Dishonest woman

by Jessica Steele

  She was glad she had ordered early morning tea, and drank thirstily before getting out of bed and willing herself to face another day. A day bleak, as all days were to be from now on without seeing or hearing Slade.

  That first day stretched endlessly in front of her, hours yet to be got through until she could return to her bed and hope for a few more hours of oblivion. She went down to breakfast simply because she saw it as one way of killing some of the ample time at her disposal.

  The chambermaid had already attended to her room when after breakfast Kimberley took the lift back up to her floor. So she couldn't think why anyone should come knocking at her door shortly after she had returned to it. Knowing with heart-tearing certainty that she had seen the last of Slade, she went to answer the knock, never giving thought that it might be him.

  Open-mouthed, she stared at the figure in navy sweater and dark slacks who stood there. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs. Slade should be business-suited and at his office, went through her head as, nearly dropping to see him there, she strove to wake up her brain and wonder why he had thought it necessary to pay her a second visit.

  `Wh .. ' was as far as she got. Her voice died as she saw the determination about him. It worried her. She had seen that look before.

  Slade wasn't waiting for her to find her voice again, but did no more than stretch out his hands to move her to one side. Then calmly he was stepping into her room, and was closing the door after him with a deliberation that seemed to match. He then turned, and for an age just stood looking at her with those dark blue eyes she knew so well.

  `Why have—you come?' she managed to get out. `You're looking a shade more rested than you did

  last night, though you're still too pale,' he observed,

  which was no answer at all, and had her repeating: `Why have you come, Slade?'

  `I would have returned last night after I'd been to see Bennet,' he said, stupefying her anew, 'but you looked so done in when I called, I thought it best you had your · rest rather than get you out of bed at midnight.'

  So her previous night without sleep had showed. But that hardly impinged on her consciousness. 'You've been to see David?' she asked, stunned.

  `Did you think I wouldn't?' he asked, aggression only just beneath the surface. 'Did you honestly think I would let some other man come in and take my wife without doing something about it?'

  How possessive that sounded! Had she not known differently she would have thought Slade meant he would never let her go. But she did know differently. Without having the least idea why he should suddenly show he had a possessive streak in him, she knew it wouldn't last.

  And then any delving her mind would have done into why he should feel even briefly possessive about her went skidding as she recalled the way she had virtually sent David away with a flea in his ear. Slade must know that too, since he had been to see him!

  And it was agitation only that was inside her then, because that left her without any good reason for leaving Slade—and that she realised was exactly why he was here—to find out why!

  I—er—didn't think you would—er—go and see David,' she said stiltedly at last.

  `That much became obvious within a very few minutes of my talking to him,' he said, leaving her to guess his aggression must have been out in full force, when he looked levelly at her, and went on, 'It didn't take him very long to tell me he never intended seeing you again because you'd told him you no longer loved him. That you, Kimberley Darville, no longer wanted him.'

  He had left her without a leg to stand on. Helplessly she looked at him. Last night she had thought, having led him to think she had left him because of her love for David, that she had come out of this with her pride intact. But Slade knew now that that wasn't true.

  `Are you going to tell me what all this is about?' he asked, his eyes not missing she was floundering.

  `I—er .' she began, searching round for any lie that might deviate him from that look in his eye, for all

  his aggression had gone, that said he was insisting on the truth.

  `Is it that you hate me so much you would prefer to lose the house you love rather than stay with me?'

  Kimberley dropped her eyes and stared miserably at the carpet. Slade was waiting for an answer, and she— couldn't lie. 'I don't—hate you,' she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  `What, then?'

  She couldn't answer that one. She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't bear that he should stay and badger at her like this. Yet he was waiting. Waiting with that patience in him that would endure if he had to wait all day.

  But he wasn't waiting all day. With astonishment she heard, from a toughness that had entered his voice, that his patience with her had worn thin, was wearing thinner the longer it took her to reply.

  `Don't you think you owe it to me to give me an answer?' he challenged. Then, his voice quieting again, `Be honest with me. Even if it hurts, be honest. It's— important to me.'

  Dumbly she raised her eyes, and saw Slade was watching her intently. He looked strained, as though he too had missed some sleep. Her voice was husky, her words jerky.

  `I—had to—leave you,' she said.

  `Why, Kim?' he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She swallowed, cleared her throat. She saw then how she had short changed him. She had married him to gain Bramcote. But what had he gained? Nothing. She had withheld her body from him when that had been his reason for marrying her. And while it was true she had sold Bramcote to him, he need not have bought it. He could, she thought, have just as easily allowed it to crumble. Yet he hadn't. He had bought a house he probably didn't want, and had given her his word that

  it would always be her home. And she knew she could rely on his word too, for even though mightily provoked when she had hit him, he had controlled his temper, kept his word that he would wait until she could come to him willingly.

  Oh yes, she had more than short-changed him. He had said she owed him an explanation, but she owed him more than that. He had asked her to be honest with him—even if it hurt. And it was going to hurt, she knew that. This was one time when to stay and discuss rather than bottle things up was going to be more painful to her than any of the discussions they had so far had. Yet she owed him—and it was going to crucify her to be as honest as he wanted.

  ' she began, then found she couldn't tell him anything while he was looking at her. She turned from him. `I loved David,' she said, her breathing not any easier that she couldn't see Slade's face. 'When—when he threw me over I nearly had a nervous breakdown.' She cleared her throat again. `It was because of my love for him that—that first night of our marriage that I—I couldn't . . .' Her voice gave out.

  `That you couldn't give yourself to me,' Slade finished for her, his voice close, telling her that although she had taken a couple of steps from him, he had moved too, and was right behind her.

  Kimberley nodded. `Yes,' she said huskily, then felt hands on her shoulders, felt herself being turned until she was facing him.

  `Go on,' he insisted quietly.

  Her throat dry, she swallowed again. `I don't know what it is about me, but—but where my emotions are concerned, I—I don't appear to do things halfheartedly. Th-the way I was attached to Bramcote . .

  `But Bramcote is no longer your first love,' he reminded her. And she couldn't deny it, for hadn't she told him last night that she no longer cared about the house any more? `Neither, so you've told Bennet,'

  . . .

  Slade said slowly when she remained silent, 'is he.'

  Her palms grew moist. Slade would get there on his own, she wouldn't have to tell him. But he couldn't have, she realised a moment later, because demanding he certainly was, but unnecessarily cruel never. And yet he went on to prompt:

  `So.. .'

  Kimberley gave a small cough, her throat constricted again. Then with her eyes fixed on his sweater, she began, `I've—I've told you it nearly broke me when David threw me
over.' She took a deep breath, striving for calm that just wasn't there, and had to say it then because she couldn't take much more of this soul-baring. 'I left Bramcote because—because I didn't think I could take it when you too threw me over.'

  The whole room seemed hushed after her words had fallen. Slade never so much as moved a muscle, and she knew then that he hadn't worked it out for himself, that her words had stunned him. So quiet was it in the room, she even heard him swallow, before, his voice thick in his throat, he asked the question:

  `Are you saying you—have some—feeling—for me?'

  More brave than she had ever been, Kimberley raised her eyes to his taut waiting expression. She knew then it had to be a full confession, a confession that, when he heard it, would have him going out of her life for ever.

  Tears had already started to her eyes, when grabbing all her courage, she looked at him squarely and said quietly, simply:

  `I love you, Slade.'

  The way his jaw clenched, the colour that came up under his skin, the look that came to him, told her her love for him was an embarrassment he had never thought of. And tears were streaming down her face when she could do no other than put her back to him. She had to have it all said then. Should he still desire her, overcome his embarrassment and still want her,

  then he had to know just how it was with her.

  She gulped for air in the awful shocked silence behind her. `I love you so much nothing else matters, not even Bramcote,' she told him cockily. 'But I just can't live with you h-have you love my body for a short while until you get tired of me.' She broke off to swallow tears. 'That would finish me, Slade. I just know it would.' She wiped at her wet eyes with her hand, and tried hard for a laugh that didn't quite come off. 'You asked me for honesty, Slade—I don't think I can be more honest than that.'

  The hands that came to her shoulders then were hard, but they made no move to turn her round, as gripping convulsively, his voice low, Slade said into her ears:

  `Your experience with Bennet has taken away the confidence the beautiful woman you are should have. Without looking farther than your doctor friend you should know that not every man is blind to the prize Bennet didn't appreciate until too late.'

  Tears rained down her face as what Slade was saying sorted itself out in her head. By saying not every man was blind, he was telling her he still wanted her.

  `Don't, Slade, please don't,' she begged. `I—I've told you about my feelings for you. But it—it just wouldn't be fair of you to make me complete my end of the bargain, when you know how I feel about you.'

  `What bargain is this, my darling?' he asked, his 'my darling' bruising her because it meant nothing to him.

  `You know,' she choked. 'Don't make me—go to bed with you. I've told you what it will do to me when you grow tired of me.'

  `You think I would ever grow tired of you? Don't you .

  `Please!' Unable to bear it, Kimberley cut him off. `Already you've grown tired of waiting,' she reminded him—and couldn't understand, when he was the one who had always insisted on straight talking, that he

  should then proceed to pretend otherwise.

  `When did I do that?' he asked. 'I'll admit there've been times when I've despaired . .

  A stiffness came to her that he should be this way, and again she cut him off. 'I've been totally honest with you,' she said rigidly, 'and it's been painful. Please do me the courtesy of being honest back.' And, not allowing him to interrupt, 'You know I know that the night you couldn't get home because of the fog, you spent it with another woman who . .

  `Who happens to be my secretary,' Slade managed to get in, attempting to turn her to face him.

  But jealousy was making a successful attack on Kimberley's other emotions as she thought of the very beautiful woman he had been with, and she refused to be turned.

  `And who just happens to be beautiful,' she said, not for a moment believing it was his secretary.

  `There's no law that says a woman can't be good-looking and efficient at the same time, sweetheart,' said Slade. Then gently, 'As for honesty—I admit I could have told you about Norma Milton before—but,' he broke off for a brief second, then told her, 'well, if I'm to be as totally honest as you have been, my dear—' He broke off again, only this time, before he went on, Kimberley felt the lightest of kisses float down to her nape. It had her confused, dimmed the jealousy that had been in her. 'I'll admit,' he continued, 'that when I did come home, saw what I thought might be a shade of green in your eyes . .

  `Green!' Kimberley whispered, seeing again how much smarter than her Slade was, for she had not recognised the feelings inside her then as jealousy.

  `You'll forgive me if I couldn't help hoping that you might be a tiny bit jealous. I discounted after my visit here last night that jealousy had touched you at all,' Slade went on. 'But at the time I thought, My God, Kim's jealous, she doesn't know it, but she's jealous.

  And it was the best news I'd had in a long time. I thought . . .' But Kimberley had gone rigid in his grip. It communicated itself to him, and he left what he had been going to say, and said instead, `To get back to that foggy night. The lady I dined with was my secretary—a married lady who happens to be devoted to her husband and family, and who was feeling a touch aggrieved when because we were working late and the fog thickened, she couldn't get home.'

  He made another attempt to get her to turn round, and this time Kimberley did move. She wanted to see into his face. She knew she was gullible where he was concerned, but she thought she might see the truth if she looked into his eyes.

  `Oh, my little love,' he said softly when he saw her tear-drenched face, and taking out his handkerchief, he tenderly, wiped her tears away.

  `You were telling me about your secretary,' she reminded him, taking a step back. That soothing note in his voice was weakening her.

  Slade looked loath to return to what he had been saying, though since there wasn't anything else he could want to discuss either, Kimberley felt the stirrings of surprise that he was staying at all, and not only that, but that he seemed prepared to tell her all that she wanted to know. He smiled, doing nothing for the hold she was trying to get on -herself, then resumed:

  `Norma Milton is a gem of a secretary, but, efficient though she is in the office, she's a bit of a pain out of it.'

  'That wasn't what I heard,' she muttered, and felt the warmth of his smile again as he went on to tell her:

  `It was probably because I have my sensitivities too, although at this moment I can see you won't believe it. That with Norma Milton sitting glumly across from me at dinner, her mind more with her husband and two youngsters than on me I assure you, I did every-

  thing bar stand on my head to get a smile out of her. We'd just about finished eating when finally I succeeded.'

  `That must have been when Doreen saw you,' came from Kimberley. Then, remembering, 'She said your companion was looking up at you adoringly.'

  `More likely trying to get me in focus. She doesn't wear her glasses out of the office, although she's as blind as a bat without them,' he said, then went on, `Our mutual friend Doreen should have stayed around. It couldn't have been very long after that that I escorted Norma to collect her key, then saw her to the lift.'

  `You didn't go in the lift with her, share her room?' The question wouldn't stay down, even though, having left him, she knew she had no right to question him. Then she found he wasn't objecting, that his patience had returned and it was remarkable, especially, since he was his own man, that he wasn't hesitating to give her every last explanation to all she asked.

  `Because I'd asked her to work late, and with hotels, filling up fast with so many people staying in town, I saw it as my duty to see she had a comfortable room for the night, that she wasn't missing her dinner on account of it. For that reason I went to the hotel with her, dined with her, but after that I reckoned I'd done my stint. She went up to her room—I went to my London home, and there I stayed.' The corners of his, mouth tilte
d, as he added softly, 'I stayed alone, Kim, and spent the rest of the evening wondering if you would think I was some kind of nut if I rang you for no other reason than I wanted to hear your voice.'

  `You—wanted to hear my voice!' she exclaimed, staggered, then tried to oust the joy she felt that he should have said so. The situation hadn't changed. She had been right for her own peace of mind to leave him—though she saw now that she could have saved herself a lot of anguish if she had taken a leaf from his

  I

  book and asked him more about his dinner companion that night instead of bottling it all up.

  She hadn't been aware that Slade had closed in, but suddenly he was close to her, had trailed a gentle finger down the side of her face. 'I was lonesome for you that night, my darling,' he said softly. 'I wanted to be there in that leaky old house with you.'

  Gently he gathered her into his arms. And there was no thought in her as she rested her head against his chest of resisting. She needed him to hold her, if only for a moment. She found a small peace in the haven of his arms, but knew it couldn't go on.

  Slowly she eased away, but found, though his hold had loosened, he was refusing to release her entirely. `Thank you for telling me all this,' she said. 'I know you didn't want to.' She gave him a sad smile. 'But in view—of what I told you...'

  `About you being in love with me?' he asked, his eyes warm on her.

  Dumbly Kimberley nodded. She didn't want him looking at her like that, not now when she had a very important question to ask. 'Yes,' she said. 'In view of that, will you let me off?'

  `Let you off?' he asked, his head going to one side endorsing that he hadn't grasped her meaning.

  Will you divorce me without making me fulfil the— terms of our bargain?'

  His look of puzzlement vanished, and she could no longer look at him. For if he should say no, she didn't know how she was going to cope afterwards. Her head went down again to his chest.

  `You're asking me to divorce you without making you mine, is that right?' she heard him ask.