desk and its workmanlike lighting arrangements. 'I didn't realise how late it had got.'
He gave a brisk nod. 'Then you won't have eaten. Get your coat.'
She stared at him. 'I'm sorry?' she said in a voice of ice.
`So you should be. Get your coat.'
She wasn't going to allow him to browbeat her, Diana reminded herself.
`I won't,' she said.
Miles gave her his most charming smile. He was looking at his most implacable.
`Then come as you are and freeze.'
`I'm not going anywhere with you.'
`Yes, you are,' he said positively. 'You're coming to
have dinner. And then you're coming home with me.' Diana retreated behind a sofa. 'This is my home.' `You would be there now if I hadn't missed you at the
airport,' he said, ignoring her.
Diana suddenly felt a surge of kindness for the small jumping bean who had sat next to her on the horrible flight. At least his company seemed to have camouflaged her arrival. If she had known Miles was in the crowd waiting for her she would have been frantic.
`You delude yourself, Miles,' she said. 'I would never have gone back to your house in any circumstances.'
His eyes narrowed. 'That isn't what your body was telling me two nights ago,' he said softly.
Diana flinched. So she'd found something else that hurt more than anything had ever done before or could do again, she thought with a touch of hysteria. How many more such records was she going to have to break before Miles got out of her life forever?
She said, 'I'd rather we didn't talk about that.'
`I'm sure you would.' He was grimly amused. 'We're going to talk about it, nevertheless.'
She might be determined not to be browbeaten but she knew her limitations, Diana thought. She made a despairing gesture.
`All right. Have your say. And then go away.' `Only if you come with me.'
She closed her eyes. 'For the last time, Miles. No.' `The night before last ...'
She opened her eyes and glared at him. 'The night before last I behaved like a fool and a tramp.'
He might just as well not have been listening to her. He stretched out a hand and cupped her cheek as if they were lovers about to fall into each other's arms. His eyes were warm.
Damn him, thought Diana, suddenly sharply afraid
of herself. She stepped back, wrenching her head aside. `I've started divorce proceedings,' she said harshly. That at least managed to get his attention, she saw
with satisfaction.
`You've what?'
Prudently she didn't repeat it. It was all she could do to stand her ground. His eyes weren't warm any more. They were flaming. She thought suddenly, I've never seen him lose control of himself like this before. He will hate losing control.
He didn't touch her. But she felt the blast of his anger like a water-cannon. If she hadn't been holding on to the back of
the sofa she could almost have staggered under the force of it.
`Don't bully me, Miles,' she flared.
He looked her up and down measuringly. 'Two nights ago, you were going mad in my arms,' he said levelly. It was an accusation. Diana's face flamed.
I--'
`You told me you loved me,' he said relentlessly.
Heaven help her, she probably had. She'd felt the love all right, Diana thought with a stab of misery. With her guard down like that, she'd probably been stupid enough to tell him as well. She shook her head at the thought.
`I assure you, you did.'
She gathered up the tatters of her pride and met his eyes.
`Very possibly,' she said in an even tone. 'In the heat of the moment one says these things. I'm afraid I don't remember.' Her shrug was a masterpiece.
Their eyes locked. His darkened.
Then he said softly, 'I don't believe you.'
She shrugged again, looking away.
`You were never much of a liar, my dear Diana. Especially not in bed,' he drawled.
If he had meant to be cruel, he could not have hit her with more precision.
Her voice like ice, she said, 'It's called sex, Miles. Chemical attraction. Of which you and I have rather too much for our own comfort. It's pretty ephemeral. It doesn't replace liking and trust. And you can't build a marriage on it.'
He stared at her. The handsome face looked gaunt suddenly.
`I won't let you get away with that,' he said.
Quite suddenly Diana realised that she was at the end of her tether. If he didn't leave, and soon, she was going to break down and start begging him to stay. And then he'd leave, without a backward look, until the next time ...
`I can't bear it,' she said. 'I've had all I'm going to take from you, Miles ...'
It was the wrong tone to take, the wrong thing to say. He was too near, the mood was too taut, they were too
alone in the quiet house. He stepped round the sofa, his expression black.
`Now there you're wrong,' he said quite gently. And took hold of her.
Diana would have said she knew all there was to know about the way she and Miles made love. She would have been wrong.
There was none of the gentleness they were used to. None of the slow savouring of the delights of the senses. They were both hurt and angry and, both in their particular way, driven to the limit.
Diana didn't know who astonished her most—Miles, no longer silent and immaculately controlled, or herself, as fierce in her demands of their bodies as he was. When they fell back, gasping, she felt as if she had run through fire—and not wholly escaped the burning.
Miles was breathing hard. He reached out a long arm for her, drawing her back against his body.
'DU His voice was slurred but the amusement was back. If it hadn't been she might not have reacted as she did. But she was not in any case to be laughed at, with her heart still pounding and the bruises beginning to appear.
She wrenched herself away from all that dangerous warmth and laughter. He was never going to hurt her again. Never.
`My point proved, I think,' she said coldly. 'Sex, Miles. And nothing else.'
CHAPTER NINE
This time it was Diana who left. She stumbled into some clothes and drove her car to Joan Dryden's. She was, she freely admitted, lucky that the windy streets were empty at that time of night.
Joan took one look at her and sent her to bed with a hot drink. The next day she even came back to the little house with her distressed client. But Miles had gone by then.
The sitting-room still looked like a battlefield. A chair was on its side and papers were everywhere. Joan's eyebrows went up to her hairline.
`I'll get a "no molestation" order,' she said practically. But Diana said swiftly, 'No. Don't do that. He won't be back again.'
Joan looked at her narrowly. 'You're sure of that?' Diana thought of the bleakness in his eyes when she
had looked down at him with that parting shot. `I'm sure.'
Joan shrugged. 'Well, you know your own business best,' she said doubtfully. 'I'll get on to his solicitor anyway. He's still using Hendon, I presume?'
`I suppose so.'
Diana must have sounded as depressed as she felt. Joan touched her arm.
`What you need is a bit of forward planning. Go and look at the order book and see whether you can pay the bills,' she said bracingly. 'That'll put a bit of ginger into life, especially if you can't. Take care of yourself.'
Diana saw her off, then went slowly back indoors. Take care of yourself, she thought wryly. Well, she'd been doing that, hadn't she? Since long before Miles left, too. Miles had never wanted to take care of her. He'd been too impatient, too—other than in those moments of devastating passion—remote. She'd broken her heart on that remoteness. All the passion had done was hide it.
She was, Diana assured herself, better off taking care of herself and not looking, hopelessly, for love that wasn't there. Passion was no substitute. All it did was disguise Miles's deep indifference, and her own need to protect herself from him
She took Joan's advice and listed all the work she had accepted and all that had been offered while she was away. She gave the computer some parameters and told it to prioritise. It came out with a schedule that, even assuming minimum travel, was full for six months.
`At least I won't starve,' Diana said wryly.
She looked uneasily at the papers on the Princess's apartment. She didn't need Miles's work. On the other hand, it would look like running away if she didn't at least attempt a report of sorts. And Miles wasn't going to have the satisfaction of having got her on the run, she told herself.
She would send him a nominal bill which she would be quite glad if he never paid. And then the whole relationship would be behind her.
The report on the Princess's apartment was typed and printed off by midnight.
She stood up, stretching her arms above her head. The queer silence of the small hours made her feel very alone. She bit her lip. Not alone. Lonely. For Miles. Her very skin called out for his touch. She lowered her arms abruptly.
`This has got to stop,' she said aloud between her teeth. `It's over. I am never going to see him again. I don't want to see him again. I've got to get on with my life on my own.'
For the next four weeks she made a valiant attempt to do just that. She worked fourteen hours a day, leaving the answering machine as a barrier between her and the outside world. Miles neither wrote nor tried to call her. She was, Diana said to herself, thankful.
She went to see her parents on brief, irregular visits. She had checked with the solicitor and they were right. The house was in their own name now. At least Miles wasn't going to hold that over her head.
She had a faint suspicion her parents were still seeing Miles, though. It crystallised one Saturday evening when, watching a science programme on television about a new discovery, her father said cheerfully, 'That's over my head. Miles will have to explain it to me.'
Diana sat bolt upright. `Dad—'
But her mother interposed smoothly, 'There'll be stuff in the Sunday papers, I shouldn't wonder. We'll look.'
At once she got up and began to fuss about evening drinks and Diana felt the opportunity to challenge her slip away. It was frustrating. She would, she thought grimly, have it out with both of them in the morning.
But Constance Silk had a heavy programme for her in the morning. She had to plant out seedlings, gather flowers for the house, go to the farm for cream. Diana did it all with a grim efficiency that must have told her mother that she wasn't going to avoid interrogation. Constance stayed serene.
`Your father's papers?' she suggested, receiving the carton of cream with a word of thanks.
`All right, Mother,' Diana agreed. 'I'll go to the village shop for you. Then we'll talk.'
`Of course, darling,' Constance agreed with the calm of a woman who had the next diversionary tactic well planned.
Diana laughed in spi
te of herself. But her mother wasn't going to get out of it, she promised herself. But in the end it was not Constance who diverted attention from the subject.
Diana strolled back along the metalled road with the papers under her arm, enjoying the scents of the June countryside. They were, she thought, utterly unlike the hot herbal smell of the Greek cliffs. They were heady and sweet—too sweet. And the road began to give off an odd sheen as if the tar was melting. The papers were very heavy. All of a sudden Diana realised she didn't feel very well.
She got home somehow. One look at her face and Constance Silk had her sitting on the doorstep with her head between her knees. Her father's wheelchair whirred agitatedly.
`No need to get in a flap, Frank,' Constance said calmly. 'She's got a touch of the sun, that's all.'
And, sure enough, she felt better after lunch. She drove home, forgetting the incident.
The following morning, however, was different. Diana awoke late and heavy-eyed with the feeling that something horrible was imminent. It was. She was sick.
It didn't last long. She recovered and went through the rest of her day as if it had not happened, though it was an effort. She had a strange feeling of exhaustion, which was infuriating with all the work she had to do. And when the same thing happened the next morning she lost patience with herself.
She hardly ever went to the doctor, so he was a stranger. He turned out to be young and horridly cheerful. He listened to her tale of the accident in Greece
and the chance of slight concussion with an air of tolerant superiority which made Diana want to hit him.
`Well, we'll see what the tests say,' he conceded at last. `But I'd say it was a slight touch of pregnancy, Mrs Tabard. Congratulations.'
Diana could never afterwards remember how she got herself out of his surgery and home. She must have driven but she had no memory of the journey. She felt cold. Panic, she knew. Panic and a strange, frightening sensation of being caught up in events over which she had no control.
For the moment the doctor had suggested it she had recognised it as the truth. She would wait for the test results, of course, but in her heart she already knew. She was carrying Miles's child.
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