can't blame you—either. I even thought once how good you would be for him, and I'm sure it was obvious I was not a good wife, not even really a wife. But if you could just do this for me. If... the time we spent together meant anything to you, please do as I ask.' And she took advantage of Evonne's confusion to slip inside and close the door firmly. It locked automatically.
Evonne knocked and kept knocking on and off, discreetly, for about five minutes. Then there was silence for a quarter of an hour until the phone rang, but Clarissa ignored that too.
In fact she barely heard it as she desperately tried to bring her emotions under control, but the pain and the hurt was so great she could only shake uncontrollably until she forced herself to drink some brandy.
It occurred to her that this time she wasn't going to be able to blank anything out. This time she was going to suffer the pain to the fullest, and she wondered bleakly if it was a mark of maturity.
Then she sat down on the bed and wondered what to do. Go home? But the thought of it seemed monumental, and anyway, if Evonne did tell Rob, did it matter where she was?
'No,' she whispered, 'I might as well stay here for the night. I'll go back in the morning.'
She forced herself to take a soothing bath, but new tears came as she picked up her dress from the foot of the bed and hung it up. I left it too late, she thought. Years too late. And she buried her face in the blue silk
and wept again, for the fool she was and because she had no idea what to do next.
She fell asleep, finally, long after midnight, somewhat reassured that Evonne had at least bowed to her request.
When she woke, it was after seven and there had been nothing to disturb her sleep. But she was concerned that she'd slept late—the earlier she left, the less chance she had of running into Rob or Evonne. Perhaps I'm best to wait a while now, she mused. And to take her mind off things, she rang up and ordered breakfast.
While she waited, she donned her robe and brushed her hair and washed her face, then started to pack.
She sent up a brief prayer that it was only breakfast when a knock came, which it was, but with Rob about two paces behind it.
There was nothing she could do but stand aside and let the waiter wheel the breakfast trolley in.
Rob's blue eyes met hers briefly, then he motioned her in and followed, and they stood silently as the waiter fussed around the trolley, propping up the folding leaves and removing plates from the warming compartment, also uttering cheerful remarks about the weather, until finally he looked at them in turn, uncertainly, and left awkwardly.
'Well, Garry?' said Rob at last, his blue, blue gaze flickering over her from head to toe and coming back to rest interrogatively on her pale face.
She stared at him, then shrugged helplessly. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he queried. 'I ... nothing,' she said huskily, and bit her lip. 'Nothing?' he repeated softly but somehow menacingly.
She swallowed and licked her lips. 'Evonne told you,' she whispered, I asked her not to.'
That was very kind of you, Clarry,' he said grimly, 'but we'll deal with Evonne later. I want to know why you were here in the first place. Now.'
'I... it... there's no reason why I shouldn't be, is ... there?' she stammered. 'I'm not supposed to be a prisoner. Am I?'
'Oh no,' said Rob with irony. 'That was your idea,’ he added, and she flinched visibly, but he went on, 'Does this visit by any chance have anything to do with a certain conversation we had a couple of nights ago?' he asked, and skirted the breakfast trolley to come to stand right in front of her.
Clarissa rose scared, uncomprehending blue-grey eyes to his.
'Does it, Clarry?' His voice flicked her like a whip.
'I don't know what you mean ...' She took a frightened step back and tried to turn away, but he took her by the shoulders and swung her back. 'Wh-what conversation?' she faltered as his fingers dug into her flesh beneath her robe. 'Rob, you're hurting me!' she whispered.
He let her go abruptly. 'The one we had about how well and fit you are now,' he said sardonically. 'Well enough to strike out on your own, perhaps? Is that what you were trying to tell me? But obviously you didn't think I'd believe you, or so I'm left to wonder. Did you decide then to come down and gather some
ammunition with which to end our marriage? Is that it?' He waited for a moment with his mouth set in a hard line while Clarissa stood in stunned, incredulous silence. Then he went on remorselessly and with an unpleasant smile, 'Well, you can have it from the horse's mouth, my dear. No, I haven't lived like a monk for the past two years. I've strayed from time to time while you lived in your own little world, which you were so loath to leave. Nor do I particularly commend myself for it, but perhaps I'm only human. Nor can I recommend it to anyone, but perhaps I can say in my defense that it was only ever bought and paid for in one way or another, and never worth the spiritual distaste it left me with. But I waited for you for a long time, Clarry.'
Clarissa closed her eyes. 'I didn't come to spy on you.'
Then why ? Why the separate room, the sneaking around?'
'I ... is that all Evonne is to you?' she whispered, her lashes fluttering up and sticking wetly together.
'Evonne doesn't enter into this,' he said harshly. 'Just as your bloody mother never did, only you could never understand that, could you?'
‘Yes. ..'
But he overrode her as if she hadn't spoken, as if he hadn't heard or as if her miserable confusion had finally tested his patience too far. 'Well, I'm going to tell you exactly how it was with your mother, Clarry. At first I couldn't believe her ... such subtle innuendoes, I thought I was imagining them. Then I got out and about in the world and saw enough to understand that it was possible. And for a time she held a sort of fatal fascination for me, even though I could only despise her—she was very beautiful.
Nineteen, twenty and twenty-one aren't the easiest years for anyone, Clarry, and to be under that kind of ... siege—well, put it this way, I sometimes just couldn't help thinking—and wondering. But that was all it was, and anyway it was always tinged with a sense of disgust. Then the disgust got the upper hand, or perhaps I just grew out of certain fancies that plague very young men,' he said drily. Then his mouth hardened again. 'As for that night...'
'I know, I know. You don't have to,' Clarissa broke in hoarsely, 'explain.'
'No, you don't. You know nothing, Clarry. But the time has come to make you understand—I'm sorry it has to be this way, I told myself it never would again, but something has to get through to you.' he said with a sort of naked savagery, and pulled her roughly into his arms.
'Rob!' she breathed, but he only bent his head to seek her lips with his. 'Rob ... oh, please ... I... '
'Shut up, Clarry,' he muttered against her mouth. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'
But he did.
Although, during what followed, Clarissa knew it was partly her fault that he was hurting her. She was so stiff and awkward, so stunned and shocked, and unable to believe it was happening or know why it was happening, let alone able to unravel the paradox that existed within her. Because in spite of everything, it was what she'd longed for, wasn't it? Since the night she'd nursed him and come to understand what she felt for him.
But all the same, she was as unprepared for it—as hopeless—as she'd been the very first time.
Then it was over abruptly. Rob rolled away from her, breathing heavily, and leaving her crying quietly.
'Don't,' he said huskily, after minutes had ticked by.
Clarissa tried to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat. He sat up suddenly and stared down at her wordlessly, then closed his eyes briefly and pulled the sheet up over her naked body and lifted her bodily into his lap. 'Are you all right?' he asked, smoothing her tangled hair.
'Y-yes ...'
'No, tell me honestly. That couldn't have been pleasant for you, but it's also been a long time.' He stared down at her searchingly.
She licked her salty lips, i ...
I'll be all right. I'm sorry...’
'You're sorry,' muttered Rob almost under his breath, and held her close for a moment. "Clarry,' he said then, i think you're right. I think the time might have come to ... make some changes.'
She moved convulsively, but he wouldn't let her leave his arms. 'Not right this minute,' he murmured. 'Relax, rest for a while—all day if you like. I just wish there was someone—you shouldn't be here like this!' he added his voice suddenly sharp with frustration.
Clarissa winced inwardly. 'I could go home later,' she whispered.
"Could you,' he hesitated, 'would you be ... no, I've a better idea. Come.'
'Are we going somewhere?'
'Yes. Upstairs. Not the best place perhaps, but better than this.'
"Rob, I don't want to...’
‘All the same you will. There's no one up there. I'll just get dressed. Have you got a coat you could slip on over your nightgown?'
They heard the phone ringing as Rob slid his key into the lock of the suite, and he swore softly.
'That's what I meant,' he said grimly. But he sat her down in a chair before he answered it. And from the brief conversation he had, she gathered it was his secretary, and from the curt instructions he issued, she realised he was instructing her to come to the hotel because he wouldn't be going to the office. Then he put the phone down, only to pick it up again straight away to tell the switchboard to request all callers for him to ring back in half an hour.
'Now,' he said, turning to Clarissa and smiling briefly, but his smile died and he crossed the room swiftly. 'Oh God, Clarry, don't look like that... not so tragic,' he said urgently, pulling her to her feet and taking her into his arms, 'We'll work something out.'
She swam up, hours later, from the depths of sleep, and lay quite still for ages, listening to the muted sounds coming from the sitting room. Quiet voices that she couldn't distinguish, a door closing, the telephone.
I couldn't have chosen a worse time for this, she thought. But perhaps there was never a right time.
A tear trickled down the side of her face into her hair and she turned at last to bury her face in the pillow. But she couldn't bury the memories. So, after a time, she got up and wandered into the marble bathroom.
Rob had asked her if she would like a bath, but she'd only looked at him dazedly and he had put her to bed as if she was a child, as if she was Sophie, and sat beside her stroking her hair. She had fallen asleep quite quickly.
Now she sat on the edge of the bath as the water
flowed in, and trailed her Angers in it. Then she turned the taps off and stood up restlessly. She slipped her nightgown off and slid into the warm depths. A curious thought slid across her mind—was that being made love to in a blaze of passion, or was it what my mother spoke of? An act of contempt ... An act of impatience, purely male because I'm so dumb, because he's—he was—determined to make a go of this marriage for reasons I don't understand. Yes, I do... did, she corrected herself. Sophie. He's always made it quite clear he wouldn't let her go. Is that what he meant before ... it happened, about getting through to me and making me understand? Only now I think he's changed his mind. And who could blame him? I was so wooden, so useless.
She closed her eyes, but couldn't shut the images that swam behind her eyelids. And she discovered with despair that it hurt her much more to think that Rob was Anally prepared to end their marriage than to remember his summary possession of her body. It was a bitter ache within her to think that she had failed totally to communicate with him, in spite of all the periphery complications like his complete misunderstanding of why she was there in the first place, such as Evonne ...
'I should have told him,' she murmured out aloud, and sat up agitatedly. 'I should have told him the plain truth, somehow. That even if I am hopeless in bed, I lore him. That I don't care about the Evonnes ... why didn't I understand that before? He was right, they don't enter into it, but how ironic that he should have said that.'
Have I left it too late? she asked herself after a time. Did I ... he did say he'd waited for me. He also said something about a spiritual distaste. But then for
anyone with principles it's probably a distasteful position to be in. A wife who deludes herself into thinking she doesn't want you and then when she discovers differently, can't show you or tell you. But then that's assuming that a wife is all you would want or need in the first place, and that's been something I've never been sure of. That's been the crux of my incredible turmoil, Rob...it's just a pity,' she whispered, 'that I should have found out too late that I want you on any terms. That I would give my whole life to be able to relive this morning, because there must have been some way I could have shown you
CHAPTER NINE
When Clarissa finally got out of her bath, she discovered that her things had been brought up from downstairs while she had slept, so she dressed in a cream linen skirt, a wattle-yellow shirt and a cream sleeveless pullover. She added matching yellow pumps and sat for a long time brushing her hair before she tied it back with a yellow ribbon. She could still hear sounds from the sitting room, but it seemed to her that there was only one voice—a female voice, talking sporadically into the phone, she guessed.
Finally, after pacing around restlessly, she decided she couldn't hide forever, even if Rob was out there, so she took a deep breath and opened the door and walked through.
A middle-aged, grey-haired woman turned from the table she sat at immediately, and got up with a warm smile.
‘Why, Mrs. Randall,’ she said. ‘How do you do? I’m Molly Reynolds, Mr.. Randall’s private secretary. I thought you might be up, because I heard the bath. I do hope you’re feeling better? Mr.. Randall said you’d been a little unwell this morning. He also asked me to tell you that things had reached a flashpoint and he was forced to go out, bit that he will definitely be back for dinner.’
Clarissa blinked, then smiled and took Molly Reynolds outstretched hand. ‘How do you do? I.. I’m fine now, thank you. There’s no need... I mean, if you’re here because of me it’s no longer...
'Well, I am, and happy to be so,' Molly Reynolds interrupted. 'It's much more peaceful here than in the office. Now, if you're feeling better, would you like a spot of lunch?'
'Well ' Clarissa began helplessly, forming the
distinct impression that she wasn't going to be able to budge Rob's secretary, and remembering suddenly that he'd told her once his private secretary was a lady of great value to him—serene, unflappable, immovable when she chose. 'Well, yes, now you come to mention it,' she said, recalling also that she had missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. She smiled at the unsinkable Molly. 'But only if you'd care to share it with me, unless you've already had yours?'
'No, I haven't. Let's consult the menu!'
Incredibly, Clarissa sometimes thought afterwards, she spent the rest of that day being alternately charmed and cosseted by a stranger.
Molly Reynolds had been Robert T. Randall's private secretary before he died and she had a store of fond anecdotes about him ... 'A real old tartar he could be, but we loved him,' she said several times.
'I know Clover was very close to him,' Clarissa said once. 'He's told me so ...'
'Oh, dear old Clover!' smiled Molly 'How is he?' This brought forth some more serious stories. And all the while Clarissa gathered that young Mr. Randall had carved his own niche in Molly Reynolds' heart. 'A chip off the old block,' she said of him, approvingly. And, 'He'll sort this mess out—he's just been waiting for the right opportunity to strike. His grandfather was a master of the right timing too, you know!'
After they had lunched, Molly suggested watching a film on television, so they consulted the list and chose
a comedy and, to Clarissa's amazement, thoroughly enjoyed it together. Amazement, because she didn't understand how she could be enjoying anything, and amazement that their senses of humour should coincide so well.
The earlier stream of phone calls seemed to have dried up. The
n when they were having a cup of tea, and the sun was starting to set, the phone did ring.
Molly answered it and said almost immediately, 'Yes, Mr. Randall ... yes, fine ... well, congratulations, if I may say so. Yes, I will. Yes, I'll be here.' And she put the phone down and beamed at Clarissa.
'Is it over?' Clarissa asked.
‘It certainly is, Mrs.. Randall. Believe it or not, it was a member of the board of directors who was actively encouraging unrest amongst the union delegates. I think we all had our suspicions, but it was very hard to prove. He ... resented your husband right from the beginning, I'm sad to say. But now he's been exposed and he's resigned. I just wish Miss Patterson was here to share the good news, since she had a hand in exposing him.'
'E-Evonne ... where is she?' Clarissa asked a little unsteadily.
"Of course, you know her, don't you? Well, apparently some urgent personal business came up out of the blue and she resigned, very early this morning, so Mr.. Randall told me. A shame, really, but these things happen. Once I got to know her, which took some doing, mind, I got to like her and she was extremely efficient. Mr.. Randall will miss that. He'll be back soon, by the way,' she added warmly. 'Still feeling all right?' she asked then.
‘Yes. Yes, I'm fine,' Clarissa said quietly.
Rob came not long afterwards. He thanked Molly Reynolds not only for today but for her loyalty to him and to Randall's. Whereupon Molly dabbed away a tear and told him that it was her pleasure. Then she surprised Clarissa by hugging her and finally she left, enjoining them to relax and celebrate.
Shadows were falling across the room as the door closed behind her. Rob stood by the phone table and Clarissa stood beside the chair she'd risen from when he'd come in.
The silence lengthened with the shadows as they stared across at each other, Clarissa with her heart hurting because Rob looked tired and drained, the line of his shoulders weary yet tense beneath his dark suit, his eyes impossible to read.
The Heart of the Matter Page 14
