by Anne Mather
“Thank you.”
The older woman turned away, obviously emotionally disturbed by any words about her daughter, and with controlled movements Darrell made her way to the door. She hadn’t the stamina to say goodbye to everybody at this time, so she slipped away without anyone being aware of her going.
Outside, the late afternoon sunlight was very warm, and she took off her jacket and draped it over her arm. She had decided to walk back to the flat. She was in the centre of Sedgeley, and it wasn’t all that far, and besides, the exercise would do her good.
She unbuttoned her cream blouse as low as she dared, and walked slowly across the market square and into Jesmond Avenue. As she walked she tried to concentrate on the hospital and thus clear her mind of all troubling thoughts. She wondered if she ought to go back to work tomorrow as Bill was doing. There was nothing to do at the flat, one person didn’t make much mess, and it would be lonely there without any company.
Unwillingly, she found herself wondering what time Matthew intended leaving for London. Would Celine be waiting for him there, eager now to placate him for her absence from the funeral? Would he forgive her, because he loved her? Or would they have another row like the one they had had at his parents’ home? If they did, did they make up afterwards? Was that what had happened on that other occasion, on the day of the wedding? After she and Jeff and the others had left for the nightclub, had Matthew taken his wife upstairs and made love to her? The idea was so distasteful to her that she caught her breath at the implications of her feelings.
It was after five o’clock when she reached the flat, and she let herself in dully, hearing the telephone ringing almost in the background of her mind. Then, realising it was her telephone that was ringing, she went to answer it.
It was her mother, and there was relief in speaking to someone who had no connection with the events of the past few days.
“Darrell? Darrell, is that you? Wherever have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days!”
Darrell dropped her jacket and bag on to the nearby chair and sank down on to its arm. “I’m sorry, Mummy. I’ve been—out a lot.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Good heavens, I was getting quite worried about you. Where have you been? Surely you haven’t been working evenings at the hospital?”
“No, Mummy. I—I’ve been at the Lawfords’.”
“The Lawfords?” Her mother sounded vague. “Oh, yes, I remember. Isn’t that the name of the girl you share the flat with?”
“It was, yes.” Darrell paused. “You remember I told you, she was getting married last Saturday.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. I do remember, now you mention it. Did everything go off all right?”
“The wedding was fine, but… but…”
“But what?” Her mother spoke sharply. “Don’t tell me the marriage is on the rocks already!”
In other circumstances, Darrell could have laughed. Her mother always jumped to those sort of conclusions. It came from a certain cynicism towards men.
“You may have heard about a plane crash near Palma,” she went on slowly. “Susan and Frank were on that plane.”
There was silence for a moment and then her mother uttered a shocked exclamation. “You mean—they were killed?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Darrell! Oh, Darrell, what a terrible thing to happen!”
“It was rather.” Darrell’s throat felt tight.
“And—how have her family taken it?”
“How do you expect? It was a disaster. They—she and her husband—were buried today.”
She could hear her mother making little shocked sounds. “And have you been at work?” Mrs. Anderson asked at last.
“Not since Sunday, no. Doctor Morrison gave me a week off.”
“A week? Then you’re not due back at the hospital until Monday?”
“Not officially, no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I was thinking of going back tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Darrell sighed. “There’s nothing else to do.”
“Come home,” said her mother at once. “Come here for the weekend. You haven’t been home for weeks. And you know you’re always welcome.”
Darrell hesitated. “I don’t know, Mummy…”
“Why not? I wouldn’t expect you to stay in all the time. You could go out—meet your friends. It would make a break for you.”
Darrell thought hard. It would make a break, as her mother said, and she was not really keen to go back to work even though it would have solved the loneliness problem.
“Well,” she began, “well, all right. I—I’ll catch a train from Leeds in the morning. I don’t know what time I’ll get there. Expect me when you see me.”
“Very well. You have your key, don’t you, just in case I’m out.”
Darrell nodded resignedly. “Yes, I have my key,” she agreed, knowing full well that it was far more likely that she would be staying at home while her mother went out, rather than the other way around. Still, it would be something to take her mind off other things. Off Matthew…
She replaced the receiver carefully, and took a deep breath. If she was going away in the morning, she had packing to do and arrangements to make. Kicking off her wedge-heeled shoes, she picked up her jacket and was on her way to her bedroom when the doorbell rang.
Dropping the coat again, she padded on stockinged feet to the door, opening it cautiously. Then a surprised gasp escaped her. Matthew was standing just outside her door, his shirt collar unbuttoned and his tie hanging loosely below it.
“Hello, Darrell,” he said, his tones flat and devoid of feeling. “Can I come in?”
Darrell stepped back without speaking, holding on to the door like a lifeline, and he came inside so that she could close it again. Pressing her palms back against the panels behind her, she said: “I—I thought you were leaving for—for London.”
Matthew ran a hand round the back of his neck and walked into the middle of the room. “I was. I did.” He shook his head. “As far as the family’s concerned, I left for London fifteen minutes ago.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I see.” Darrell was overwhelmingly conscious of her half open blouse and stockinged feet. “Was there—I mean, did you want something else?”
Matthew looked at her across the space between them, his eyes dark and disturbing. But for once he didn’t hold her gaze. He looked away, saying: “Yes. Yes, I could use a drink. Do you have anything?”
Darrell swallowed with difficulty. “Nothing alcoholic, I’m afraid. Some—some Coke.”
“Fine.”
He walked across to the windows to stand with his back to her, and she hurried into the kitchen and took a can of Coke from the refrigerator. She refused to speculate on his reasons for coming here. For the moment, it was enough that he had come.
“Here you are.” She came back into the living room and held out the can and a glass. He turned to take them, putting the glass on the window ledge and pulling the twist of metal enabling him to drink from the can.
While he drank, Darrell surreptitiously tidied the room, putting newspapers and magazines into the rack, shifting her shoes and shaking the cushions on the couch.
Then she straightened and began to button her blouse, but he came towards her and stopped her, one long finger stroking an imaginary line from just below her chin to the shadowy hollow between her breasts. His hands were very brown against her creamy flesh, and he bent his head and followed the line of his finger with his lips.
Darrell trembled violently and pulled herself away from him, breathing shallowly, gulping air into her tortured lungs. “Please—please, don’t,” she implored, turning her back on him. “I—I think you’d better go now.”
Matthew tossed the empty Coke can into the waste bin and tugged his fingers down through his hair to the back of his neck. “Yes,” he muttered, moving his head in a positive gesture. “I’m—sorry.”
Darrell bent her head. “It’s—it’s all right,” she managed, thinking hysterically that nothing could be further from the truth. “It—the funeral—it was a strain for everyone.”
“Do you imagine I’ve come here for sympathy?” he demanded savagely, moving closer to her so that she could feel his breath fanning the nape of her neck. “Do you think that’s all I want? Oh, God, if only it were!”
Darrell lifted her head. “What—what else could it be?”
“I thought you knew,” he groaned, and then with an angry ejaculation he jerked her back against him, his hands sliding possessively over her breasts, holding her against him so that she could feel every straining muscle of his taut body. “Dear God, Darrell, don’t you know I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you struggling in the mud last Saturday?”
“You can’t—you don’t know what you’re saying—”
“I can and I do,” he said unevenly, his mouth against her neck. “You were right to be wary of me, Darrell. I’ve proved myself every bit as amoral as you suspected.”
Darrell, struggling to free herself, heard the curious catch in his voice, the thread of self-derision that conflicted with his self-denunciation, and twisted round in his arms to stare at him. His face was very pale, there was a hungry brilliance in his eyes, and a mocking humour tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Well?” he challenged, his hands gripping her waist, allowing her to hold him at bay with her palms firm against his chest. “Haven’t you anything to say to me? Like—I told you so? Like—I’m just another married man who wants to make love to a beautiful girl?”
“I—I don’t believe that you are.” Darrell was confused. “Why are you saying these things?”
“I suppose my next line should be that my wife doesn’t understand me, that we’re completely incompatible!” She didn’t know whether he was taunting himself or her.
“Matt—” she began, but he stopped her.
“What? Isn’t this what you expect to hear? Isn’t this the usual explanation?”
“Stop it!” She drew her hands away from him, but the action only served to bring him closer. “You don’t have to say anything. I—I don’t want to know.”
“Don’t you?” He forced her face up to his. “But this has to be done right. You must forgive me if I’m a little out of practice with the current jargon—”
“Matt! Why are you doing this?” she cried. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
Matthew expelled his breath harshly. “But I am touching you, aren’t I, Darrell? This is your body mine is abusing, isn’t it?” He bent his head, and his tongue trailed along her cheek. “And you know as well as I do that a man like me is not to be trusted.”
Darrell’s breathing was erratic. She didn’t know what to think. “Do—do I know that?”
“You should.” Matthew’s voice hardened as he continued to cover her face with kisses. But he avoided touching her mouth, and she found herself aching for him to do so.
Then, as suddenly, he thrust her away from him, closing his eyes as though fighting for control. When he opened them again, their brilliance was muted by the thickness of his lashes. “So,” he said through his teeth. “I’m no better than any other man.” His smile was not pleasant. “How Celine would love to see me like this!”
Darrell’s cheeks flamed. “I think you ought to go.”
“So do I, oh, God! So do I!” he muttered violently. “But I don’t want to. Do you know why I came here? I might as well be honest. I want you. I want to make love to you. And it’s a long time since I’ve said that to any woman, including Celine!”
Darrell was trembling so much she doubted her legs would support her for much longer. “I don’t want to hear about Celine,” she whispered huskily, and he shook his head.
“I know. That would be unfair. Sufficient to say that—for the first time, I want to be unfaithful to my wife.”
“Don’t—don’t you love her?”
“Don’t I love Celine?” His expression was derisive. “Do you think I should?” He paused. Then: “No. No, I don’t love her. I don’t suppose I ever did. But then I wouldn’t presume to imagine that Celine ever loved me. We—suited one another, at the time. It seemed a satisfactory arrangement.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“But honest,” he agreed wryly.
“Are you?” She was unknowingly provocative, standing there before him, her hair loose about her face, accentuating green eyes made luminous by her emotions. The blouse, taut across her breasts, drew his attention to their swelling fullness, as they rose and fell in her distress. “I think you want me to believe the worst about you. Why? Does that assuage your guilt?”
“My guilt? Oh, God!” he muttered grimly. “Nothing could assuage that!” He shook his head. “I never intended this to happen. I don’t get involved with other women. My work means everything to me. Or at least, it has done up till now.”
“And now?” Darrell couldn’t resist the probe.
“Now—now—” He bent his head. “You know what’s happened now as well as I do. It may be some time since I felt this fire in my loins, but I haven’t forgotten what it means!”
“Oh, Matt!”
His words disarmed her, and she felt an overwhelming sense of longing to comfort him. But it was madness. It must be suppressed. How could she be sure he was telling the truth? It might just be a line to gain her sympathy. And yet something told her it was not, that Matthew despised himself for his weakness, that he did not entirely welcome this feeling he had for her. But what feeling was it? And what did he expect of her?
He was looking steadily at her. “You know what I’m asking, don’t you?”
“I—don’t—know…”
“I have no right, but—I want to stay—”
“Stay? You mean—all night?” Darrell wrapped her arms about her. The trembling had begun inside her, and she couldn’t stop it.
“Yes.”
“That’s—impossible—”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because…” Darrell shifted from one foot to the other. “Because—because it is.”
“I need you, Darrell. And I believe you need me.”
“I—need—you?” She was incredulous.
“That’s what I said. You knew what was happening to us—that was why you tried to avoid me. Don’t deny it. I knew it, too. But… God help me, I tried to put you out of my mind. It didn’t work. I’ve thought of nothing else but you all through these terrible days!”
“Oh, Matt!”
His need was bearable, his grief was not. She couldn’t hold out against him any longer. He was right—she did need him.
Without speaking, she nodded her head, and started when Matthew pulled off his tie and jacket and dropped them on to a chair. She had expected him to take her in his arms then, and when he didn’t, she felt chilled.
“I could use a bath,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Is that possible?”
Darrell gathered herself with difficulty. “Why—yes, of course.”
“So where’s the bathroom?”
Matthew was reassuringly gentle and she led the way through her bedroom into the kiosk that served as a bathroom. “There’s plenty of soap and the towels are behind the door,” she told him jerkily.
“Fine. I shan’t be long.” He looked down at her intently.
“Take as long as you like,” she managed, and left him.
In the living room, she became aware of a dull throbbing behind her temples. It was nervous reaction, she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. The full realisation of what she had committed herself to was sweeping over her and her mind recoiled from the recklessness of her decision.
Forcing a calmness she was far from feeling, she glanced at her watch. It was after six. No doubt her headache was due in part to hunger. Perhaps she should prepare a meal, something to sustain her through the ordeal.
The ordeal!
She felt vaguely h
ysterical. This was a situation she had never experienced. For a girl of her age she was unusually inexperienced. Her parents’ broken marriage had always been there to warn her against the dangers of promiscuity. Her mother had already been pregnant at the time of their marriage, otherwise it was extremely doubtful that it would ever have taken place. Consequently, Darrell had never indulged in the free and easy involvements approved by other girls of her age, and although she understood the biology that drove a man and woman together, its more intimate aspects were unknown to her. Still, Matthew was not to know this, and she had no doubt that a woman’s body held no secrets from him.
Going into the kitchen, she examined the contents of the refrigerator. As she had practically been living at the Lawfords’ for the past week, there was little in there to inspire her. Some bacon, eggs, a few tomatoes, but that was all.
An examination of the food cupboard was almost as disappointing. Beans, peas, tinned fruit and vegetables, and a packet containing a Spanish omelette mix. Deciding omelettes were the most adequate nourishment she could think of, she whipped eggs in a basin and added the Spanish omelette mix. The result smelt very appetising, and she sliced tomatoes ready to fry with the omelettes.
When it was all prepared, she went back into the living room and paced about the floor. She had no idea how long Matthew would take, but she wanted to be making it by the time he reappeared. It would give her a few more minutes’ grace.
She glanced down at the green suede skirt and cream blouse. Hardly the attire for an evening, she thought doubtfully. Perhaps if she put on a long skirt, or her turquoise silk caftan she would feel better. At least it would give her something to do. But she couldn’t change in her bedroom where Matthew was likely to come upon her at any moment. She would collect the clothes and change in Su—in the other room. She winced. For a moment, the real reason for Matthew being in Sedgeley struck her, and tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Who was taking advantage of whom? she demanded achingly. Would Matthew ever have noticed her if Susan had not been killed?
She crossed the room and flung open her bedroom door, and then stopped aghast. Matthew had had his bath and was now stretched full length on her bed without a stitch of clothing. He was lying on his stomach, and it was only when she ventured: “Matthew?“ tentatively that she realised he was asleep.
