by Anne Mather
Sara knew what this meant. She understood that she hadn't to talk about her illness. Instead, she smiled, and Rachel looking at her realised that no one could doubt her ancestry. It was there in every quirk of her eyebrows every quiver of her mouth, every look that teased and challenged and tore at her heart. Joel offered his hand, and Sara took it, and they went out together, but after they had gone the atmosphere was distinctly strained.
"I didn't know Joel knew your daughter so well," commented Erica, tugging viciously at the zip of the velvet gown.
Rachel stepped out of it and shook her head. "He - he doesn't. That is - he's only met her once before," she said hastily.
"And yet he can sketch her from memory?" Erica sounded sceptical. "I wouldn't have thought she was so unforgettable."
Rachel refused to answer this, and the other girl went on: "Of course, she'll be his stepsister when you marry James Kingdom, won't she?" Her lips twisted. "And looking at her, one can see that the relationship is not misplaced."
Rachel took a deep breath. "I think I've seen enough clothes for today, Miss Grey," she stated, with apparent calmness, although she was anything but calm inside. "If you would just send me the almond green suit and the purple dress and jacket-"
"My instructions were to provide you with a wardrobe, Mrs Gilmour. I'm sure you would not wish me to offend Mr. Kingdom by doing less than he is paying me for."
Rachel looked at Erica, then at Miss Clay's wooden face, and then back at Erica again. What was the use in getting all steamed up with them when it was Joel who was responsible for everything that had happened He had only done it to hurt her, and if Erica's relationship with him was as warm as the other girl would have them believe, she had every right to exhibit a show of natural pique.
Looking round for the sweater and slacks she had worn to come in, she said: "Do what you think is best, but if you don't mind, I've had enough for this morning."
There was a pregnant silence, and then Erica seemed to pull herself together. "I'll have all the suitable garments adjusted where necessary and sent round to Mr. Kingdom's house, shall I?"
Rachel shook her head, still searching for her clothes. "No. I have a flat. I'll give you the address. You'd better send the things there."
"Very well, Mrs. Gilmour." Erica was coolly polite again.
"Do you know where my slacks and sweater are?" asked Rachel frustratedly.
Erica cast a bleak look around. Then she shrugged and said: "I would suggest you wore something a little more - elegant, shall we say, for town?"
Rachel held her cold gaze for several seconds, and then turned away. "Thank you. But, I'd prefer to wear my own clothes as long as possible."
The assistant, who had earlier hovered about with pins, putting tucks into garments and shortening hems, soon uncovered Rachel's belongings and she quickly dressed, stifled suddenly by the atmosphere in the salon. As she and Miss Clay bade Erica goodbye and walked outside, Rachel couldn't help the uncharitable thought that James had sent her here deliberately, knowing that sooner or later she would learn of Erica's association with Joel. It was the kind of thing he would do - like confronting her with his knowledge of Joel's visit to Langthwaite, when she was least expecting it. She wondered if he r speared flies on pins. Perhaps he imagined she still harboured some feelings for Joel. She did - but they were not the kind of „ feelings that need trouble him.
Leaving Miss Clay to take a taxi back to her office, Rachel walked idly along Regent Street, looking in shop windows. It was strange being alone in the city. It reminded her of her student days, the days before she knew Joel...
She stopped and stared determinedly in a travel agent's window, but the display was meaningless to her. Why was it that every thought she had, every memory she possessed, sooner or later came back to Joel Kingdom? She had had a life before she met him; why couldn't she think about that?
But she had not had a very happy childhood. Orphaned before she was old enough to remember her parents, with no aunts or other relatives to take care of her, she had been brought up in a children's home where love naturally came second to the ordinary practicalities of living. She had made friends there, of course, and there had been happy times; but it wasn't until she was old enough to break out on her own that she began to feel like other girls of her age. A student grant enabled her to find a room in a boarding house, and she had attended the Maxwell College of Design and Craft. She had always had an eye for colour, and her designs at the grammar school she had attended had been so good that she had been recommended to take up a career in commercial art. She had been at the College for about nine months when Joel Kingdom came to lecture to the students.
He had noticed Rachel at once, probably because of the silky curtain of silvery hair which at that time had fallen about her shoulders, she conceded now, and when he had wanted a model to demonstrate his use of colour, he had of course chosen her.
To begin with she had refused to have anything to do with him outside of the college, and although the other girls all thought she was mad she had been adamant. But one night he had been waiting for her outside the college, and as it was pouring with rain she had allowed him to give her a lift home. After that he was there every evening, and sometimes she allowed him to take her to dinner. She realised now that she had been foolish to imagine she could fool around with a man like Joel Kingdom without getting her fingers burned, but then everything had seemed so simple.
Joel could be the most charming man imaginable, and before long, almost without her being aware of it, she had fallen in love with him. Even then, she had not felt the first tremors of apprehension. Joel had told her he loved her, too, and although she was aware that for the present he had no intention of getting married, she imagined that when that happy event did occur, she would be his wife.
How stupidly naive she had been; she thought now, her hands balling into fists in her pockets. Marriage had never been on Joel's agenda, at least, not marriage with someone of her background, and his opinions concerning children should have given her fair warning. He had talked a lot in those days about people he knew whose fives had been stunted by their children. He had said he didn't believe that everyone naturally felt the urge to replace themselves, and he pitied couples who had had to sacrifice their youth to bring up their families, who, as soon as they were old enough, left to live lives of their own. Rachel had pretended to agree with him, secretly harbouring the belief that his own mother's death when he was only a few months old was responsible for the callousness he displayed. He had never known a mother's love, but when they were ' married he would want children just as much as she did.
She began to spend a lot of time at his apartment. She got to know his man, Heron, and began to feel at home there. Joel was working quite exhaustingly at that time, and very often she was alone in the lounge reading, while he worked in his studio. She brought her work to the apartment, and occasionally benefited from his expert advice. On other occasions, they would just sit together, listening to records or simply talking, and Rachel had never been happier or more content. But it didn't last...
Joel suffered from migraine. The attacks were not frequent enough to interfere too drastically with his demands upon himself, but one evening, an evening when Heron had been given the night off, Rachel arrived at the apartment to find him pale and sweating, frantically trying to finish a painting for an exhibition to be held two days later. She had persuaded him that he was a fool to go on, that he could not possibly do his best work in that condition, and that he must go to bed and relax, give in to the pain and let it run its course.
Eventually he had agreed to do so on the condition that she should stay with him, stay in the apartment and not go home until he could take her. Rachel had been doubtful, but finally persuaded by his unexpected weakness, and she had left him to rest while she remained in the lounge.
She must have fallen asleep on the couch because she awakened in the early hours of the morning to find Joel bending over her, h
is migraine apparently improved and a disturbingly sensuous expression in his dark eyes.
She had never forgiven him, or herself, for what had happened. But it had been inevitable. Newly awakened, soft and yielding from sleep, utterly responsive to Joel's demanding passion, she would have been inhuman to remain immune to his lovemaking. Besides, she had loved him, she had wanted him just as much as he had wanted her, and when he had lifted her up into his arms and carried her into his bedroom, it had all seemed so right. Not at all the sordid thing it had become later...
The next day she had discovered exactly how important it had been to Joel. Far from apologising for what had happened, he had seemed to regard it as the natural progression of their relationship with no mention of marriage to justify his loss of control.
Rachel had been shattered, hopelessly disillusioned, furious with herself for behaving so recklessly. She had despised Joel for using her as no doubt he had used other women in the past, and devastated that their association should apparently mean so little to him...
After avoiding him for over a week, during which time she had suffered a series of phone calls which deteriorated from urgent appeal to angry abuse at her continued prevarication, she had agreed to meet him and confront him with her feelings. It had been a terrible interview. Joel had begun by pleading with her, and ended by telling her that he was not yet prepared to sacrifice his freedom for the sake of her propriety. He had told her to be sensible, adult, to grow up; to accept that these days virgins were out of date. All he had done, he had taunted her, was to put her in the fashion.
They had said a lot of hurtful and cruel things to one another, things which afterwards Rachel bitterly regretted. It had been an undignified way to conduct an argument. And even then she had known that Joel did not really believe she was through with him. He still wanted her, she knew that, but he had destroyed any feeling she had had for him.
And then, three weeks later, she had discovered that there was another penalty she was going to be made to pay for that reckless night. She was pregnant, without money, and utterly determined never to ask Joel for anything ever again...
Realising that the sales assistants in the travel agents were beginning to stare at her with equal intensity, Rachel pulled herself together and moved away. She wondered where Joel had taken Sara and whether she was enjoying herself. A bitter pain stirred in her breast. That would be ironic, she thought without humour. If Sara became attached to her "stepbrother". What would James Kingdom have to say about that?
It was just after twelve o'clock when Rachel arrived back at the flat, but there was no sign of the cream Mercedes which Joel had been driving the day he had come to Langthwaite. She let herself into the apartment, and taking off her jacket went to make herself some coffee, as much for something to do as anything. The percolator was bubbling when the doorbell rang, and trying to calm herself she went to answer it.
Sara bounced into the flat, Helga in one hand, waving a sheet of sketching paper in the other, babbling about what they had done and where they had been, but for once Rachel's eyes didn't immediately move after the child. They were drawn, almost against her will, to the narrowed gaze of the man who had halted mockingly in the doorway, regarding her with enigmatic intent.
"Safe and sound, as you see," he commented, leaning against the doorpost. "Are you going to invite me in?"
Her concentration split by Sara tugging at her hand, wanting to show her what she had brought, Rachel said unsteadily: "Is there any reason why I should?"
"None. But equally, there's no reason why you should not,"
returned Joel crisply, and straightening he came into the living room
Rachel was forced to give all her attention to the child then, taking the sketch Sara was offering, feeling her heart skip a beat as she looked at the image Joel had created. His talent had never been in any doubt, she had admired his work for a long time, the facility he had for getting into his subject and producing the essence, as well as the likeness, of his craft, but Sara's portrait was different somehow. She told herself it was her own closeness to the subject, her awareness of Sara's vulnerability which gave it its brilliance, but it was more than that. If she had not known better, she would have said that there was real feeling behind every line. But what kind of feeling she could not hazard to guess.
"See - I'm smiling," pointed out Sara with satisfaction, and Joel snorted humorously.
"That's because of that enormous sundae you swallowed," he commented, flinging himself uninvited on to the couch and stretching his arms above his head. "I bet you'll be sick later."
"I bet I won't." Sara left her mother to walk towards the couch. "Anyway, you had one, too."
"Not as big as yours."
"You could have one." Sara was practical. Then she hugged Helga closely. "It was lovely, though. Does that man really do all your cooking?"
Rachel's head jerked up and she thrust the sketch onto the nearby table. "What man? Where have you been, Sara?"
"We went to Joel's house - high up, ever so high up in the sky! We went up in this lift that went - "
"You took her to your apartment!" Rachel was horrified.
Joel turned hard eyes in her direction. "Why not? You've been there plenty of times."
Sara's eyes widened. "Have you? Have you really, Mummy? Have you seen all the houses - "
"Yes, yes!"
Rachel was abrupt, but she couldn't help it. She realised only too well that Joel was showing her how easily he could I destroy her and she hated him for it. And had he told the child to call him by his Christian name?
"Your mummy and I were - friends, years ago," he was saying to Sara now. "That was - before you were born."
"Did you know my daddy?"
Sara was excited, but Rachel had had enough. "Of course he didn't." she broke in tersely. "Sara, it's almost lunchtime. Say goodbye to - Mr. Kingdom, and go and wash your hands. I'm going to open a tin of soup, and it will be ready in five minutes."
Sara looked disappointed, and for a minute Rachel thought she was going to be awkward. But then, after exchanging a glance with Joel, she seemed to think better of it, and scuffing her feet made her way towards the door.
"G'bye, Joel," she said, holding on to the handle, and Joel smiled and said: "Be seeing you, Sara."
After she had gone, Rachel looked down at him coldly. "I -I suppose I have to thank you for - for looking after Sara," she said reluctantly.
"Not if you don't want to." Joel got to his feet and now she had to look up at him."I enjoyed it. She's an intelligent child. I found her company - stimulating." He paused. "I want to see her again."
"You can't!" The words were uttered before Rachel could think better of them. Then, seeing the hardening of his features, she tried to reason with him: "Joel - please! Be sensible! There's no point in making things worse."
"Is it unreasonable for me to want to get to know my own daughter?" he demanded harshly, tall and darkly menacing before her. The heavy silk shirt he was wearing was half open down his chest revealing the brown column of his throat, he wore a cream denim jacket and navy corded pants that moulded his lean hips and exposed the muscles of his thighs, and he was so close she could smell the heat of his body. "Don't you think you owe me a little of her time?"
"I owe you nothing!" retorted Rachel, twisting her hands together, despising the sudden remembrance of the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her flesh that the male scent of him had evoked. "You take what you want, don't you, Joel? You don't ask for anything."
"No, but you do," he muttered violently, his hands on her hips jerking her towards him, and before she could protest, his mouth had descended on hers.
Rachel had a fleeting impression that his action had taken him by surprise as much as her, but from the moment her lips parted under his all her energies were taken up with trying to resist the devastating weakness that surged over her. His hands moved over her back, arching her body towards him, making her familiarly aware of the h
ardening angles of his. Lethargy was swamping reason, his mouth was moving on hers, probing and seeking. Her fingers spread themselves over his chest, and she was filled with the crazy desire to put her arms around his neck and twine her fingers in the thick strength of his hair.
"Mummy?"
Sara's curious little cry brought Rachel to her senses, and with a groan of dismay she dragged herself away from Joel and went towards the child, checking her hair with trembling fingers, pulling her sweater down over her hips.
"So there you are, darling," she managed jerkily. "H-have you washed your hands ?"
Sara pursed her lips and stared sulkily beyond her mother to where Joel was raking his hair, taking deep steadying breaths "What were you doing when I came in?" she asked.
Rachel cast a curious glance over her shoulder at Joel. Then she made a casual gesture. "Sara, you don't understand - "
"I was kissing your mother!" stated Joel, without prevarication. "Haven't you seen two people kiss before?"
Sara's troubled expression eased a little. "Why were you kissing Mummy?"
Joel shrugged his broad shoulders. "You may well ask," he muttered, his tone coldly ironic. "Look, I've got to go." He walked towards the door ignoring Rachel's resentful stare."I'll be seeing you soon, Sara. Goodbye, Rachel."
Rachel said nothing. She did not trust herself to speak. The way she felt right now she could have flown at him and scratched his eyes out. How typical, she thought bitterly. How typical of his behaviour. That he should create the situation and then walk away and leave her to pick up the pieces!
The door closed behind him and Sara transferred her attention to her mother. "I don't think that man - Joel's daddy - would like you to be kissing Joel," she stated with her usual perspicacity. "I don't like you kissing him either. You're my mummy, not his."
"Oh, Sara!"
