He turned to stub out his cigarette and then straightened, switching out the desk lamp before he came to the fireside and looked gravely down at her. 'You once said I had a head start over you; it's true, if inescapable. But I've never believed in looking back and if you're wise you won't either. I married you, Shelley, and that's all there is to it. Does that help?'
She nodded mutely, and he put his hands at each side of her head and made her meet his gaze. He kissed her, then said gently : 'I'm sorry you came too late, Shelley. Too late to be the first. But isn't it enough to be the last?'
But was she?
The unspoken question still tormented Shelley during the following days, and the seeds of doubt sown unwittingly by Myra Delane found fertile ground in Shelley's imagination. Far from being reassured by Quinn's words, she began to read frightening new meaning into them. When he had spoken of it being dangerously easy to make a mistake and not discovering it until too late had he meant their marriage had been a mistake? Could there have been cruel truth in Myra's spiteful surmise: that he had married her to put himself out of Myra's reach? Had his motive been bitterness after all?
Shelley searched back over the meagre memories of her five-week-old marriage and tried to find confirmation of what she wanted 'desperately to believe: that he loved her alone, and wholeheartedly, that she was the last and complete love of his life, and confirmation was not easily found. Since that night at Lindos he had never attempted to make love to her, never referred to it again, and now she could not help questioning his motive in the light of the subsequent weeks. For
what demonstrations of affection he made towards her they might not be engaged even, let alone married, and the more she thought about it the more convinced she became of her own total inadequacy to attract him—in comparison with Myra Delane's sophisticated charm. Now her firmly held belief that if it hadn't been for her accident everything would have been magic instant bliss that would shut out all the Myra Delanes in the world was revealed for what it could only be—a romantic adolecent pipe dream.
A rushed visit from Pamela before she departed for home did nothing to reassure her. That very evening of Shelley's visit Myra had discussed plans for a rave-up of a party to celebrate her new appointment and promotion, and despite Julia's protests Quinn and Shelley were first down on the guest list.
`Take my advice and have another engagement that night,' Pamela said. 'There's no need to deliver him into the spider's web. Of course you could take the offensive and ask her if she's still reduced to raking over old ashes. Anyway, you've been warned and you know what her plans are.'
`But that's just it, I don't,' Shelley said.
`But it's so obvious,' said Pamela impatiently. 'She's going to draw you into her set, get mutual acquaintances to invite you when she's going to be there, then she's going to dazzle Quinn again just to prove to herself that she can. Don't you see? So you'll have to keep one move ahead and make sure she never gets him alone anywhere.'
Shelley closed her eyes, the suspicion coming to her that this was providing Pamela with a great deal of ghoulish delight. 'You read too many novels, Pam. She can't do anything like that. It's too late.'
`Don't be too sure,' was Pamela's final admonition, and when the invitation came Shelley began to wonder if Pamela's forecast was as lurid as she wanted to believe.
With the same post there was a thick, beautifully embossed invitation to an Embassy reception. Only Myra's influence could be responsible for that!
They had come with the mid-morning post and without a second thought Shelley obeyed the instinct that prompted
her to drop both missives into her handbag instead of leaving them on Quinn's desk along with two other letters which had arrived for him. That there might be repercussions to face eventually when she genuinely forgot their presence did not occur to her : at the moment she was conscious of only two needs: an impatience for the Monday appointment at the orthopaedic clinic to arrive, and the imperative urge to seek the advice of someone who was sane and wise and utterly impartial. Not Aunt Lou, not Julia, not Samma, not Linda. Only one person could judge the evidence of that beastly little conversation and tell her for sure that it didn't mean anything, that Quinn wouldn't have married her unless he loved her, and that her own youth and uncertainties were her worst enemies.
On the Friday afternoon she went to see Octavius.
so what should I do? Please, Ocky, tell me what I should do.'
Ocky stood back and regarded the detail of an Achilles tendon with a frowning gaze, and said calmly : 'You aren't going to do anything. There's nothing you can do.' He walked slowly round the free-standing block from which the form of a crouching child was beginning to emerge and then turned so fiercely Shelley jumped. He said sternly : `If you've got to the stage, after five weeks of marriage, where you're hiding invitations—correspondence!—from your husband, there's no hope for you, Shelley, my infant.'
`Is—is that all you've got to say?' she said, unbelievingly.
'No,' he wiped his hands on a duster and released a small cloud of powder which instantly reached Shelley's nostrils, 'I could say a great deal more along the same lines. I should say you've been hopelessly spoiled since you happened that,' gesturing, 'and everybody piling on the sympathy, with the result you're just feeling thoroughly sorry for yourself. Has he spanked you yet?'
`What I' she exclaimed with horror. 'Of course not.'
`Time he did, then. Every husband should spank his woman at least once, just to let her know that equality applies to both sexes. Now what's the matter?'
`I'm covered with dust, that's what's the matter. Ouch!' She sneezed twice and looked at him indignantly. 'You've changed. I thought you were wise and understanding, and all you can suggest is—is that my husband should spank me!'
Ocky sighed and came to sit beside her on the divan. `Listen, love, it boils down to this. You overheard a snatch of silly bitchy yap and immediately decided you were on the road to the divorce court, in the role of the poor little injured wife. Grow up, Shelley.'
`But I know she's planning something. What else did she mean by it? Stoking old fires!' Shelley said bitterly. `It didn't sound like silly yap to me, bitchy, yes, but she meant every word of it.'
`Maybe she did, but you're forgetting the most important thing,' Ocky pointed out, `he married you. How do you know he feels like an old fire? What's this?' He leaned forward and peered at the now very dirty casing of plaster. He read it slowly, his voice an amused undertone, and chuckled. `No need to ask whose work that is! He's got you taped, my girl. Now I'll add the answer.'
Ocky got up, still chuckling, and after an impatient hunt round the big untidy studio came back with a stub of red crayon pencil. He thought for a moment, then began to write.
`There, how's that? Show him tonight and test his Latin.'
She surveyed the result and gave a resigned nod. 'Why not a little Dutch, and a snatch of Urdu, and a bit of Esperanto? What does it mean, anyway?'
Ocky smiled. 'Quinn will tell you. If he can't you can give me a ring.'
`It's not rude, is it?' she demanded suspiciously.
`Since when were the Greek classics rude?'
`I wouldn't know.' She looked at the spidery expanse of red writing under the epistle in blue and sighed. `I don't know what they'll think at the hospital when they see all this.'
`On Monday you won't be worrying about that. Now you go home and forget about designing females, and don't go around telling the world, either.'
`Why do you think I came to you for advice?' she said indignantly. 'I haven't told a soul, except you.'
`Just keep it that way, then, and behave yourself.'
With this advice still in her thoughts Shelley returned home, slightly comforted but still not convinced that she had no cause for alarm. She found Bruno waiting for her, and for once there was no friendly welcoming grin in evidence.
Disapproving and formal, he said, `You didn't tell me you were expecting visitors this aft
ernoon, madam.'
She stared. `But I wasn't. Oh, hell! I would be out. Who was it, Bruno?'
Bruno's expression had relaxed slightly, but not altogether. `They didn't actually come, Miss Shelley, but they were going to if you were in.'
`But who was it?'
`Miss Delane,' said Bruno with a scowl. 'Rang up about ten minutes after you'd gone with some tale about dropping in and seein' some photos you took when you was on your 'oneymoon. She—'
`But I didn't ask her!' Shelley almost exploded. 'And she must have seen them! I gave Julia a set of them—it cost me four Pounds for the coloured ones, and I had to have some done for Quinn's mother. Oh, never mind about the photographs. What did she say, Bruno?'
`Just what I've told you. Oh, luv'—he dropped back into his rough kindliness of manner—`you don't want to have her hangin' around. She nearly broke the guv's heart, she did, the man-crazy piece of goods. The guv 'ad a lucky escape, though I shouldn't air my opinion. Used to waltz into my kitchen like she owned the place and order me about like she was a duchess or somethin'. Pity she didn't marry one of them Ey-ties while she was there an' leave the guv in peace,' he added disgustedly.
This expressed Shelley's own sentiments exactly, but unfortunately Myra hadn't married one of the handsome Italians it was certain she had met. Shelley said slowly: `What did you tell her?'
Bruno took a deep breath. 'I told 'er you wasn't at 'ome, and that, you and the guv had plans for the weekend and I
couldn't say what you'd be doin' next week.' Bruno looked anxiously at her. `Have I said something I shouldn't?' She did not respond immediately and he said worriedly, 'I took too much on meself, didn't I, miss? I shouldn't 'ave.'
`No, Bruno, you didn't.' Shelley sank down on the bottom stair and shook her head. 'You did exactly right.'
But worry still clouded the sad-ugly features gazing down at her as she chewed at her lip and pondered this latest disturbing intervention. Myra wasn't wasting any time! If she was going to continue in this vein it was going to be impossible to keep it secret from Quinn for ever. Shelley looked up at Bruno's concerned face and suddenly Ocky's injunction fled from her mind. Here was an ear that would hear—and believe; an ally in whom she had least expected to find one—who obviously didn't trust Myra Delane any more than she did.
Bruno said, 'Is there anything wrong, miss?'
`Yes, Bruno,' she sighed, `there is. You see, it's like this ...'
At some time during the sad little confidence Bruno had lowered his solid self down on the stair beside her. When she finished there was a silence, then he turned and looked at her and said in a shocked voice : `Nice lady, ain't she? And that was what the guv nearly married.
`What am I going to do?' she said despairingly. 'How can I keep her out of our lives without actually being rude? It's so difficult, with her being practically a relation and Julia's crony. I don't know what to do.'
`I know what I’m going to do,' Bruno said firmly and the pat from his ham of a hand was infinitely reassuring. 'Don't you fret yourself. I can tell you this, she'll not get into this house if I've anything to do with it. As for the rest ...' He stood up and sighed heavily. 'It's up to you, luv. The guv's yours now, isn't he? And you're going to keep him that way.'
But could she? Shelley would give everything she possessed if only she could be sure ...
CHAPTER X
AT exactly two-fifteen on the afternoon of Halloween two large, strong, cheerful hospital technicians removed Shelley's plaster with what she privately considered a complete lack of suitable awe for the momentousness of the occasion.
One of them glanced at her wary expression during the procedure and winked at his companion. 'This one's had the brains trust at work here.'
Bit of a difference from the last one we took off.'
Realising that she was fully intended to note all this, she said, 'How?'
White coat number one grinned. 'His pals had held an art exhibition on it. Talk about blue movies ! You'd be surprised at the things people deface our handiwork with.'
`The graffiti complex,' said the more taciturn of the two, giving an .exclamation of triumph at the final severance. `There you are young lady. Want to take it home for a souvenir?'
`No, thank you,' said Shelley, gazing with a sense of wonderment at the sight of her small bare arm and making tentative wiggles of her fingers.
`That's gratitude for you,' said the other one, tossing the discarded plaster into a large bin. 'Mind it doesn't fall off before you get along to Mr Humphrey—it's room three.'
`And don't turn cartwheels for a few days,' said his partner.
`I won't. Thanks a lot.' She smiled. They'd been awfully nice and understanding. Then she stopped at the door of the plaster room and turned back, struck by an afterthought. She looked at their enquiring expressions and said, 'I think I would like to, if I may—take the bit with the writing on.'
They glanced at each other, signalled a 'Shall we?', and one of them retrieved the plaster, remarking dryly, 'Funny how sentimental women can get,' and passed it to her. 'Sorry we can't gift-wrap it for you.'
'It doesn't matter.' Aware of their amusement, she made
her way along the corridor to see the orthopaedic doctor and receive the final check.
Afterwards she walked out of the hospital with light steps, elation banishing all thought of Myra Delane for the moment; it was so wonderful to feel unencumbered again, with an arm that felt so light it might fly away if she waved it too exuberantly. No more getting the beastly thing through armholes—she'd never wear another sleeveless garment—not for ages, anyway. No more turning over in the night and having the rock of Gibraltar digging into her ribs. Best of all, she was completely independent once again. Debit side : she'd have no excuse for not writing letters, but it was worth writing a hundred letters!
Slightly lightheaded, Shelley window-shopped, bought a new blouse that fastened down the back just to test her return to mobility, and acting on a sudden impulse went into a phone box and dialled the number of Quinn's office. But he was not in, and after making a somewhat lame excuse for ringing—she couldn't very well tell Mr Archibald Brisson who was Quinn's partner and who had happened to answer the phone that she'd rung up to say she'd got her plaster off !
Only slightly deflated, she went on her way, adding to her shopping hoard a lipstick, some tights with a subtle glitter thread cunningly interwoven, and a flacon of bubble bath essence that was such a fabulous price she decided the flacon must be the real treasure. She indulged in a packet of chocolates, spotted a waistcoat of red suede that brought the light of covetousness into her eye and a sudden realisation that she had overspent to the extent of having to hunt out her bus fare and transfer it to her pocket before she reached the pass of having to walk home.
Reluctantly she turned her back on the temptation of the red suede waistcoat and decided it was time to go home. There was a great deal she had to do and she had no intention of rushing a moment of it.
First of all she was going to make afternoon tea, unaided, in her own kitchen and partake of it by the fire in the study, and she was going to invite Bruno to share it, and she was
going to wash the dishes herself afterwards. However, in the way of theoretical plans, this didn't quite work out. Bruno had the kettle on, the china ready, and three kinds of cake to choose from, and she finished up by sitting in the kitchen having the same informal tea-and-chatter as she usually did when Quinn was not at home.
Without a pang she allowed herself to be persuaded to defer dish-washing to a later date and went blithely upstairs to indulge in an orgy she had waited five weeks for.
The bubble bath essence worked as though it had a gold-seal guarantee. The foam filled the bath, a beautiful pale jade green foam in which Shelley wallowed, right up to her chin, for a full twenty minutes. She then added more hot water to the cooling ablution and lay on her stomach, blowing little channels in the settling foam, just for the sheer joy of being completely submerg
ed.
For the moment the memory of the weekend had receded and she had forgotten how strained and uneasy it had seemed, at -least to herself. Quinn had been more taciturn than ever and had appeared to welcome the arrival of Julia and Derek on the Sunday with a warmth suspiciously like relief. Not so Shelley; Julia's presence had merely heightened the sense of tension and she was sure she was not imagining a trace of guilt in Julia's demeanour. Several times she received the impression that Julia wanted to tell her something but was uncertain whether to or not, until at one point when the two men were withdrawn into some discussion Julia had turned with an expression of resolution and said: 'Shelley, there's something I—' and Shelley had known what was coming. Julia was worried; Julia was afraid now that she had been indirectly responsible for an indiscretion and she wanted to check on possible repercussions. Shelley had experienced a hardening of her heart and a sudden distrust, natural in the circumstances, of Julia and she had deliberately cut Julia short, making it impossible for Julia to continue. Later, Julia had offered to accompany Shelley to the hospital the following afternoon and Shelley had politely but firmly refused the offer, whereupon Julia had looked even more worried until informed dryly by Quinn that his intention of taking Shelley himself had also been declined.
But the rather wistful smile of reminiscence on Shelley's lips betrayed that time had wrought one of its alchemic miracles and a certain occasion which had almost shrivelled her with horror at the time now induced a quite remarkable wave of delight as she recalled it: she would never forget the expression on Quinn's face the night she stepped out of this very bath and confronted him at the door!
Abruptly Shelley reached for the plug: she must have been in here for hours ...
After a leisurely anointing with lotion and talc she washed her hair, set and dried it and adjourned to the bedroom to embark on a manicure and further beautifying. At the end of this she decided she must smell like a beauty salon and turned to survey her wardrobe. It held two gorgeous dresses bought as part of her wedding bounty which she had not yet worn because the sleeves were too close-fitting to pass over the plaster without stretching out of shape. Which one should she wear? The lemon tricel jersey with the wide scooped neckline and straight simple lines that fell slim as a reed; or the tangerine model with the crystal pleated yoke and slight flare to the hemline? The tangerine, she decided, then changed her mind and took the yellow dress out of the wardrobe again. Carefully she laid out the matching undies, opened the new tights and inspected them critically, then groped in the bottom of the wardrobe for her bronze patent shoes.
Miss Columbine and Harley Quinn Page 19