They had been driving for some time before he said lightly: 'Well, aren't you wondering where we're going?'
'I thought you might be keeping it as a surprise,' she said after a perceptible pause. Where are we going?'
'Out into the country—to a favourite haunt of mine. I think you'll like it as well.'
Her mouth pursed slightly and she stayed silent, determined not to betray youthful curiosity. If he didn't choose to enlighten her without a quiz over it she would wait until they got there; it was as simple as that! All the same, she could not help feeling twinges of doubt as the car purred on into the night. They must be miles from town, well into Bucks, she decided, recalling a glimpsed road sign for Tring a little way back, and Quinn had been rather peculiar ... she
wished she could decide if he had been serious during that odd little interlude, or ... supposing he was taking her to some haunt of wild dissipation where orgies went on in hidden rooms? She'd heard about these places where jaded business men and playboys went for fun. Coralie had once actually been invited to one but had turned chicken at the last minute ...
The car stopping interrupted this somewhat disturbing train of thought but did not halt the wariness it engendered. Quinn handed her out and took her arm to guide her across the road towards the old inn which apparently was their destination. Patches of amber light spilled from its windows and the sounds of voices and laughter coming from the ancient beamed bar glimpsed to one side as she entered were vaguely reassuring. It was warm and friendly and old-villagetaverny in atmosphere and there was a elderly corpulent spaniel lying at the foot of the stairs. It flickered a languid tail when she looked down at it and whispered a soft, 'Hello, boy,' and while Quinn spoke to mine host a pure white cat stepped daintily down the stairs and disappeared to regions unknown.
Quinn's hand went under her elbow again and she relaxed slightly, then they were in the dining room and the atmosphere of the Bell began to catch her in its enchantment. They had a tiny table for two that was secluded, yet enabled them to see the length of the lamplit room. There was a softly shaded lamp on their table and a posy of sweet-scented blossoms, and a warm sense of intimacy. A boyish waiter in a wine velvet jacket came and waited gravely while Quinn conferred with her over their order, and then she settled back and smiled at him shyly.
He smiled in response. 'All right?'
She nodded, conscious of the gay party of eight young people at the big centre table and not sure what he expected of her. Did he want her to sparkle and chatter or be quiet and cool? Out of the corner of her eye she saw the enormous gourmet's platter arrive at the centre table, tempting and colourful, lobsters garnished and scalloped with a chefs genius that stimulated both eye and palate. How often had
she dreamed of this, of having Quinn to herself in an atmosphere both intimate and romantic, and now it was hers and she was tongue-tied.
Quinn rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. The lamplight shadowed his eyes, turned them dark so that she couldn't tell if they smiled like his mouth as he said softly: `You don't have to talk, you know. The main thing is to enjoy the food.'
`Oh.' She felt slightly deflated. Over his shoulder she saw more people coming in, even though all the tables seemed to be occupied.
`There's a long curved section leading off over there,' he said, as though she had queried aloud. `That's where they're all going. Tell me about yourself, Shelley. What you and Samma did as children. Did you ever play truant from school, or write rude slogans on the playground wall, or get spanked for pinching the farmer's fruit?'
`Of course not,' she said indignantly. 'Except .' she hesitated, 'I once pushed Dickie Edwards in the pigswill bin. He'd put a bad tomato on my chair in school and I didn't notice it and I chased him all the way to the farm. He tried to shove my face in the swill bin, but he slipped and I shoved him in instead. There was an awful row and the next day he ...' she sighed, 'you see, it had started with Christmas. Aunt Lou and Uncle Arthur—he was still alive then when I was seven—always made a lot of Christmas. I think it was because of me, with losing my own parents, and I still believed in Santa Claus. It never occurred to me to doubt in the magic and when Dickie told me I said he was a liar and he said I was and Aunt Lou was and he used to taunt me all the time till I hated him, and then of course I found that he wasn't a liar and ...' She smiled reminiscently. 'It all seems awfully silly now.'
'I don't think so,' he said gently. 'I see nothing silly in the destruction of a child's illusions. It's only silly and rather tragic when one carries illusions on into adulthood.'
`Yes, but the trouble is, we do,' she said slowly. 'Only we transfer our illusions to living people and then wonder why it hurts when something happens to destroy the illusion.'
Quires brows went up. `That's a rather cynical bit of philosophy from one so young.'
She smiled ruefully. 'It isn't original. Ocky once said that. He's always trying to analyse the cause of human unhappiness.'
`He sounds quite a thoughtful character.'
`Oh, he is. He's a wonderful person. I adore him.'
'Do you? Does he reciprocate?' Quinn asked dryly. `Oh, I don't mean that way.'
`What do you mean by "that" way?'
`Well, I—I love him in a sort of spiritual way.' She looked down. 'Because he's wise and understanding.'
`And are you in need of wise and spiritual understanding?' `I think we all want to be understood by—by—'
`Yes. By whom?' he prompted.
She avoided his gaze. `Well, by someone who—who won't hurt us or—or--'
`You mean, of course, by someone who loves us,' he said softly. 'Not only in "that" way and in the spiritual way, but because they are the one person who becomes the complement; the other half who can make us into a complete person'
`Ocky said something like that too,' she said. 'That we should never wear masks and pretend to be other than what we are, because we might miss that one person who's our other half.'
Suddenly she realised that she was talking too much. That she had hardly stopped during the delicious smoked salmon and huge salad and the luscious cream mousse dessert. And that the conversation was liable to take a twist any moment and betray her—dangerously.
`I think a liqueur would make a perfect completion,' Quinn said. `What would you like?'
`I don't know,' she said frankly. `I've only tasted Cherry Brandy and found it too sweet.'
`Hm,' Quinn wrinkled his nose and considered her gravely.
think we can rule out coffee-or whisky-based. Chartreuse
is not you, and I think it's a little early in our relationship to
venture on Strega.' He saw her eyes widen and smiled
slightly. 'Later, perhaps. No, I think a Grand Manlier is sufficiently daring for the moment.'
She nodded, content to leave the choice to him, and when the delicate crystal glass of golden liqueur was brought she held it a moment, her eyes contemplative, before she sipped the warming, velvety sweetness. Quinn also was silent, his long supple fingers cradling his cognac, and she wondered what thoughts were behind that dark, momentarily absent gaze.
Despite the slow spread of inward warmth from the liqueur a detached sense was aware of a tinge of sadness. The evening was almost over. Perhaps Quinn would smoke, then they would drive back, she would thank him politely, and that would be the end of it. Tomorrow morning would bring the cold awakening and the reality of preparing to move on. At the moment it didn't matter where, only that it meant the end of a brief but lovely interlude and a parting she couldn't bear to think about ...
Quinn got out his cigarettes, opened the packet, and then closed it again without extracting one. He left the packet lying on the white linen and rested his chin on one hand. `Shelley,' he said, 'will you marry me?'
For an instant she did not move. Very carefully she set down her glass, keeping her fingers curved round the stem, and looked at him. 'Did you say will I—will I ?'
His expression did not flicker. 'I did.
She took a deep breath. 'Are you serious?'
`I am very serious. I am not in the habit of going round proposing marriage to girls without meaning it.'
she floundered in the grip of a wild, unbelievable excitement. 'I don't know what to say.'
`It's quite simple.' His mouth curved. 'Either yes, or no, or think it over.'
`Yes, I know,' she said helplessly, fighting the overriding urge to shout ,a fervent 'Yes!' and think later. But you—we haven't—' She stopped. How to put into words the automatic reactions to the set impressions she had subconsciously nursed about marriage—no, courtship; that was it. His proposal was the wrong way round. It didn't conform. It had
knocked her off balance. And he hadn't—
Suddenly his expression changed. He leaned forward and reached for her hand. 'I know we haven't known each other very long, or formed our acquaintanceship through the more usual conventional channels. Is that what worries you?'
'No, not exactly,' she said slowly, aware of the sensuous warmth of his touch and the gentle feathering of his thumb across the back of her hand that was threatening to draw her very heart out to him. 'Just I—I wasn't expecting you
`Yes, I know, but what you expected doesn't have anything to do with it,' he said gently. 'So, having disposed of the surprise element, will ,you think about it? Will you come and live with me and share my life, Shelley?'
Silently she groped for wisdom and found none except the instinct to close her eyes and jump. Come live with me ... and be my love . . . wasn't he her love? Her first and dearest and only desire who had turned her world upside down from the moment he came into it. But could she create the complement of that happiness for him? Couldn't she try, now that he had chosen—her? She looked up and said in a small, formal little voice :
`Yes, I'd like to marry you, Quinn, if you're certain you want me to.' To her chagrin the words hadn't come out at all the way she wanted them to and a sudden absurd urge to cry stung at her eyes. She blinked and tried to smile and found she was clinging to his hand as though it were a lifeline.
'I'm quite certain.' The responding pressure of his clasp was instant with reassurance, and his mouth framed a thank-you that somehow conveyed a great deal more than an audible response. He released her gently and smiled. 'I think this calls for an engagement toast. Perhaps this is the moment, after all, for that Strega.'
The journey home at one a.m. was a ride back to dreamland. Shelley tried not to look at his calm profile more than sixty times every minute or observe aloud the joyous satisfaction that possessed her heart. She, Shelley Columbine, was going to be married! She was going to play house, she was going to love, cherish and obey; she was going to be the
wife of the most wonderful man in the world! It was too wonderful to be true. But it was true !
Quinn... ?' she nestled against his shoulder. 'What did you mean about that Strega drink? I mean when you said earlier on about it being too soon in our relationship to choose it?'
'Wait until we stop, then I'll tell you,' he said with tantalising calmness, and she had to wait almost ten minutes before the Bentley finally rolled along to a halt outside number eight.
He put on the brake, doused the headlights and turned towards her. 'Strega is an Italian liqueur, and they have a belief that any two people who share it will be bound to each other for eternity.'
'Oh.' She reflected for a moment, her eyes wide and luminous. 'Do you suppose, though, that it only means that if the two people drink out of the same glass?'
His mouth quivered. `I'm afraid I didn't think of that, Shelley. We'd better buy a bottle and make sure. Meanwhile,' he reached for her, 'I think this is as good a seal as any ...'
For the first time Shelley experienced the kiss of a man who didn't make her feel shy, uncertain, frightened, or wary of the demands to which a kiss could lead : she responded with unashamed readiness and trust, and tasted joy and the promise of ecstasy yet to come.
CHAPTER VI
'AND when is this happy day to be?'
`That is up to Shelley.'
She sat in the inglenook at Miller's Brook Cottage, hugging her knees, and looked happily at her aunt and Quinn. The firelight deepened the rosy tints in her cheeks and the dancing glow in her eyes as she said gaily : We haven't got that far yet—we've only been engaged a day and a half—no! —a day and three-quarters. It'll be exactly two days at five past ten tonight.'
She sighed with the satisfaction of this observation and looked round the familiar, well-loved room, reflecting that it was all still a bit like a dream.
`You haven't drunk your tea, Shelley,' was all that Aunt Lou said, placidly reaching for the teapot and refilling Quinn's cup.
They had driven down to Upper Anbury early that morning, to descend on a startled Aunt Lou with the tremendous news. Even now Shelley couldn't believe it was all coming about so easily. She'd been so sure Aunt Lou would ... not exactly say no outright, but quibble, say wait until she was older, or not rush into anything until she'd thought it over. But she hadn't, and when Shelley had hugged her exuberantly she'd said dryly: 'You always were a handful, Shelley, and I'm getting too old to manage you now. I know perfectly well that you'll have your own way in the end, once you've made up your mind.'
'She's ready to shift the burden of responsibility,' Shelley had said, with a pert grin at her fiancé; a grin that had wavered slightly when he observed warningly: 'As long as you're prepared to recognise the new source of authority, my girl ...'
And now Aunt Lou was talking about the actual wedding! She sensed Quinn's glance resting on her, the query still in it, and she said slowly : 'I don't know,' unconsciously seeking a lead from him, even though she knew that traditionally the decision was hers to make.
'What about a spring wedding? Just after Easter?' suggested Aunt Lou.
'Easter! But that's years away!' gasped Shelley.
Quinn raised one brow at this horrified statement. 'A special licence, perhaps? Three days?'
She gasped again. But that would be—Wednesday! How would I get my dress and everything arranged by ' She saw the gleam in his eye and said indignantly, 'You're kidding! Be serious.'
'Well then, let's extend—or reduce—it to weeks. Four, six, eight ... ?'
`You'll have to settle the practical side first,' Aunt Lou reminded her. 'I hope you're not going to have one of these pop-into-the-registrar's-and-announce-it-afterwards affairs, which seems to be the trend today.'
`Oh, no! I want to be married here, properly, like Miranda Slayne was, with—'
`So you want a formal white wedding.' Aunt Lou smiled. `I wondered if you'd changed your ideas since you started to grow up.'
`Not that idea,' Shelley said firmly, then looked at Quinn. A flicker of doubt came and she sobered a little. 'I'm sorry, I forgot. We haven't talked about it ... would you rather have a quieter ceremony than ...' she hesitated.
He gave a small gesture. 'Darling, I don't mind in the least. If you want a traditional white wedding then you shall have one. It's your day.'
And so it was decided, and the first of many discussions ensued on the hundred and one details involved in a full-scale formal wedding ceremony.
The joyous weekend passed in a flash, or so it seemed to Shelley, in showing Quinn her favourite childhood haunts, and then driving over to Cheltenham on the Sunday afternoon, taking Aunt Lou with them, to see Quinn's mother. She proved to be the sweet-faced lady whom Shelley remembered instantly from that one brief glimpse outside number eight. How long ago it seemed; that eventful Friday which had changed the course of her life.
Mrs Quinn's gentle welcome dispelled the last of Shelley's secret qualms. Aunt Lou was all right, Bruno hadn't betrayed any objection to the permanent addition of a female to the comfortable, all-male menage over which he had presided for so long. And now Quinn's mother liked her; as far as Shelley could see there weren't any more hurdles. And in seven weeks' time she would be married!
`I'm so happy,' she announced
blithely a few days later, giving vent with uninhibited joy to the affectionate impulse to fling her arms round Quinn.
`Are you, sweetheart?'
Mmm,' she sighed ecstatically, planting a kiss on his chin
and feeling his mouth imprint against her hair as his arms went round her slender shoulders.
They were standing in front of the study fireplace and for a little while he held her, his chin ruffling the top of her hair, until she murmured against his shoulder: 'Quinn ?'
`I'm not quite sure how to say it. Wait till I think.'
`Having doubts already?'
`No.' Her head came up sharply. 'Are you?'
`No.'
`Can I say anything to you? I mean instead of just thinking it?'
`Provided it isn't slanderous,' he said lightly.
`I want to be honest, always. I mean,' her brow knitted, `we might quarrel some time, mightn't we?'
`Good heavens, you're looking ahead. No,' he interjected hastily, 'I'm not laughing at you. I'm glad you realise that only a pair of saints could live in eternal harmony. Go on.'
The soft ruffling in her hair recommenced and somewhat encouraged she went on : 'You see, if two saints are completely honest with each other it should help to prevent misunderstanding. I mean—' (it occurred to her she was repeating this overworked interjection rather too often and tried again) `—you see, if I do silly things that irritate you, you must tell me before they get you mad.'
`Very well. I'll remember that.' He paused. 'Have you discovered any particular vice of mine that makes you want to throw things?'
`Oh, no. Nothing. And secrets,' she said after a hesitation. `I promise not to keep secrets from you.'
`All right. No secrets in this perfect marriage you're blueprinting.' He tipped her head back and regarded her with amused eyes. 'What do you want to know?'
`Nothing at the moment.' She met his gaze steadily, her love so patent in her eyes and her parted lips and the soft trusting pressure of her body against him that he bent to the invitation, kissing her with a considerable lessening of the restraint which had been present in his previous lovemaking.
Miss Columbine and Harley Quinn Page 11