Master of Comus

by Charlotte Lamb

They flew to Paris next morning. Leonie was feeling rather tired. She had not been able to sleep since returning from the hills; her ankle kept her awake. During the slow progress of the hours she had plenty of time to think about herself and Paul. She had admitted to herself now that she was madly in love with him. She had been preconditioned to fall for him by her schoolhood obsession about him. That charming, romantic image had sunk deep into her subconscious. No wonder that faced with the real man she had been swept off her feet. Paul's attraction towards herself was something which she could not quite decide upon. From his past record, he would have made a pass at any pretty girl into whose company he was exclusively thrown. That he liked her, even desired her, she was fairly sure; there had been nothing fake about the way he made love. But she was just one of a long procession of dazzling girls who had passed through his life. She had never fancied joining a queue, and she did not intend to do so now.

  Paul must never suspect that her feelings for him were any deeper than his feelings for her. She had already betrayed herself sufficiently for him to be aware that he attracted her physically.

  She would allow him to go on thinking it a mere physical attraction. It would flatter his vanity, of course, but that was better than letting him know she loved him. No doubt countless women had found him physically attractive. Paul appeared to prefer such uncomplicated relationships. Real emotion made one too vulnerable, perhaps, or was it that he

  was too self-contained, too downright selfish, to fall love? Whatever the reason, he must not know, o even suspect, that she was in love with him. He would only despise her, or pity, or both, and she could not bear either.

  Paul's flat was in a quiet residential street in a fashionable quarter. Elegantly if impersonally furnished, it had three large bedrooms, two reception rooms and a luxuriously fitted kitchen and bathroom.

  'Choose which bedroom you like,' Paul told her.

  'Which is yours?' she asked.

  He looked at her from beneath his lashes. 'Whichever you please.'

  She sighed. 'Which one was yours?'

  He grinned, indicating a door. Leonie promptly opened the second door along. The room revealed was large, sunny and comfortable.

  'I'll have this one,' she told him. He carried her luggage into the room, then suggested she rest before dinner. They had eaten lunch on the plane, the usual cardboard meal, satisfying neither appetite nor senses.

  'Will we eat here?' she asked.

  'I'll have a meal sent in, he suggested. 'What would you like? Chinese? Indian? Greek?'

  'Chinese, I think,' she murmured.

  He nodded. 'Fine. Now, try to sleep. You're quite white, you know. The journey was exhausting for you.'

  She was glad to fall in with his plans, and managed to sleep for a few hours, until he woke her to eat their evening meal. She had time to wash and change before the delivery man rang the door bell and wheeled in a trolley laden with steaming food. Paul paid him, unloaded the dishes and saw him back to the door with his trolley.

  She peeped into the foil dishes. 'Mm ... sweet corn and chicken soup, prawn crackers, sweet and sour king prawn, beef and noodles, egg foo young...' She grinned at Paul. 'I'm Starving!'

  'I hoped you would like what I ordered. I probably got too much, but I had to guess at what you would like, so I ordered more dishes to give us a wider choice.'

  'Makes a change from goats' cheese and pitta,' she teased.

  'I rather like goats' cheese and pitta,' he said solemnly.

  She laughed. 'So do I, actually. Or I was just getting to like it. I've discovered that when you're hungry you will eat almost anything edible.

  'The same has been said about women,' Paul retorted.

  Leonie went white.

  He looked quickly at her, his eyes shocked. 'My dear girl, I meant nothing personal. That wasn't aimed at you. It was just a cheap joke...'

  'Yes, it was,' she said bitterly. True, all the same, isn't it? Don't they say that all cats are grey in the night?'

  'Cynicism doesn't become you,' he said fiercely.

  'Have I shocked you? I'm sorry. Obviously I've been influenced by the last few days I've spent with you.' Her voice was tinged with sardonic mockery.

  'I don't like to hear you talk like that! You're too young to understand what cynicism does to one. It's like a grey mist covering everything beautiful.' His tone hardened, the blue eyes angry. 'When you are young you admire cynics. You should pity them. They have lost their natural love of life.'

  'You should know,' she said quietly. Paul's lips tightened. 'Yes.' He gestured to the dining table. 'Shall we eat? This food is getting cold.'

  Leonie regretted having spoilt their mood. It happened every time. They would reach a point of contact only to have the moment shattered by a remark one or other of them made. Their relationship was as brittle as glass. One false move and it cracked wide open.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NEXT morning Leonie woke up with a strange sense of confusion, and lay for a moment trying to reorientate herself. She realised at last that she had grown unaccustomed to the sound of traffic outside her window in the mornings. It had been so quiet on Comus. Only the slow swell of the waves and the weird cries of seagulls ever disturbed the peace there. Paris traffic, too, was much noisier than the English variety. In London it was illegal to blare one's car- horn quite so frequently, and car drivers only hooted when it was strictly necessary, either in warning or in real anger. But here in Paris the constant hooting of horns and the squeal of brakes made the early morning unbearable.

  Leonie slid out of bed and padded barefoot to the window. The pale yellow velvet curtains slid apart at a touch and daylight dazzled her eyes. When she grew used to the light she Stared out at the street, admiring the elegant architecture of the nineteenth- century houses.

  After a few moments she moved across the room and put on her dressing-gown, then went out to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. The room was expensively equipped and packed with labour-saving gadgets, and it would, she thought, be a pleasure to work in it. While the kettle was boiling she hunted through the cupboards and discovered the various ingredients for breakfast.

  Ten minutes later she took a cup of tea in to Paul. He was asleep, his sheets flung back in disorder.

  She put the cup down and turned to wake him, only to find him stirring. He smiled at her, his eyes half-closed. 'Tea? Thank you. You're up early. Couldn't sleep?'

  'I slept very well. What do you want for breakfast?'

  He made a face. 'I'm not very hungry. Some fruit, I think. I'll get up in a moment.'

  'I can find everything I need, don't worry,' she said, leaving the room.

  She found some breakfast cereal and sat down to eat it at the kitchen table. Suddenly she heard a footstep in the hall, and went out to find a strange man standing there. Dark-suited, dark-haired and elegant, he looked casually at home and seemed amused to see her.

  His brows rose. 'Good morning! So Paul is home, is he?'

  'Yes,' she said uncertainly. Who on earth was he? And how had he got into the flat?

  His cool grey eyes skimmed her appreciatively. 'May I say how much I admire Paul's taste, as always?'

  She felt her cheeks flush. He thought ... that she was one of Paul's lady-friends! 'Thank you,' she

  said stiffly.

  The other man looked even more amused by her reaction. 'Where is Paul? Not still in bed?'

  'Yes,' she said coldly. 'I'll tell him we have a visitor. Who shall I say it is?'

  'I'll go straight in, thanks,' the man replied, turning to the door of Paul's room.

  Feeling like stamping her foot, Leonie returned to the kitchen and got on with her breakfast. She had finished it and was washing up at the sink when the kitchen door opened to admit the visitor. He looked gravely at her.

  'Paul has told me what a fool I made of myself. I beg your pardon, Mrs Caprel. I leapt to unwarrantable conclusions. I hope you can forgive me?'

  'You said nothing out of place,'
she said coolly, picking up a dish cloth.

  'My manner was over-familiar,' he returned. 'Permit me to do penance by drying up for you. He moved over and took the cloth from her hand, smiling down at her with warm charm. 'I must have given you a shock, materialising like that. While Paul was away I had the key to this flat. I sometimes borrow it for a day or two while I'm in Paris. I run the London end of Paul's business, you see, but I am often over here in France and it saves on hotel bills if I stay here.'

  'I can see it would,' she said drily.

  The grey eyes flicked to her thoughtfully. 'My name, by the way, is Jake Tennyson. I've known Paul for ten years. We are old friends as well as business partners.'

  She nodded. 'So I gathered.'

  He made a wry face. 'I hope I let no cats out of any bags?'

  The phrase made her laugh. 'I don't think you told me anything I didn't know.'

  'I'm fond of Paul,' he said casually. 'I would hate to make waves for him.'

  'Don't worry,' she assured him. 'There will be no waves.'

  He smiled suddenly, his lean dark face lightening. I'm very relieved to hear that. Paul is a lucky fellow.'

  The kitchen door opened at that moment, and Paul shot into the room. He looked as if he had thrown his clothes on in a hurry. The blue eyes moved from one to the other of them, taking in the dishcloth in Jake's hand and Leonie's flushed face.

  His brows jerked together.

  'I gather you've introduced yourself.'

  Jake nodded. 'Paul, you always did have the devil's own luck. This girl is one in a million.'

  Paul hardly looked flattered. He nodded without replying, then said, 'Come through into the sitting- room, Jake. We'll talk business in there. No doubt Leonie has a dozen things she wants to do.' His blue eyes shot coldly at her. 'Including getting dressed.' And he glanced meaningly at the flimsy cotton dressing-gown she wore.

  She flushed, clutching the open neck of the dressing-gown with one hand, only now realising that it revealed rather a lot of her throat and shoulders, and that the brief nightie she wore was even more revealing.

  'Leonie,' Jake murmured softly. 'What a delightful and unusual name. It suits you.' The grey eyes touched on her hand, holding the neckline of her dressing-gown together. A shrewd glint came into them as he glanced back at Paul.

  Paul indicated the door, his face openly grim. Jake followed him out of the room. As the door swung closed, Leonie heard his voice.

  'So you finally got caught in the trap, Paul.'

  Paul's reply was inaudible, but the tone in which it was uttered was curt and angry. Did Paul resent their marriage? she wondered unhappily. Did he feel trapped?

  She went back to her bedroom and hunted out a dress to wear. Her ankle was still sore, but she was able to hobble about quite deftly now. So long as she did not put any Weight on the swollen ankle, she could move about quite freely.

  Dressed and made up, she returned to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She needed to think.

  She had returned here with Paul, but since their marriage was to be purely platonic, she saw no real reason why she should stay with him. Her job was waiting for her in London. She had written to her boss to tell him that she was getting married, and he had replied that he hoped she would be happy, but that if ever she needed a job she was to write to him. There was no reason why she should not take up her life where she had left off—no reason she was prepared to admit, anyway.

  Paul joined her a few moments later. He was alone, and Leonie looked at him in surprise. 'Where's Jake?' she asked.

  'You got on first name terms pretty quickly,' Paul said with cold displeasure.

  'Did you want me to call him Mr Tennyson?' She pretended innocence.

  'I want you to keep out of Jake's way in future,' Paul said grimly. 'He's a notorious wolf, and you, my dear, are just the type of little lamb to appeal to him.'

  'I will not be dictated to,' she said in determined tones. 'I think we must get a few things straight here and now. When we made our bargain nothing was said about your having the right to tell me which friends to choose or how to behave. We are legally man and wife, but it stops there. I intend to remain a free agent, doing just as I please.'

  'Do you indeed?' he bit out sharply.

  'Yes? her chin was lifted in defiance, her eyes flashed across the room at him. 'You have no rights where I' m concerned, Paul, none at all.'

  'Not even the right to expect you to make Argon happy by keeping up appearances?' he asked sarcastically.

  She hesitated, frowning.

  He went on coldly, 'If you were seen with Jake in public how long do you think it would take the gossip hounds to put two and two together? Our marriage must already have aroused suspicions of an arranged match. They'll all be watching closely to see whether their suspicions are correct. Such speculation would upset Argon a great deal.'

  'But he knows perfectly well that our marriage is one of pure convenience,' she protested.

  'Of course he does, but he still expects us to keep up a public facade convincing enough to persuade everyone else that our marriage is a normal one in every respect. You can't afford to be seen with other men in public, you can't allow anyone to suspect that you're not the radiant young bride you ought to be so soon after your marriage.'

  She flushed at the sardonic note in his voice. 'Are you trying to make me a sort of prisoner, Paul?

  'No, of course not, but you are my wife, whether you like it or not.' He turned away, driving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders irritably. 'Whether I like it or not,' he added in a fierce mutter.

  Leonie felt a quick sting of pain. She foresaw how bitter an experience it would be to pretend to be a happily married woman while constantly aware of Paul's resentment.

  'Very well,' she said. 'What do you expect me to do?'

  'Now that we're back in Paris my friends will expect us to entertain. They'll want to meet you. I'll give you a list of names. We'll hold a series of dinner parties so that you can get to know them all.' He turned to study her coolly. 'You will need new clothes, too. You always look very pretty, but you must realise that as my wife you will be expected to dress superbly. I'll take you to Therese, I think.'

  'Therese?' she asked blankly. One of his girlfriends? she wondered.

  He smiled suddenly. 'You'll like her, I think. She's an original and she creates clothes that bear an unmistakable hallmark. She'll find the right style for your looks.'

  They drove to the salon that afternoon. It was situated in a wide, traffic-crowded avenue. A shining expanse of plate glass gilded with the name Therese slid open as they approached with the noiseless efficiency of expensive electronics, and they found themselves in a white-carpeted lounge some thirty feet long. A few deep-cushioned chairs stood about the room. Behind a desk sat a long-legged dark girl with sleek hair and an enamelled beauty which was matched by the superb cut of the black dress she wore. She looked at them calmly, a faint smile on her red mouth.

  'M'sieur Paul,' she lisped softly, rising. 'Madame is expecting you. Will you go through?' Her dark eyes surveyed Leonie with hard curiosity.

  Paul put a hand beneath Leonie's elbow and guided her across the white carpet to a discreet little door at the side with the word Directrice printed on it.

  He tapped, then pushed the door open. From a large leather desk piled high with papers arose a tiny, white-haired woman who gave a deep-throated murmur of welcome.

  'Paul, mon cher ... there you are!' She darted across the room and kissed him on both cheeks, reaching up on her toes to do so, her hands holding his shoulders. 'You look very brown. How was Comus? Ah, I envy you that little retreat! The world is too much with us here in Paris.' On the words she turned to study Leonie with direct and unblinking curiosity. She had a withered complexion, the wrinkled olive skin of a tortoise, her mouth wide and passionate, her nose as sharp as a knife, fleshless and dominant. It was a striking face, but the black eyes gave it such life that at first one not
iced nothing else.

  'So..The quick, deep voice held a note of satisfaction. 'So this is your wife. Bon.' A smile lit her face and she held out her hands to Leonie. 'I am very happy to meet you, ma petite.'

  Leonie murmured a polite response, observing as she did so that Therese was wearing a dress cut on austere but impeccable lines. Her eyes met those of the older woman as each surveyed the other care- fully.

  'Madame, I want you to design Leonie a new wardrobe,' Paul told her. 'A look created especially for her.'

  A small, thin hand caught Leonie's chin between claw-like fingers and turned her face this way and that while the dark eyes continued to inspect her.

  'What a bone structure! It will be a pleasure, Paul, to create clothes for her. She is Greek, of course. One sees the eyes, the skin ... what else could she be? Such lustrous hair ... a healthy texture, unmistakable shine.' An approving smile was conferred upon Leonie. 'Bien. First, we take your measurements. Then you go away. I do some sketches, then you return and see what I have done. If you approve, I will have some of the clothes made up. Then we have the fittings.' The black eyes twinkled. 'It takes time, you see?'

  'But it is well worth waiting for,' Paul drawled.

  The old woman laughed. 'I am glad you think so,

  Paul. Young people are so impatient these days. Instant everything .., coffee, food, clothes. They hate to wait, even for the best, but for the best one always has to wait ,..'

  Turning away she pressed a bell. The door opened and a plump, smiling woman appeared. Madame indicated Leonie.

  'Take Madame Caprel and measure her, Ariette.'

  The other woman nodded, smiled at Leonie and gestured to the door. 'If you will follow me, Madame?'

  Leonie found herself in a small cubicle lined with mirrors. The carpets were, thick and luxurious, discreet lighting gave the room an air of romance which the faint scent lingering on the air emphasised.

  Patiently Leonie stood very still while the other woman took careful measurements, noting them down in a small notebook. Even her wrists were measured, to Leonie's amusement.

  Returning to the office, Ariette handed Madame Therese the notebook, then left. Therese glanced down the page, smiled and put the book away.