Kimberley hadn't got as far as thinking he would so much as tell anybody else, she had to admit, realising only then that because she wanted it kept such a dark, dark secret, from everyone except Charles Forester, that didn't necessarily mean that Slade was of the same view. And there was no time to dwell 'on it now, for Slade Darville was in a fine temper when he threw at her:
`Like hell we'll divorce!'
She couldn't believe he was refusing. 'You're saying . . .?' she couldn't go on.
`No female is going to make me look an impotent fool. Just you try it, sweetheart,' he threatened, 'and this marriage will be consummated before you can get another idea!'
Horrified at what he was suggesting, she was out of her chair. 'You'd—rape me!' she gasped.
His cynical laugh echoed round the room. 'It wouldn't be rape, wife, I promise you that.'
He thought he could make her—any other way! Far less comfortable with this subject than she had been with any of the others that had come up, Kimberley got off the subject of his expertise in bed as quickly as she could.
`But you've got to divorce me,' she cried, seeing all her plans coming to nothing, and quite forgetful that he had told her he wasn't short of money. 'You can have all the money my father left,' she panicked. 'I'll get a job . .
There were granite chips in his eyes as her words reached him. 'I told you I thought you'd married me for my money, remember,' was his icy reply.
Temper only he could arouse, unfelt for so long, rioted through her, and was there again, when she told him furiously, 'It's for sure no girl would marry you for your personality!'
Then she had the shock of her life when instead of coming back with the acid she had discovered he was more than capable of, to her astonishment, Slade threw back his head and roared with laughter, controlling his mirth as he found some of her brief pleasantness to murmur:
`Carry on like that, my sweet, and I do believe I'm going to enjoy living here.'
`You mean —you intend to stay?' It couldn't be true! Hadn't he understood .. .
`Till death us do part,' he offered silkily, and if he saw the outrage in her face, he took no heed to it as he told her, 'I did have it in mind for us to move into my London home, but, given Bramcote could do with a few major repairs,' his eyes were positively devilish, she thought as he paused, then added, 'it's not such a bad little heap.'
Kimberley threw him a look of loathing as without saying another word she stormed from the study. She had to. Had she stayed she was sure she would have physically attacked him.
She exited through the kitchen door, fuming. Not such a bad little heap! How dared he talk like that about Bramcote! And what major repairs? She remembered a damp patch that had appeared on the landing ceiling that day he had proposed—if you could call it a proposal. The torrential rain must have found its way through a loose slate. She'd get somebody to have a look at it soon. But first she had to get rid of Slade.
Till death us do part! He didn't mean that any more than he had meant his marriage vows. She knew that for a fact, Well, he needn't think she was going to play some game of being the 'little woman'. If he was hungry he could get himself something to eat. She knew the countryside well, she'd be blowed if she'd go home until she was good and ready. Perhaps he'd get tired of waiting, she thought hopefully. Perhaps if she didn't go home until dark she would find him and his swanky car gone.
Had she thought before she had taken off so angrily, then she would have stopped to pick up her purse to buy a bun or something, but she hadn't. And it was at eight o'clock that night and still light, having had nothing in her insides all day, that hunger had a more even-tempered Kimberley on her way back to Bramcote.
But if she had been hoping to find Slade similarly even-tempered, she was doomed to disappointment as she walked up the garden path and into the kitchen. For he was standing there waiting for her, his face grimmer than she had ever seen it, as before she had got the door shut he was demanding:
`And just where in sweet hell do you think you've been?'
To say a sarcastic 'Been pining?' wouldn't go down at all well, she saw, the evenness of temper she had found these last hours beginning to fray at the edges.
`You wouldn't know if I told you,' she answered quietly. 'It would only bore you.'
`Then bore me,' Slade said toughly. 'I've spent the whole of the day searching for you without catching so much as a glimpse of you.'
`You've been looking for me?' Her brow puckered. `Something has happened?' she asked quickly. 'There's been an accident?' Her mind flew wildly in all directions, her face paling as she wondered if David's father had called from the next village. Had something happened to David?
`Nothing has happened. There hasn't been any accident,' Slade told her bitingly, and was furious with her when, relief flooding in that David was safe, she asked innocently:
`What, then? Why were you looking for me?'
`Selfish bitch was an understatement!' he bellowed, letting go the hold he had on his temper, his hand clenching as he held on to what looked to her to be an urge to knock seven bells out of her. 'When I went through that farcical marriage ceremony yesterday -I took over responsibility for you.'
She didn't want him feeling responsible for her, it would foul things up if he thought he could boss her around until such time as she could get rid of him.
`It's not necessary,' she began. 'There was no need at all for you to come looking for me . .
`After our discussion this morning I thought there was.'
She frowned again. 'You mean my telling you about my father's . .
`I mean about you telling me about your highly strung mother,' he told her flatly, recapturing his shot temper as he watched while she got on to the track his mind had gone on.
`You thought . . .' she said, winded, not crediting it. `You thought with my saying my father had some doubt that she—she hadn't died—accidentally, that I— that I . . .' Slade stood and glowered at her so that she had to finish, 'that I might have committed—suicide?'
SO
She couldn't believe it, but it was the only answer that fitted.
`You were upset when you went out,' he reminded her.
`Yes, but . .
`You're just selfish enough to leave me with your suicide on my conscience.'
`Oh, come on,' she retaliated. 'I'll grant even one's worst enemy wouldn't want to live with someone else's death on their conscience for the rest of their lives, but surely you don't think, upset as admittedly I was,' though she had been more boiling over than upset, she recalled, 'that I would go that far just because you're pretending you don't want a divorce?'
Slade didn't answer, which had her wondering if she had given him grounds for thinking she was as highly strung as her mother had been. He knew all about her near-nervous breakdown, the tranquillisers she liked to keep near just in case she couldn't hold out against taking one. But even so . . .
Guilt she didn't want. Compunction came to swamp her that another human being, even not liking her very much as she was sure was the case with Slade— nobody went around calling someone they had any regard for the selfish bitch he had called her a couple of times—should have spent hours worrying that she might have done herself a mischief. It squashed any anger that had been in her, and had her, regardless of his stony expression, wanting him to see she wasn't selfish. Thoughtless maybe, but truly, truly sorry.
`I'm sorry, Slade,' she apologised. 'I never gave it a thought that . . .' she waved a hand in the air helplessly. `I can see now how it must have looked to you, but . . Her need to apologise was wearing thin, because he wasn't prepared to give. 'I'm sorry,' she said, and would have gone from the room, fed up with him and everything else, only he hadn't finished yet.
`In future,' he said, 'whenever you find the need to
wander off on your own, you will remember first to tell me where you're going.'
His high-handed manner offended her. 'Very well,' she said stiffly, and was almo
st out of the kitchen when he called her back.
`Have you eaten today?'
She was starving, but she wasn't going to admit it if it meant spending more time in his unpleasant company. 'I'm not hungry,' she lied.
`Go and get cleaned up, I'll fix you something.'
`Look here, you,' rocketed from her, 'you may be married to me, but you're not boss in this house!'
`With all my worldly goods,' he quoted, just to aggravate her, she was sure, good humour restored to his face. 'I'll give you fifteen minutes,' he added, good humour disappearing. 'If you're not back by then ..
Kimberley didn't wait for any more. She knew that urge to hit out at him might not stay controlled if she was in the same room with him another second. Oh, what had she done?
She washed her face and hands, tidied her hair, and thought of Bramcote. She couldn't regret that she had done what she had, she couldn't. And since she had— at the most, she hoped, a couple of weeks before Slade got fed up with the situation and took himself off— then everything would turn out fine. Just fine.
She even found herself humming cheerfully as she tripped lightly down the stairs. 'Fourteen minutes exactly,' she said brightly as she entered the kitchen and the mouth-watering smell of cooked gammon greeted her nostrils.
`Cut some bread,' she was ordered.
Oh, how she would like to take him down a peg or two! she thought, looking wistfully at the sharp part of the breadknife. She caught him looking at her.
`I don't have murderous intentions too,' she said. And sweetly, 'None that I would have the nerve to carry out,' she qualified, and knew herself confused
that she could see the edge of a grin Slade was trying to suppress.
So her sense of humour tickled him, she thought, and had to suppress a smile of her own that, oddly enough, that pleased her.
`That was delicious,' she said, when the gammon and eggs had been demolished with unusual appetite by her. It must be because she had been out in the air all day, she thought. Which was odd again, because there had been days when she had spent hours in tidying up the garden, yet hadn't been able to face food when she had come in.
She thought it was time she did something about taking charge of her kitchen again. wash up,' she said when the meal was over. 'No need for you to help.'
Slade took her bossing him about for a change very well, she thought. 'Thank heaven for that,' he said— but couldn't let it go without letting her know who, he thought .was master. 'You can bring me in a cup of coffee when you've finished. I'll be in the study.'
She wouldn't be angry with him, she wouldn't! Kimberley thought, up to her arms in washing up suds, unwanted thoughts of how fair was she being to him starting to penetrate. Last night she had tried to be fair, tried to give him what he wanted out of this marriage—and look what had happened.
The lack of confidence in her ability to hold a man since David, as Slade had so kindly put it, had jilted her, began to bug her again. But this time she was glad Slade would soon get tired of her. Though since she considered, as in all fairness she had to, that she still owed him something—it wasn't his fault he wasn't the penniless actor she had thought—then the least she could do was to be civil to him. To think a little, and show him she was not the totally selfish person he thought her to be.
Not, of course, that she wanted his good opinion of
her. What a ridiculous idea! She was still scoffing at the notion when, after making the kitchen tidy, she set about making the coffee he wanted.
Telling herself she wasn't going to get uptight when she saw him sitting in her father's chair, Kimberley entered the study with a tray of coffee which held all he had requested.
Slade looked up, his dark eyes staying on her as she cleared a place on the desk to set down the tray.
`You look busy,' she observed pleasantly, seeing the desk that had that morning been clear was liberally strewn with paper work.
`Just keeping my finger on the pulse.' His eyes were still on her. 'I shan't disturb you when I come up to bed,' he told her evenly.
Her heart jumped. At the back of her mind there had been that terrible doubt. Was he saying . . I'll — I'll have to leave my bedroom lamp on or—or you'll most likely—er—bump into something when you -er—cross to your room,' she managed to get out, her nerves playing up as she waited for his answer. Waited for the confirmation she wanted that it was to that room he would be going—without stopping.
His mouth picked up at one corner, as, deliberately she thought, he kept her on tenterhooks.
`I rather enjoyed the way we used to kiss on parting,' he said, keeping her waiting. But—should you be asleep,' he paused, the devil in his eyes, 'then I'll put your lamp out for you, as I pass.'
`I'm a little tired,' she said gravely, not wanting him to see how pleased she was. 'I think I'll go to bed now.'
`Goodnight, Kimberley,' he said, but had her nerves jangling again when a cool hand came out and took hold of her wrist.
For wordless moments she looked at him, not seeing why he should be holding on to her when he had just said goodnight. Then darting in came his comment of
not many seconds ago when he had said he liked the way they used to kiss in parting.
He let go her wrist, and fair play tugged at her that he still appeared to be waiting.
`Goodnight,' she said, and warily, not moving, her eyes fixed to his, she stood hesitating. Then quickly, though he could still have made a grab for her and held her had it been in his mind, she bent her head to his and briefly touched her mouth to his.
Quietly she closed the study door after her. Then as if the devil was after her, she raced to her room, for the first time wishing that the house had been planned differently, and that there was another door leading to the dressing room that would have done away with Slade Darville having to cross her room to reach it.
She felt tired, but could not get to sleep. And hours later she was still awake when she heard Slade coming to bed. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and cursed the need to leave her bedroom lamp on for him to see his way.
Quietly the door opened, and she heard his firm tread. The door closed. She tried to keep her eyelids from flickering. He moved, she heard him, and then he stopped.
Where was he? Kimberley felt as tense as a coiled spring. Was he near? Was he looking down at her? Perspiration broke out, as her nerves got to her, fear that he was about to touch her. She opened her eyes and saw he was nowhere near.
He was standing by the dressing table, her bottle of tablets in his hand, he had been considering them, but was no longer. He had seen she was awake.
`Thought you were tired,' he remarked.
The lie sprang into her head to tell him she had been asleep and that his coming in had awakened her. But suddenly she found she just couldn't lie to him. Then she didn't have to say anything, for he was looking again at the bottle in his hand.
`How many of these have you taken?' he enquired. `Tonight,' she answered, `none. I haven't taken any at all today.'
Slade returned the tablets to the dressing table. But instead of going on to his room, to her consternation he came and sat on her bed.
`That pleases me,' he said. And on seeing how one of her hands was fidgeting with the bed sheet, he took hold of it, feeling her instinctive move to pull it back. `Now don't get uptight,' he soothed.
`I—' The words to contradict him wouldn't come. What did come were words she hadn't rehearsed, but words which came straight from her need to be free again. `Divorce me, Slade,' she said urgently—and knew from the way her hand was crushed in his, before she noticed how hard his eyes had gone, that she hadn't chosen a very good moment to remind him he had threatened to consummate the marriage before he would divorce her. 'You can use any grounds you choose,' she added hastily.
He let go her hand, then stood, surveying her pale face from his lofty height. `If I were you, Kimberley Darville, wanting so desperately to keep all that's yours, I sure as hell wouldn't keep ya
pping on about divorce.'
Oh God, she thought, swallowing painfully, she had reminded him of his threat. 'You...' You wouldn't, she wanted to say, but he would, she knew he would.
`Purify your mind, sweetheart,' he said roughly. `I wasn't referring to sex.'
Could she believe him? `W-what then?' she asked shakily.
`It could be that if you go on and on about divorce, I might just take you up on it.'
Well, she'd be putting the bunting up that day, that was for sure! But . . . Suddenly she had an ominous premonition. Confident Slade Darville always was, but from where she was lying, he appeared to be a man
who held five aces.
`That should worry me?' she asked slowly.
`It should,' he agreed, going on to say, 'You're an intelligent woman, Kimberley. That being so, you should have realised when I met and married you in three weeks that I don't like to drag my feet when once I've reached a decision.'
If he made a rapid decision about a divorce, so much the better as far as she could see. But she felt something was wrong somewhere, so she did not tell him how enthusiastically she would greet that news.
`So?' she asked, and waited.
`So, my darling,' Slade said sardonically, 'should I decide to change my mind and divorce you, I would move quickly.'
He smiled that smile she had seen once and should never have trusted. It made her even more wary as she waited. And when he revealed what was behind his smile, Kimberley was staggered that the intelligence he had credited her with must have been so dimmed by her need to have Bramcote secured that she had not thought of it herself.
`You could, Kimberley,' he said, savouring every word, 'if you don't shut up about a divorce, find yourself a single woman—not married,' he underlined, `when the six-month anniversary of your father's death arrives.'
CHAPTER FIVE
How could she have overlooked that very vital point? The thoughts that had gone round and around in her brain before sleep had finally claimed her were back with her as soon as Kimberley awakened the next morning.
It turned everything upside down, didn't it? He knew that too, the smug devil! She had to put all thoughts of divorcing him out of her head for a while. And what was more, she had to hope with all her heart that her fast-moving husband wouldn't take it into his head to do what less than twelve hours ago she had been ready to beg him to do. One thing she knew, Slade Darville hadn't made himself any more endearing by, without lifting a finger, so successfully turning the tables on her.
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