by Sara Craven
She was still in this indecisive state when she went to work the next day and learned quite by chance that Logan had returned. It was Miss Johnson of all people who gave her the news, tutting angrily as she entered the cuttings library.
‘I do not approve of files going out of the building.’ she was muttering. opening and closing the drawers of her desk with little slams, an idibsyncrasy of hers which Briony had noticed before when she was upset.
‘I do not approve. And of course none of the messengers can be spared. They’ll have to go in a taxi―there s nothing else for it. A complete waste of time and money !’
She glanced up and caught Briony watching her m some surprise. ‘Get on with your work,’ she snapped.
‘I’ve finished, actually.’ Briony spoke with some reluctance, knowing the admission was likely to lead to some foul and unnecessary cross-indexing task.
‘I see.’ Miss Johnson tapped a pencil against her teeth.
‘Then I suppose you will have to do. One of the foreign news reporters on the Courier is just back from Cambodia, and he wants all the background files taking round to his flat, if you please, and Mr. Mackenzie who one would have thought would have known better has actually authorised it.’
Briony’s heartbeat seemed to be behaving in a strange, unpredictable manner.
‘Which of the reporters?’
Miss Johnson stared at her frostily. ‘Logan Adair―if it matters.’ she snapped. ‘My concern is the inconvenience to this department. You’d better look out the necessary files and take them round at once.
Get a receipt for the taxi fare and claim it at the cashier’s desk when you return.’ She glanced at her watch and her mouth set in resentment. ‘I suppose there’ll be barely time for you to get back before the office closes. When you’ve delivered the files, you may go home. But be punctual in the morning.’ she added hastily, as if afraid that this concession on her part might lead to excesses of tardiness on Briony’s. She would have been shocked to the core if she had known that the most junior member of her department was not listening to a word that she was saying.
Briony’s hands were shaking as she sought out the files, and even when she was actually sitting in the taxi which was taking her to Logan’s flat, she found it difficult to believe that it was all really happening.
Inwardly, she was shaking like a leaf. And yet there was no reason why she should be nervous, she told herself. She was simply doing a job, that was all. Heavens, she hadn’t even angled for the chance to take the files to Logan’s flat.
And though she could tell herself that he had probably forgotten completely the circumstances of their last disastrous encounter, she had not.
Outside the door of the flat, she took a deep breath, then rang the bell. There was a prolonged silence. For a moment she thought it had all been a mistake and that there was no one there, and she experienced a pang of something which hovered between regret and relief. She was on the point of turning away when she heard a sound inside the flat and the door swung open.
Logan was standing there, and her first thought was that he looked ghastly. He was pale under his tan, and his eyes were over-bright and slightly bloodshot as if he was suffering from a fever. They narrowed slightly in disbelief as he looked her over.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ His voice was hardly encouraging, and the words were slightly slurred.
‘I brought these.’ She held out the files, and he stared down at them as if he was having difficulty in focussing, or even recognising what they were.
‘You brought them? You?’
‘Yes. I work at U.P.G. now―in the cuttings library. No one else was free to bring these, so I was sent.’ She could hear herself stammering a little, aware that her colour had heightened.
‘God in heaven!’ Logan leaned against the door jamb and shook his head as if he was trying to clear it.
‘You’re not well,’ she said, all her concern aroused. ‘Let me come in.’
‘I’m perfectly well.’ He pushed the hair back from his forehead with an irritated gesture. ‘And I’m in no mood for a social call.’
‘It isn’t a social call.’ she protested, her anxious eyes searching his face, taking in his haggard expression, the shadows beneath his eyes, the lines which had deepened beside his mouth. ‘You’re ill. You need a doctor. Let me . .’
He gave a jeering laugh. ‘I need to finish this piece I’m writing on Cambodia, my dear MissNightingale, and for that I need another drink-several drinks, in fact, not medical attention.’
He turned away abruptly and left her standing on the doorstep. She watched him move away, his steps betraying only the slightest unsteadiness as he walked down the passage, and after a brief hesitation she followed, closing the front door behind her.
He was standing by the desk in the sitting room when she went in. The desktop was littered with paper, and the typewriter stood open, a half-completed piece of copy in its rollers. Beside it stood a half-empty bottle of whisky and a used glass. The air was stale and reeked of cigarette smoke. Briony grimaced, and walking to the window pushed the lower sash up a few inches, permitting some welcome fresh air to enter the room.
‘Make yourself at home.’ Logan suggested grittily.
‘You need some black coffee.’ She set the cuttings files down on the desk and went towards the kitchen.
‘I’ve told you what I bloody need,’ he said savagely.
‘And it isn’t your ministrations for a kick-off. Now for God’s sake, get out and leave me in peace!’
She glanced round the disordered room. ‘I like your idea of peace,’ she said coolly. ‘It isn’t mine.’
‘But then so few of our ideas coincide,’ he mocked. ‘Go home, Briony. I don’t want you here.’ He grabbed the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and screwed it into a ball, hurling it to the ground with a muttered obscenity.
‘You need someone,’ she retorted. ‘How long is it since you last ate?’
‘I don’t remember. Does it matter?’
‘Of course it does! No wonder you’re awash with whisky on an empty stomach. I’ll make you some scrambled egg.’
‘God,’ he muttered under his breath. Then, ‘If I eat your bloody eggs will you go?’
We’ll see.’ She slipped off her jacket and tossed it on to the sofa. She found eggs and butter in the kitchen, and washed the pan she proposed to use. The eggs were as near perfection as she had ever managed, fluffy and creamy, and she felt a flicker of pride as she spooned them on to the waiting rounds of crisp toast.
Logan was typing when she re-entered the sitting room, his entire concentration fixed on the words forming on the paper in front of him. He hardly seemed aware of her presence as she stood beside him holding the tray.
At last she ventured, ‘Logan―you must eat.’
He said curtly, ‘Leave it somewhere. I’ll eat it later.’
‘It will spoil,’ she began to protest, then, reading the anger in his face, she capitulated, setting the tray down on table by the sofa. She sat down, watching him, sensing that at that moment he was being driven by something she did not and never would understand.
It was a relief when he ripped the sheet out of the machine and laid it down. Almost abstractedly, he reached out for a fork and she put the food within his reach as he read over what he had written. Briony realised suddenly she was holding her breath, and made herself relax, chiding herself inwardly for being foolish.
‘It’s all right,’ Logan muttered at last, as he laid down his knife and fork.
‘The story or the food?’
‘Both, I guess,’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Thanks for your contribution.’ He picked up the page of copy and look at it. ‘I think I’ve managed to strike the happy medium―to tell enough of the truth without putting the sensitive readers of the Courier off their bacon and eggs, which would never do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let me explain. When I get back from some stinking,
bleeding hellhole in the world as I did last night, I write two stories-one for me, telling it like it is-as if I could forget. God, sometimes I wish I could! Then I produce an edited version, suitable for the family breakfast table of millions. Just enough for people to say, “What a terrible thing. What is the world corning to?” but not enough for them to throw their guts up as I did when they took me round that children’s hospital.’ He reached for the whisky bottle and poured another measure into his glass.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ Briony asked unhappily.
‘No, my sweet, I do not think so.In fact I’ve only just begun. Now that the story’s finished, I intend to get smashed out of my mind.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘Perhaps not, my lovely innocent, but bloodly necessary, believe me. Cheers.’ He lifted the glass in a mock toast. ‘Can you suggest a better way of blotting out my memories of the past few weeks so they don’t return to give me nightmares?’
She shook her head silently, registering the depths of bitterness and revulsion she heard in his voice.
Logan tossed back the whisky with a practised flick of the wrist and refilled the glass.
‘What’s the matter, Miss Trevor? You look disturbed.’ The mockery was back in his tone. ‘Is it a shock to find that journalists have feelings too? That we can’t look on the dead, the half-dead, and those who ought to be dead and remain unmoved? That we aren’t altogether the vicious, sub-human stratum of society that your father would have you believe?’
‘You aren’t being fair!’
‘I’m not feeling particularly fair,’ he returned brusquely. He flicked the files she had brought with his finger. ‘You can return these as soon as you like, messenger girl.’
‘It will have to be in the morning,’ she said. ‘I’ve finished for the day.’
His brows lifted and he glanced down at his watch. ‘So you have. How time does fly when one’s enjoying oneself!
Well, good evening, Miss Trevor. Don’t let me keep you from the social whirl. Or hasn’t Daddy got a prize-giving for you to attend tonight?’
‘I’m not living at home any more. I―I have a flat.And my father’s in the States. Anything more you would like to know?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You have been busy while I’ve been away,’ he remarked. ‘What sparked off this sudden urge for emancipation?’
Briony was tempted to reply, ‘You did,’ but held her tongue.
‘You really think of me as a child,’ she said slowly at last, her tone clouded by disappointment and bewilderment.
‘I try not to think of you at all.’ Logan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes wearily. ‘It makes life much simpler.’
‘why?’
‘It’s not important!’ He shook his head and reached for his glass again.
‘You’ve had enough to drink,’ she said. ‘Logan please .’
‘Logan, please,’ he mimicked unpleasantly. ‘Just what the hell gives you the right to consider yourself my keeper?’
‘The fact that I care about you. That I care what happens to you,’ she said fiercely.
‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that?’ he lashed back. ‘We’re strangers, Miss Trevor, ships that pass in the night. Let’s keep it that way.’
‘You mean I have a choice?’ she enquired forlornly.
‘Why the hostility, Logan? What have I done?’
‘Nothing, love, nothing.’ He raised the glass to his lips and drank reflectively. ‘You exist, that’s all, and sometimes I tend to be too aware of the fact for my own peace of mind.’
‘Careful, Mr. Adair!’ It was her turn to mock. ‘That sounds dangerously like an admission.’ He smiled cynically. ‘Well, don’t build on it, Miss Trevor.’
‘Why not? You made it clear more than once that you found me attractive, so why do I have to be shut out of your life so completely?’ She tried to smile. ‘Nothing heavy, Logan―but why?’
‘Because it’s better that way.’ He studied the remains of the whisky in his glass as if he was preparing a chemical analysis of it. ‘Do I really have to enumerate the reasons? One—I’m too old for you. Two―your father may pay my salary, but he hates me and everything I stand for. Three—you don’t know me, or anything about me. We don’t just inhabit different worlds, but different planets. Need I go on?’
‘Yes―if you intend to convince me.’ Tell me about Karen Wellesley, she thought; Tell me that she’s your woman, and that she’s all you want, and then I’ll go. I’ll be glad to go before I make an even bigger fool of myself than I’ve done already.
He said slowly, ‘What if I were to tell you that ever since I threw you out that afternoon, I’ve been kicking myself. At the time, I regarded it as one of the few chivalrous gestures of my life, now I tend to think that chivalry might better be confined to eunuchs. Perhaps they could cope with the consequences of it better than I have.’ He got to his feet. ‘Come here, Briony.’
She went slowly, standing in front of him submissively.
She had never felt so gauche or so unsure, but when his arms went round her she clung to him, closing her eyes, offering him her parted lips. He wasn’t gentle, but his desire for her stopped just short of brutality, and she felt something wild and unknown deep within her respond to him. Whatever he’d have asked, she would have given gladly, unthinkingly, there and then, on the dusty carpet in the cluttered room, if that was what he wanted. She had never dreamed that such a need could exist, or that it ‘could be mutual. He was whispering her name as his mouth restlessly caressed her eyelids, her temples, her cheeks,the lobes of her ears, before returning to plunder her mouth again.
‘You taste as good as you smell.’ he said huskily at last, his hands tangled in her hair, as he regarded her, the aquamarine eyes hooded and slightly enigmatic.
‘It’s Civenchy,’ she said inanely, and felt a quiver of amusement go through him.
‘Naturally.’ he said gravely. ‘And this is―madness.’ His voice sank to a whisper as he lowered his head towards her again, lifting her into his arms and carrying her towards the sofa. This time she made no protest as he began to unfasten the shin she was wearing, his lips lazily following the path of his hands.
‘You’re beautiful.’ he murmured at last. ‘And you don’t need this.’ Her bra joined her discarded shirt on the floor beside them. ‘Perfect.’ His hands were gentle on her as if he knew this was the first time she had yielded herself to so intimate a caress. ‘Like half-opened flowers-rosebuds.’ His lips teased her erotically, rousing her unawakened breasts to full bloom, drowning her in a sensual dream from which she had no wish to recover.
The dingy surroundings had faded, and the only reality was the deepening pressure of Logan’s body against hers, and his hands moving on her softly as he began to rid her of the rest of her clothes.
When a door banged, it might have been in a different world. But the footsteps that were coming down the passage were real enough, and so was the door opening violently, and the laughing male voice exclaiming, ‘So you’re back, you bastard, are you … Oh, God!’
The sitting room door slammed shut. Logan jackknifed into a sitting position, cursing under his breath.
‘Who was that?’ Briony pressed her hands to suddenly burning cheeks. The intruder might not have seen everything, but he would have had more than a shrewd idea of what was going on.
‘Tony. I share the flat with him.’ Logan got to his feet, straightening his own clothing. ‘He wasn’t due back until tomorrow, damn it, or I’d have taken the precaution of locking the door at least. We make a point of not intruding on each other when we’re―entertaining. It’s worked very well―until this evening.’ He saw her looking at him and swore softly. ‘Don’t look like that, Briony. You must have known―you can’t have believed you were the first one.’
‘Of course not!’ She huddled into the garments he had removed with such tender skill―a lifetime ago? ―avoiding his gaze.
‘And if he did re
cognise you, he can be persuaded to keep his mouth shut, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Logan’s mouth twisted cynically.
‘It isn’t.’ Which wasn’t strictly true, she realised. It had taken her only one horrified moment after Tony’s retreat to realise the sidelong looks and muttered gossip which could be waiting for her at U.P.G. the following day. And it would be bound to get back to her father. She knew it.
But the really shattering realisation was that she had come within seconds of allowing herself to be seduced by a man she hardly knew, and that she would not have simply permitted such an occurrence but wanted it with all her body and soul and mind. Without Tony’s interruption, she would have belonged completely to Logan by now and she knew it.
