by Janet Tanner
Flaunt herself? Suddenly Sarah, too, was angry. ‘How dare you?’ she blazed.
He ignored her. ‘You know how I feel about you. You must. And you know you have not the slightest intention of doing anything about it. Yet wherever I turn you seem to be there. This learning to fly for instance – couldn’t you have found someone else to teach you?’
‘Eric insisted it should be you. He has touching faith in you. If it had been left to me I’d have steered clear of you, don’t worry! But you could have refused. If you hate me so much why didn’t you?’
‘Because, my dear Sarah, I don’t hate you and you know it. I love you.’
She stood motionless, the anger running out of her with the fierce suck of an ebb tide. Something about the way he said it reached for her heart, wiping out all the pain of betrayal. Somehow it was as if all that had gone between was erased and they were back in her cottage on that night when he had come to her. The atmosphere between them was as electric now as it had been then, and if she thought at all of the estrangement the birth of Guy had caused it was only to wonder why she had allowed it to become so important.
‘I love you,’ he said again, more softly, as though savouring the words, and his eyes held hers. ‘And shall I tell you something? In spite of everything, I think you love me.’
A small sob caught in her throat. To be seen through so easily! Yet she could not deny it.
‘You know I do.’ The words were soft and muffled. ‘I always have.’
‘Oh Sarah, Sarah, what happened to us?’
‘Alicia happened – and Eric.’ Even now she could not bring herself to mention little Guy.
‘Well they are not here now,’ he said. There was a hardness in his voice; when she looked at him it was echoed in his face, a ruthlessness she had never seen before. Then his mouth quirked with a touch of his old humour. ‘Neither, come to that, is Max. He is not likely to come around the door interrupting us tonight, is he?’
She laughed a little and shook her head. He stretched out his hand to her. ‘Sarah?’
She took a step towards him and her legs felt as shaky as they had done when she had climbed out of the crashed aeroplane. His hand touched hers and the shock of contact ran through her like an electric current. For a moment she thought he was going to take her in his arms right there in the dining-room and if he had done so she did not think she would have had the strength left to protest. But he did not. He led her to the door and out into the passage. The smell of beer and pipe smoke tickled her nostrils, gales of laughter and the comfortable chink of glasses came from the bar, but all those things might have been nothing more than the echoes of another world. It did not occur to her to wonder if they had been overheard shouting at one another or if anyone would look askance now at the half-finished meals and the couple creeping hand in hand towards the stairs. It did not occur to her because it did not matter. Nothing mattered but Adam and the touch of his hand on hers, sure and firm; nothing but the weakness in her legs which was spreading up like an attack of fever into her thighs; nothing but the urgency tingling in her veins.
Up the stairs, the uneven boards creaking beneath their feet, along the narrow sloping corridor – one step up, two down. He threw open the door of his room and led her inside. Then and only then as the door shut behind them did he turn to her, taking her in his arms and pulling her close. The breath came out of her in a sigh. For a moment their eyes held, hypnotising one another, then his mouth covered hers and the hard length of his body pressed against her. Trembling she returned the pressure, her hands spread out across the taut tendons of his back, her lips parting beneath his like a flower opening in the sunlight.
After a moment the pressure of his mouth became more brutal. His hand slid down the length of her back. Then, hooking his arm behind her knees, he lifted her bodily, carrying her to the bed. His leather flying jacket was lying there where he had tossed it; he pushed it aside and the covers with it, laying her gently down on the cool sheet and going down on his knees beside her. He unfastened her blouse, all the while covering her with kisses, pausing at her breasts to draw the rosy nipples erect with his tongue. The tug of his teeth started a fire deep inside her, licking fierce flames into her most secret places and shooting sharp flickers of warmth along paths of nerve endings she had not realised existed.
Oh dear God, she loved him. She had loved him for so long – so long!
She wore trousers for flying, cut loose and floppy. He removed them and she scarcely knew it until she felt his hand on the soft flesh of her inner thigh, then moving with unconscious sensuality she snaked her hips and his hand moved to the very core of her, cupping, moving, exploring and all with an erotic mastery that made her writhe and moan. As he went away from her she almost cried out in protest, stretching her arms out to him, then folding them around herself as she watched him undress, swiftly and without fuss, dropping his clothes and leaving them where they fell.
For a moment he towered over her, lamplight gleaming on his body, colouring it golden and strong and she gloried in the sight of it. Then he lowered himself onto the bed beside her and she turned to him, aching with the desire to feel him close with every inch of her bare skin, to have him around her and within her.
If the touch of their hands had been electric the fusion of their bodies was cataclysmic and all hurt, all guilt, all responsibility to others was forgotten. For a brief moment they hung poised on the brink, then with a thrust he was within her and she closed around him possessively. They moved in unison with the movement of the ocean, rippling gently at first, then rising to a great swell. She cried out at the last, clinging to him, unwilling to relinquish either the moment or the man. And then she was floating down from the crest of that pulsating wave to lie spent and limp in his arms.
A glow of contentment suffused her now, her head nestled against his shoulder so that the slightly salt scent of his damp skin was in her nostrils and his arm lay in a gesture of possession across her stomach.
‘Oh Adam,’ she whispered.
‘Ssh!’ His breath tickled her neck. ‘Don’t spoil it.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
His hand traced the outline of her face, tucking her hair back behind her ear and spreading out protectively around the curving fissures of her skull.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
‘Then stay with me.’
‘I will,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I will.’
He reached out and extinguished the lamp. Darkness had fallen now, the soft darkness of a summer night. He loosed himself from her to reach for the sheet, pulling it up to cover them, and as he lay back against the pillows she curled around him again, snug and clinging as a child. Already she was almost asleep.
His arm went around her, his hand covering her breast. She wriggled once, her mouth forming a small chaste kiss on the hard muscle of his shoulder. But even before her lips had softened back into repose she was asleep.
When she awoke it was morning. Slowly, deliciously, she surfaced through the layers of sleep, only half aware of the reason for the feeling of well-being that pervaded her, and slightly puzzled by her nudity. Then memory returned and she reached out for him to encounter nothing but cool, empty sheet.
‘You are awake then!’
She opened her eyes and saw him standing at the wash basin to shave. He was wearing his trousers but no shirt, the sight of his bare back with its hard lines of muscle and his strong upper arms reminded her of the glories of the previous night and made a little imp of desire twist teasingly within her. But his face was covered in a froth of shaving soap into which he was carving flat planes with a foot-long cut-throat razor and curiosity ousted desire.
‘Where did you get that razor?’
‘Borrowed it – from the landlord.’
‘When?’
‘This morning. We don’t all sleep half the day away,’ he teased.
‘Oh – you!’ She stretched luxuriously. ‘What time is it?’
‘Eight o’clock.
’ The razor scythed away the last of the shaving soap and he reached for a towel, drying his face, then crossing to the bed. ‘Come here!’
‘Adam! It’s morning!’
‘So what?’ The bed dipped beneath his weight. ‘ Is there any law which says we can only make love at night?’
‘Adam!’ But he was kissing her, caressing her, turning the sheet back and climbing in beside her, and the protest died on her lips.
He took her slowly, luxuriously, for all urgency had been satisfied the night before, and though it was quite different she enjoyed it every bit as much for she was detached enough to be able to relish his pleasure. When it was over he sat up, pulling on his trousers and looking down at her.
‘Well, Sarah, what are we going to do?’
A cloud appeared on the horizon. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What are we going to do? About us?’
The cloud took shape. They had shared one beautiful stolen night. They had consummated the love they had shared for so long. But now they were back in the real world – a world where she had a husband and he had a wife and son.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘You are not about to tell me that last night was just ‘‘ one of those things that happen’’, I hope – and suggest we continue as before, because I think I should warn you I won’t stand by and see you go back to Eric now.’
Well! she thought with a flash of resentment, what is sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander, it seems! But she could not bring herself to mention what she still thought of as his betrayal. It was something she wanted to forget.
‘We have wasted too long already,’ he said and a small treacherous dart ran through her, part excitement, part fear.
‘Adam! You don’t know what you are saying.’
‘Oh yes I do. I am asking you to marry me as soon as we are both free.’
Her heart was beating very fast. ‘But Adam – we are married already!’
‘Yes, and it could be a messy business. Not that that worries me personally. My shoulders are broad and there are women I could approach who would be willing to be named in a divorce action on payment of a consideration. I don’t want to see your name dragged through the mud. But how to manage your divorce is another matter. Eric might be agreeable to do the decent thing and provide you with grounds, of course …’
She pulled herself up in bed. The morning air was crisp. She reached for his flying jacket, lying on the floor where he had dropped it the previous night, and pulled it on.
How could something which last night had been so beautiful suddenly become so ugly and sordid?
‘I don’t think Alicia would divorce you even if you waved a mistress under her nose,’ she said. ‘ Her pride would never allow it and she can be very vindictive. As for Eric … I don’t know that he would divorce me either. I suppose he might, if he thought it would make me happy …’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘ What a mess!’
‘Well we certainly can’t go on as we have been,’ he said. ‘And I am not prepared to carry on a secret affaire either. I don’t like deceit. Meeting secretly, lying, cheating, making love in the shadows and never being certain when we would be found out … no, I have no intention of living like that. I know if we end our marriages people are bound to be shocked and hurt too, but at least it is honest.’
She tore her eyes away from his. Oh yes, people would be hurt. Eric and Alicia – and little Guy. She recoiled quickly from the thought of the child. But it was the knowledge of how angry and disappointed in her that Gilbert would be that tipped the balance. She could take any amount of flak from the rest of the world. Gilbert’s opinion of her was something very precious and very important.
‘I’m not sure I can do it, Adam,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not as brave as you.’
She looked up, expecting him to argue with her, and saw that he had crossed to the window. His back was toward her and when he turned his face was bland, almost expressionless.
‘In that case I shall ask Gilbert to send me to one of the new overseas branches. Oh, it’s no use looking at me like that, Sarah. I am not trying to blackmail you. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman and I think you know that. But if I can’t have you openly, without shame and deceit, I would prefer not to have you at all.’
‘Adam …’ She felt like weeping. He was so cold and hard suddenly, all tenderness gone. ‘You can’t go abroad. Not now …’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t want to go. At least, not without you. But I refuse to stay here to be teased and played for a fool, or drawn into a sordid hole and corner affaire. What it boils down to, Sarah, is that it is up to you now. The choice is yours.’
She could not answer. Her throat was too tight. She lowered her chin, burying it in the leather of the flying jacket and when she raised it again she saw that he had put on his shirt and was combing his hair at the dressing table mirror.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘ I am going to have some breakfast and then get out to the plane. Are you coming with me?’
Once again he seemed to have put what had happened behind him, locked it up in a separate compartment whilst he got on with the rest of his life. Easy for him – so easy! Everything black and white – no shades of grey between.
‘You go on,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I will come with you.’
He glanced at her over his shoulder but if he was wondering if her words were an indication as to what her decision would be he said nothing and his eyes, cool hazel, did not show it.
‘Well, well, look at that, see!’ A farm labourer had found the missing propeller in a field, now Perry, the mechanic, was examining it, shaking his head slowly from side to side in wonderment. ‘Look at that! Come off clean as a whistle, she must’ve!’
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Adam agreed. ‘ I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. What could have caused it, do you think?’
Perry continued to shake his head. ‘Well, I s’pose t’weren’t fitted proper in the fust place. Not tight enough. That’s the only thing it can be. But I can’t understand it. I went over that plane meself the day afore yesterday. I should’ve thought I’d have noticed straight away. I don’t know, I’m sure. ’Tis a mystery.’
‘A mystery you had better get to the bottom of and make certain it doesn’t happen again,’ Adam said tartly. ‘ We could have been killed. You realise that, don’t you?’
‘Too true! I’ve already had Mr Morse threatening me with God knows what. But I don’t think ‘tis my fault and I don’t see why I should take the blame.’
‘Because you are paid to be responsible,’ Adam informed him. ‘Well, I dare say there is no point going over it now. Let’s get the plane loaded on to the lorry and back to Chewton Leigh so it can be examined properly. Then if you are found to be at fault, Perry, I wouldn’t give much for your chances of keeping your job. This is the kind of carelessness we can’t afford.’
Perry went pale but he said nothing. There was no point arguing. It was his responsibility. He still couldn’t understand it, though. He’d been sure there was nothing wrong with the propeller when he had looked the plane over … Ah well. With typical countryman’s mentality Perry thought that what could not be cured must be endured.
‘Right, Mr Bailey, let’s get to work,’ he said stoically.
Chapter Forty
‘So – what do you think would be the best route from England to South Africa, Adam?’ Gilbert asked.
‘Sorry, what was that?’
Adam, who was leaning against the great oak desk in Gilbert’s office, came back to earth with a jolt. He had been asked in to discuss Eric’s attempt at a record-making flight, but he had been only half listening to their plans for his mind was occupied with his own problems.
It was three weeks now since he and Sarah had spent the night together and still she was prevaricating. Not only that, he thought that she was deliberately avoiding him – easy enough now that she had gained her ‘A’ licence and no longer ne
eded him as a tutor – and he was fast coming to the conclusion that she would never leave Eric. Well, if that were the case, then he had no intention of remaining here like some lap-dog. Plans were afoot to re-establish the South African branch of the company and Adam had made up his mind to ask Gilbert to send him there.
‘Which route do you think would give Eric the greatest chance of success?’ Gilbert repeated, sounding faintly irritated.
Adam pushed his private thoughts to one side and crossed to the huge map which covered one wall of the office.
‘Let me see. France, over the Alps, Italy, across Egypt, down through Africa, Kampala, Bulawayo, Johannesburg – and then south-west to Cape Town.’ He traced the line with his finger. ‘It’s direct and there are plenty of places where you would be able to put down for fuel and water. That’s the way I’d go.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Eric agreed. ‘But it’s a hell of a long way, isn’t it – even for a good plane like the Condor. We are bound to meet extreme weather conditions and God alone knows what sort of expertise the mechanics we shall have to rely on along the way will have. The trouble is if the smallest thing is not as it should be it can cause disaster. Take the accident you and Sarah had a few weeks ago – a few nuts not tightened properly and you lose your propeller. If the same thing happened over a desert or jungle it would certainly mean the end of the record attempt and over the sea it would probably be fatal.’
‘Thinking of giving up the attempt, are you?’ Adam asked, unable to resist a dig at the man who stood between him and Sarah.
‘No, certainly not,’ Eric said coolly. ‘But I could do with a really experienced co-pilot. Why don’t you come with me?’
‘Me?’ Adam almost laughed aloud at the irony of it. ‘No, I don’t think so, Eric.’
‘I suppose you would prefer to stay around Chewton Leigh.’ Eric said. His tone was pleasant enough but there were undertones beneath the apparent friendliness and quite suddenly the air was alive with electric tension.
Hell fire – he knows! Adam thought, and then, almost simultaneously, no, it’s not possible. No man worthy of the name could suspect that his wife was being unfaithful to him and ignore it. It was all he could do to remain in the same room as Eric and not land a punch on his nose – and he was not the injured party!
