Dishonest woman

by Jessica Steele

  `I didn't say that. Land is expensive. You have an orchard and fine lawns.' Well, it was something that he found anything to admire about the place, she thought mutinously. 'I'll pay the full price without quibbling,' -he went on. 'You would have money in your pocket and still have your home.'

  `I'm not interested in money,' she said, throwing him a malignant look.

  `I know you're not,' 'he agreed, a half smile coming her way, 'but it would be security for you.'

  She knew what that half smile meant, just as she knew what his real meaning was. What he was really saying was that when he left her, as he was sure to, then she would have no need to worry about her financial security. As if that had ever bothered her! She wasn't quite sure why it should bother Slade either that she came out of this marriage financially better off—though she thought it might probably have something to do with him being shaken on discovering the small amount, by comparison, she had to live on.

  `What good would financial security be if I didn't

  have Bramcote?' she challenged. And following her line of thought, 'You could divorce me any time you wanted, tell me to leave.'

  She - saw straight away that she had annoyed him, saw the cool look leave, his mouth harden. But why he should take offence at her bringing out what she saw to be the truth, be offended at her suggesting that once he had grown fed up with her he would dump her and Bramcote, she couldn't think

  `You would have, another sort of security if you were a proper wife,' he told her tautly, his eyes glinting. `If you were a proper wife I wouldn't have any grounds for divorcing you, would I?'

  `If I . . .' Her throat dried as she tried to deny what he was saying. 'You don't mean...'

  He shrugged, his face stern. 'I'm a normal man. I have a man's normal—appetite.'

  His meaning couldn't be denied. Inwardly Kimberley shrank away as it registered that Slade, for all; apart from that first night, he had made no demands on her, was clearly telling her that his desire for her body, the reason he had married her, had never waned. She felt suffocated at the cold way he was telling her that she had a way of securing Bramcote. That way was to allow him to possess her!

  `That's disgusting,' she cried. 'Blackmail!' His eyes narrowed at the word, but he neither agreed nor disagreed. 'It's—it's like selling myself for the house,' she said hoarsely.

  The coldness left him, and she saw him smile that smile she didn't like. 'It is, isn't it?' he said pleasantly. Then his tone toughening. 'Come now, Kimberley, didn't you believe that was what you'd done when you married me?'

  'I...' She stopped, and threw him a look of dislike that he had her there. And he knew he had, the swine. 'I didn't think about that side of it,' she said lamely, hating him afresh that he had her on the defensive.

  But she had come a long way from the girl who for many months had been untouched by life, the girl whose only emotion had been that of grief, first at David's rejection of her, then at her father's passing. And anger was stirring that he had backed her into a corner. Kimberley came out fighting.

  `Can't you satiate your normal appetite elsewhere?' she fired. And as memory returned of the hours he had spent away from Amberton yesterday, along with his reputation, she frowned. 'Or have you already?'

  Her answer was a bland smile she didn't care for. She didn't like either the look about him that said she had given him a good idea.

  He rose to his feet, her question still unanswered. 'I think I'll go to bed. I want to leave early for London in the morning ' And while she sat there thinking she knew very well what he was going to London for, he said, 'Think about what I've said, Kimberley,' and left her.

  After a restless night, Kimberley got up the next morning to find Slade had already gone. She checked his room, saw it was neat-and tidy, his bed made, and closed the door on his room, but not on him.

  He was in her mind a great deal during that day. The first reminder of him was when before ten the deep-freeze he had ordered was delivered and installed. Oh, how she wished she could say a permanent goodbye to him and his deep-freeze, she thought, niggled to find herself wondering if even now he had his arms round some female he kept around for such occasions.

  It was a better day, the sun was coming out. But the garden was still too wet for her to go out and get lost in gardening, so she set about giving the house another clean. She was disgruntled again when about five she began to wonder what time Slade would be

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  back, and if he would be hungry when he came in.

  She didn't want to cook for him, but since she might as well cook something for herself, it wouldn't hurt to make enough for two.

  At seven o'clock she had a delicious-smelling steak and kidney pie in the oven. There was no sign of Slade when half an hour later she put potatoes on to boil. They had been boiling for ten minutes when the phone rang.

  `Where are you?' she asked when she heard Slade's voice. If he hadn't started back yet her lovely steak and kidney would be dried up.

  `London.'

  `What time will you be back?' Kimberley / asked. Then as the dreadful thought occurred to her that he might think she was eager for his return, hurriedly she explained, 'I've made a steak and kidney pie for dinner, and it will be ruined if you don't get here soon.'

  `You can eat my share,' he told her carelessly. `I'm ringing to say I won't be back tonight.'

  `You're not coming home!' It was something she hadn't thought of, which was odd, because when he had gone to London the day before yesterday she had thought, hoped, for nothing better than that he would stay there.

  `I'm—er—tied up,' said Slade blithely. And, showing just how unconcerned he was, 'Did the freezer arrive, by the way?'

  `The potatoes are boiling over,' she lied, and slammed the phone down.

  She regretted the impulse as soon as the phone was back in its cradle. Slade would know she was mad at him since as there was no phone in the kitchen it was impossible for her to see how the potatoes were faring. Oh, how she hated that man!

  But it was when she was in bed that night, wanting to sleep, but sleep a million miles away, that Kimberley

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  realised she did not hate Slade. Not that she felt anything else in particular for him either, she decided quickly. But—she remembered how he had made her smile more than once—he wasn't so unbearable to have around. And already since knowing him she had started to gain some of the weight she had lost.

  She turned over in her bed, wishing she could sleep. She wasn't missing him, she was sure about that. She scoffed at the mere idea. No, she definitely wasn't missing him, any more than he was missing her.

  That brought to mind thoughts of him so much not missing her that he was probably at this very moment tucked up in bed, and with his reputation, not alone either. And she was back to hating him again—until she remembered he had thought of her once since he had left the house, even if his phone call had been so offhand he needn't have bothered.

  The next day the weather was a decided improvement, and since the house was as clean as a new pin, Kimberley spent most of it outside weeding the garden paths. The frozen food Slade had ordered arrived late in the afternoon, taking her indoors to stay. She had enough food in for a siege, she thought, but it was staying where it was. If Slade wanted a meal when he came home tonight—if he came home tonight, she qualified—then he could get it himself.

  Around seven she made herself an egg on toast, and sat eating it in the kitchen, her ears attuned without her being conscious of it for the sound of his car.

  At ten o'clock she was sick and tired of waiting for him to appear, and went to bed not very happy at all that he hadn't even had the decency that evening to so much as pick up a phone to tell her he wouldn't be back. So much for him offering to buy Bramcote! Well, he could jolly well come and collect his three suitcases—and his perishing freezer! She wanted nothing of him or his in her house—falling down as it might be.

  She hadn't been in bed long when in the silence of
the night she heard the sound of a car. She heard footsteps outside, but stayed where she was, determined to be asleep when Slade crossed her room to go to his bed.

  But the sound of the front door bell sent the memory rushing in that she had locked up and that Slade hadn't got a key, and forced her out of bed and into her dressing gown, her face stormy as she opened the front door.

  `So good of you to come home at all,' she fired, and was staggered to hear her voice sounding just like the shrew he had said he had married. She spun round from the dark-suited figure of Slade, and bolted back to her bed.

  She heard his footsteps coming along the landing, and though appalled by what she had done, was still angry enough that he could treat her house as though it was some lodging house, she was unrepentant.

  `Miss me?' Slade enquired, entering her room and coming to stand by the bed where she sat glowering at him.

  `Pardon me if I don't collapse at your sense of humour,' she retorted acidly.

  Without comment he turned, opening the dressing room door, shrugging out of his coat and flinging it to his bed, his tie following it. So that was it, Kimberley thought; a sardonic 'Miss me?' was all she was going to get for him being away tomcatting for nearly two whole days.

  On the point of sliding down the bed, having no idea why she should be getting uptight since she didn't care a button what Slade Darville, her husband, did, she saw he had turned, his eyes taking in her mutinous face. And before she could get down the bed and close her eyes he had come from his room, stood for a second looking down at her, and then without so much as a by your leave, he was sitting down on, the coverlet and murmuring:

  `What a sensitive creature you are, Kimberley!'

  She hadn't been expecting him to say anything like that, hadn't expected to hear that kind note in his voice. It stopped her mutinous thoughts dead and had her defending that sensitivity he had somehow seen.

  `I—haven't inherited my mother's highly strung nature,' she said, not looking at him.

  He took hold of her hand, his touch warm and calming. The gentleness of his touch made her allow him to keep hold of her hand, when had it not been so she would have snatched it back in no uncertain fashion.

  `No, I don't think you have,' he said softly. 'But from somewhere you've inherited a great sensitivity that makes you very vulnerable.'

  Her eyes flicked to his. She saw a gentleness there too that matched the touch of him as lightly his other hand came to stroke her arm. She wanted to look away, but felt mesmerised by the dark blue eyes that held hers.

  `I shall have to give you the spare key,' she said huskily, no acid in her now.

  `That would be an idea,' said Slade. Then, 'I want to kiss you before I go to bed.'

  Vaguely Kimberley thought Slade's manner verged on being seductive. But she gave no mind then to the thoughts that had been in her head about him being in London with some other woman. All that fixed in her mind was that he had said 'before I go to bed' and that must mean he had no intention of making her bed his bed.

  `Y-you've kissed me goodnight before,' she said, and remembered she had found his kisses quite pleasurable—that one time.

  It was all the invitation he needed—though it was without haste that he let go of her hand and gently gathered her into his arms. And then he did not kiss her straight away, but held her there in the circle of

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  his strong arms, looking down at her so that the ridiculous idea popped into her head that whether she had missed him or not, Slade had missed her.

  Her heart was beating rapidly when at last his head came down and he laid gentle lips on hers. She made no attempt to kiss him back, but found she would not have objected had his mouth rested on hers a little longer than the brief moment it had.

  'G -goodnight,' she stammered, when, still holding her, he pulled back to look into her eyes.

  `Aren't you going to tell me what you've been doing while I've been away?' he enquired softly, making no move to let her go.

  It came to her then that it would be more to the point to ask him what he had been doing while he was away. But as his mouth came over hers a second time, the question went from her. His mouth was warm, teasing, and this time it stayed over hers a couple of seconds longer, drawing away the moment he felt her minute response.

  Kimberley knew herself disappointed, and tried hard to remember what his question had been. 'I—er—did some housework yesterday,' she said, and her heartbeats quickened when Slade looked warmly at her, then unhurriedly moved her until she was lying back against the pillows, the upper part of his body covering hers as again he kissed her.

  A thrill of excitement quivered in her, and her arms went round him, the heat of his body through his thin shirt making her fully aware she was holding on to a full-blooded male.

  `And what did you do today?' Slade enquired, his mouth leaving hers to transfer to her shoulder.

  `Today,' said Kimberley, having difficulty to remember it was Thursday without the added complication of trying to remember what she had done, 'I-

  His lips were tormenting her, whispering in light

  kisses along her throat to where the swell of her breasts began. 'The ground was dry enough for you to garden?' he asked softly, raising his head to look deep into her eyes.

  She tried to avoid his look, knew her face was flushed. Then before she could reply, she felt his mouth capture 'hers, his kiss deepening, having her responding, clutching on to him.

  `Yes,' she said, her voice hushed, when his lips left hers and he looked deep into her eyes again.

  `Yes?' he said, the glow in his eyes telling her he had misinterpreted the word.

  Not sure that she hadn't wanted him to misinterpret it, Kimberley struggled for sanity. 'I mean, yes, the - er—ground was d-dry enough for me to do some gardening,' she gulped, and saw him smile.

  `You're beautiful, Kim,' he breathed, and kissed her again, his hands caressing her. They were still caressing her when he asked, 'Have you seen anyone since I left, had any visitors?'

  `Er—no,' she said, trembling slightly when his eyes fixed to hers he removed the strap of her nightdress and pulled it down to expose' her breast. `I—er—that is,' she said, her voice wobbly for all he was looking at her and not at what his fingers had exposed, 'the-- er—men delivered the deep-freeze yesterday.' She had told him that, she thought, or had she? She could barely remember that phone call as with his eyes still holding hers, his hand caressed over her shoulder and down to capture her breast.

  Her eyes widened at his touch, but more from the wanton feeling he was arousing in her than from the thought of where all this was leading.

  `It's all right my, darling,' Slade said; reading from her look that she wasn't certain about anything any more.

  He kissed her then, a gentle kiss, then was transferring his mouth to her breast, had her tensing that she

  was in a no-man's-land when she felt moistness from the inside of his mouth erecting the peak of her breast.

  `Slade,' she said shakily. Then he was lying beside her, the covers taken from her as he pressed the length of his body against hers. She felt his need for her, felt that same need in her for him, and was trembling from the emotion of it.

  `Ssh,' he soothed. 'It will be all right for you, my dear.'

  But her trembling, which had only taken a real hold when he had left talking of unrelated matters to get closer to her, wouldn't stop. Whether Slade too realised this, she had no idea, but he began again to talk gently to her, kissing her again and again in between the soothing comfort of his voice as he said anything that came into his head.

  Her trembling eased, she felt herself on fire for him as, his shirt disposed of, she felt his hair-roughened chest press against her naked breasts. She felt the caress of a kiss feather her ear as, still speaking softly, Slade asked her had she thought any more about selling the house to him.

  And it was at that point, his words impinging on her need for him, that Kimberley had to fight with all
she had against that need, fight against the longing he had aroused.

  From the beginning she hadn't played fair with him. How now, when he had said he would buy the house and repair it, could she secure for herself the knowledge that as his 'proper wife' she would still have Bramcote? How could she so willingly consummate their marriage—leave him powerless to divorce her— when as yet she had made no decision to sell the house to him? Wouldn't that be like cheating again?

  His mouth was about to take hers once more, passion increasing as words were left behind, when Kimberley had to make her voice heard, and, 'Don't!' ripped from her.

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  It stayed him. But she didn't dare to see the look in his eyes. She guessed he was more aroused now than he had been that time before when he had torn her nightdress. She was desperately afraid she had left it too late and that tearing her nightdress would be mild in comparison with what she had let herself in for now. She pushed away from him, too much aware of her naked upper half as she sat up, turning her back to him.

  She heard him move, felt the electric silence coming from him, but was afraid to turn, to look at him, to see his anger.

  `Bennet?'

  The word was clipped. It was all he said. That was all he was asking, she saw. He was asking had thoughts of David penetrated between the giving and taking that had been theirs.

  She shook her head, expecting any moment to feel aggressively rough hands on her shoulders hauling her on to her back where the word 'Don't' would make not the slightest difference. Then, with amazement, she heard Slade's voice, relatively mildly:

  `What, then?'

  `I—haven't come to a decision about the house yet,' she said, feeling dreadfully cold suddenly, where seconds before she had felt on fire.

  But she knew she had to go on, had to convince him before that glimmer of mildness deserted him. 'You offered me security in return for . . .' God, how awful that sounded! Her blood turned to ice. But she made herself go on, gritting her teeth as she told him, 'I can't g-give myself to you and—and by so doing take that security you offered in—r-return for my body— when I haven't yet made up my mind to sell Bramcote to you.'