Wife Without Kisses

by Violet Winspear

  “No, Rea.” He smiled as he closed Burke’s novel. “Men, even doctors, sometimes want their dreams to come true. We’re all vulnerable in that direction. If we couldn’t hope that tomorrow, or the day after, the something we want is going to be ours, life would become very dry in the mouth—” then he broke off and glanced up from Rea’s absorbed young face, for the door had

  opened. The next moment Tab’s eyes smiled in a rather cynical fashion, as if to say: “We won’t talk of dreams any more, Rea. Those dreams are our secrets.” And Rea understood, for there was a click of very high heels as Iris walked into the room.

  She burst out laughing as she came to the couch and leant over the back of it. “Ooh, la la, this is cosy!” She turned and beckoned to Burke, who came across the room with long, lazy strides. “Get these two, my dear. Curled up together as cosy as you please.” Her jade eyes mockingly roved Rea’s face. “So this is why you’ve never learnt to play cards, dear?”

  “Yes, isn’t she clever?” Tab murmured, his face once again the composed face of the professional man as he watched Iris, above himself and Rea.

  Burke strolled past the couch to the fireplace, amusedly lifting his eyebrows at the cosy picture Rea and Tab did make as they sat amidst the big green cushions. “What absurd little feet you’ve got, Rea,” he remarked, in passing.

  Rea immediately bent over double, fumbling on the floor for her shoes. That voice! That “uncle” voice, which he used upstairs in the nursery when he talked to Peter,

  and which he would use to her, in front of Iris. He knew it amused Iris. “My absurd feet go with the absurd rest of me,” she retorted, her cheeks burning both from her annoyance and the difficulty she was having in locating her right shoe, which was half way under the couch.

  Iris, watching her, gave a trill of laughter. Then she said to Burke: “Do you think she’s absurd, my dear— all over?”

  “Of curse she is.” Burke’s blue eyes had lit up with a sudden mischief, ignited from Rea’s unusual display of temper, and also from something touchingly young and lost about her that the fashionable dress intensified rather than took away. He stepped to the couch and with one lithe movement lifted Rea, holding her against his chest. “She’s as absurd as Peter’s pink elephant, aren’t you?” His blue eyes came down to Rea and he burst out laughing as she began to struggle in his arms, her small face glowing with embarrassment—temper— confusion. Burke was doing this deliberately to impress Iris, and it hurt Rea when she remembered how he had rejected her from his arms, only the night before, having no audience to impress.

  “Put me down, Burke! Oh, put me down!” She pummeled his shoulders. “I’m not Peter—and I’m not a pink elephant! Put me down!”

  “I don’t want to.” He blew at her fringe. “You’re mine to do exactly what I like with.”

  “Heavens, Tab, doesn’t he sound a regular caveman?” Iris remarked, her laughter now a trifle off-key, the fingernails of her right hand digging into the back of the couch. Tab watched her hand, the claw-like tension of it, and he fought a sudden compassionate urge to take hold of that hand, to ease open the clenched fingers and soothe it back to calmness in his own warm hand. He knew that jealousy was storming in her, wrenching her nerves to pieces, and with a muted sigh he rose to his feet and said to her: “It’s pretty late, Iris. It might be a good idea if we made a move. I’ve got my car, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Yes, all right.” She pulled her hand away from the couch and looked at it as though it hurt her.

  “We’ll be dashing, then, Burke,” Tab said.

  “Right!” With a laugh Burke swung Rea to her feet. “There you are, my love, now you can do your duties as a

  hostess.”

  With flushed cheeks and disarranged hair, Rea walked to the door, followed by Iris. As they went up the stairs, Iris glanced sideways at Rea’s dress. “So Burke took you shopping while you were in London, my dear?” she remarked. “What did you think of Madame Baum? I know that little number you’ve got on is one of hers.”

  “I liked her,” Rea said. “She was awfully kind.” “Oh, she would be!” Iris laughed her silken and slightly malicious laughter. “Madame likes rich customers. I guessed, of course, that Burke wouldn’t let you round like a schoolgirl indefinitely. He likes smart clothes.” Her eyes slipped assessingly over Rea. Then she said, one hand attractively pressed against the swell of her right breast: “What a pity you’re so slight, Rea. You’ve hardly any bosom, though I must admit you don’t look bad in that little dress. Of course, it’s beautifully cut; that makes a difference.” Her glance rested on Rea’s wrist. “Jewellery, too, I see! Burke is a generous husband!”

  “Y-yes.” Rea flushed slightly, pressing her wrist against her side, as though she would hide the little watch from Iris’s curiosity. There was a hard glitter in the jade eyes now, an open revealing of the antagonism and dislike which Iris hid in front of other people. They entered Rea’s bedroom and Iris swung gracefully into her fur coat and wound a shining scarf about her hair. Then she turned from the dressing-table, her eyes roving round the big, dark, but beautiful room, in which Rea, standing rather tense against one of the carved posts of the bed, looked indisputably lost—a willow-slim figure in amber, her short fair hair still dishevelled from her tussle with Burke.

  “For someone who says she can’t play cards, you’ve played yours remarkably well haven’t you, my dear?” Iris drawled. Her glance shifted to the big bed, moved over it, deliberately. “You little shop girls and typists must know a thing or two—though, of course, Burke was always inclined to seek amorous occupation outside his own social circle. It was little farm-girls at one time, you know.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say!” Rea gasped.

  “Nevertheless true, dear.” Irish brushed nonchalantly at one of the gleaming sleeves of her mink. “Nevertheless

  true.”

  “Dani Larchmont wasn’ t just a little farm-girl,” Rea said fiercely, remembering the wonderful face of the girl, the daring laughter in the lovely, slanting eyes. “She was perfectly beautiful! If Burke l-liked her, who could blame him?”

  “Not you, evidently.” Iris’s eyes went narrow as they travelled Rea’s suddenly passionate face. She looked, Iris thought, with scornful amusement, like some small tigress roused to swift protection of its young. “So Burke can do no wrong in your eyes, Rea? No wonder this marriage appeals to him! Not only a wife who’s accommodating, but one who throws in adoration as well! Well, make the most of him while you have him; with his restless temperament there’s no knowing how long he’ll be satisfied with this little trip of his into the land of nymphs and gnomes.” Iris’s smile was vividly spiteful in that moment. “You have that kind of face, dear; did you know? It puts one immediately in mind of funny little people sitting on the tops of toadstools.” And yours, Rea thought, with a sudden rush of deep resentment as she followed Iris from the room, puts me in mind of a jealous cat’s!

  Tab and Burke had left the library and were waiting for Iris out on the front step. “Mr. Ryeland has gone up to bed,” Tab said. “I bade him goodnight for you, Iris.” “Then let us be off.” She shared a dazzling smile between Rea and Burke. “Goodnight, my children, we’ll leave you to your play.” She ran down the steps, holding out her hand to Tab, and her face in the streaming light from the hall was the vividly animated face of an actress taking a final curtain call. “Come along, my dear doctor, let us share the stars and the silent night.”

  “Now there’s an invitation, old man,” Burke laughed. “It has a sting,” Tab retorted. “Iris knows that my car is so ancient I need both hands to drive with.” He joined Iris at the bottom of the steps, turning to lazily wave good night. Then he assisted Iris into his rather dilapidated coupe and they drove off, leaving behind them a small cloud of blue fumes.

  It was a soft, bright night for so late in the year, and Tab remarked on the fact. Iris made no reply to his remark and he shot a quick glance at her profile, clear and ra
ther white in the light of the dashboard. “Stop it, Iris!” The words crisped out of his mouth, sudden anger at the back of them. “Burke doesn’t want you, Iris. He never has wanted you. Learn to accept and to live with that and you’ll outgrow this terrible and exhausting passion of yours. Perhaps you’ll even come to accept the fact that there are other men in the world, ready, willing and able to give you the worship you’ll never get from Burke Ryeland. He belongs to Rea— to Rea, do you hear?” “Don’t-don’t keep saying it!” She shivered, violently, and a convulsive expression of sheer pain turned ugly for a fleeting moment the chiselled vividness of her face. “You’re cruel, Tab! Cruel!”

  “I’d like to be kind!” Suddenly his voice was husky with feeling. “My God, how I’d like to be kind to you, Iris—if you would only let me!”

  There was a moment of silence, which Iris finally broke with laughter. “You’re Tab Gresham, therefore you might as well be at the North Pole for all I care,” she said carelessly. She reached to him and mockingly patted his arm. “I shall have to look around and find you a nice pussycat.” One of her slender chestnut eyebrows rose in a playful peak. “There’s little Rea Ryeland—would you like her? She’s nicely housebroken, and she purrs when you smile at her and give her a pat on the head.”

  “Rea Ryeland,” Tab returned deliberately, “is the nicest girl I’ve ever met. She’s very kind and absolutely genuine.”

  “Genuine?” The word slid slyly out of Iris’s mouth. “Now I don’t think so. I think there’s something very, very funny about Burke’s young bride.”

  “Funny?” Tab shot a suddenly uneasy glance at Iris’s profile. “What makes you say that?”

  “Several things.” She examined the long fingernails of her left hand, pushing at the half-moon on her middle finger. “She’s half Burke’s age, plain as a plate, and she goes all colours of the rainbow when you happen to mention—Peru. Now why should she do that? Please tell me, Tab. I’m curious.”

  Tab’s hands tightened on the wheel of the car. So Iris, too, was doubting that story of Burke’s, that he and Rea had met while he had been in Peru? Lord, it wouldn’t do for Iris to get too curious! She wanted Burke and she was

  unscrupulous, and though Tab loved her, he knew her capability for cruelty. Little Rea, caught in Iris’s talons, would be rent to pieces! Tab winced at the thought.

  “You’re talking rot, you know,” he said quietly, steering Iris into a channel that would take her questing mind off that Peru business. “Rea isn’t as plain as a plate, unless you’re talking about Chelsea porcelain.”

  “Chelsea porcelain! My dear Tab, I think you’ve blown your hooter!” Iris lay back against the worn beige leather of Tab’s car and shook with laughter. Yet it was laughter, Tab noticed, with a definite edge of wildness to it. “The poor little ninny is as plain as a dinner-plate! It’s perfectly obvious why Burke married her — he wanted someone who wouldn’t intrude too often on his precious isolation!” Then Iris’s laughter died on a sharp note; a note with tears and anger in it. “Damn him! Damn him for playing the fond fool with her—in front of me!”

  “He’s her husband,” Tab remarked mildly.

  “For now!” Iris sat up, pulling her fur coat about her body with a sudden seductive movement. “For now he’s that!”

  “Iris!” Tab spoke now with a tired exasperation. “Iris, you’re a lovely girl; you’ve the world to choose from. Forget Burke—do yourself a favour.”

  “Tell me to forget that I live and breathe,” Iris retorted.

  C H A P T E R T W E L VE

  THE branches of the great yew arched fantastically from the gnarled trunk and touched the ground, where, like snaking arms, they reached forward to the little lych gate across the path to the village church, the church built on Mendip rock, with a dazzling angel figure in its east window, where the Ryelands had their family pew and their stone memorials to their many ancestors.

  This road to the village, almost a private one, for it led direct from King’s Beeches, rarely brought Rea in contact with people. Occasionally a farm cart might trundle past and the weather-beaten driver call out a greeting to her, recognizing her as ‘old maister’s granddaughter-in-law.’

  Or a solitary cow might come ambling along, thrusting its nose in the hedges and rolling an inquisitive eye in Rea’s direction. But today, as Rea stood before the old yew, her hands thrust into the pockets of her coat and her head a

  little to one side as she surveyed the tree, sauntering yet purposeful footsteps suddenly approached behind her, ringing loud in the quiet.

  Rea swung round, her mouth making an O of startled surprise, even perhaps of slight nervousness, as her eyes discovered Jack Larchmont.

  He stood before her, handsome and slender and disreputable-looking, his taunting grin lifting one corner of his mouth. He gestured at the tree. “In ancient days a wizard, wouldn’t you say?” he drawled. Then he stepped to the lych gate and rested one booted leg upon it, his hands in the pockets of his ancient breeches. “Say hullo to me,” he coaxed, deliberately moving his slanting eyes over her face.

  “H-hullo.” Rea’s own hands were suddenly clenched in her pockets and she could feel her cheeks growing warm. She pulled her glance away from the taunting mesmerism of Jack’s. “This is a fantastic tree, isn’t it?’’ She tried to speak lightly. “I—I suppose I’m bound to be impressed by such things, being a Londoner.”

  “Little London sparrow.” The words came softly, and Rea drew back a little, definitely uneasy now. “I’m fond of London,” Jack drawled, “but I don’t get much chance to see it. A busy, busy farm boy, that’s me.” Rea smiled slightly. “You don’t appear to be very busy at the moment,” she said.

  “True. Very true.” His grin deepened. “Would it interest you to know that I was up all last night, playing midwife to a cow?” Then he burst out laughing at the expression of open scepticism on her face. “You haven’t a very flattering opinion of me, have you, little girl?” “Well, you said yourself that your proper guise was horns and hoofs,” she retorted.

  “Ah, so I did, so I did. All the same, little girl, it’s true about the cow. Her name is Julie and she’s sweet and gentle as a May morning. I like sweet, gentle things, surprisingly enough, but they’re so hard to find. When one does find them, they always seem to belong to other people. Sad, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” Rea scuffed the ground with the toe of her shoe, not fully understanding him.

  “It’s terrible. Of course, one could always reach out and grab what one wants, regardless of the owner. Shall I do that, Rea?”

  She was so startled that he knew her name that the full implication of his question passed her by. “How do you know my name?” she demanded.

  “Why, I know your maid,” he drawled. “Little Betty. Hasn’t she ever mentioned me? She often mentions you. She tells me the most interesting things about you.” “Betty?” Rea gazed up at him with big, startled eyes. “W-what does she tell you?”

  “Oh,” he considered, chipping at the lichen on the yew with the nail of his right forefinger, “various amazing things. Servants are inquisitive creatures, Rea; their sharp eyes don’t miss a thing.”

  “What should Betty miss?” Rea faced him in a sudden flash of anger. “You’ve no right to question her about me! What has she been saying to you?”

  “She’s been saying that your husband is a most unusual man.”

  “Unusual—Burke?” Rea was watching Jack Larchmont in a rather frightened fashion now. Servants, as he said, were inquisitive creatures, and Betty, with her cowlike eyes under her low-worn cap, was inclined to snoop. Until the advent of Rea’s new clothes from London, Rea had often caught her examining the meagre contents of her wardrobe and her chest-of- drawers, as though it puzzled her that the wife of a rich man like Burke Ryeland should be so lacking in fine dresses and expensive underwear.

  “Yes, unusual,” Jack Larchmont reiterated. “I call it unusual for a man not to share his wife’s bed.”
<
br />   The words hung between them in the ensuing silence, blatant and unlovely. Rea blushed hotly, and then went very white. “How dare you say that!” she gasped. “How dare you discuss my husband with a—a servant!”

  Jack Larchmont greeted this with a mocking smile. “Why? Is he some sort of a divinity? Mustn’t his name be used on the coarse lips of the hoi-polloi?”

  “You’re horrible!” Rea gasped. “Listening to Betty’s low gossip—encouraging it! Putting your own vile interpretation upon things she’s told you—things she can’t possibly know anything about!” Rea’s hazel eyes flashed as they met the dark mockery of his eyes. “I have a son, remember? Does the inquisitive Betty suggest that I found my Peter under a—a gooseberry bush?”

  “He’s neither your Peter—nor the gallant Burke’s!” Jack drawled. Then, like the tongue of a snake striking, his hand swooped upon Rea’s wrist. He held her a prisoner as he stepped close to her. “I heard what my father said to you that day you came to our farmhouse, but I knew long before that that Philip Ryeland wasn’t the little white god everyone thought him—a case of raven recognizing raven, I guess.” The slanting eyes glittered as they held Rea’s, mesmerizing her, filling her with revolt and fear. That he should know! That he should know— this wild, unscrupulous gipsy creature, so soured by the unhappiness that lay over his house! “We’ve not met by moonlight,” he said, very softly, “but the horns and hoofs are out, Rea. I said you should see them, didn’t I?”

  “I’m seeing them,” she returned, the skin of her face so taut and cold that she knew she had gone white. “I was foolish enough to feel sorry for you the other day, but now I only dislike you. I think you’re out to make mischief.”

  “Oh, but that depends on you,” he laughed. His fingers tightened on her wrist, putting her hand up his jersey-clad breast. “I don’t intend that you should dislike me, Rea. I might promise to keep several Ryeland secrets, if you promise to be my—friend.”

  “W-what does that mean?” Rea searched his eyes uneasily. “Don’t talk in riddles, tell me outright what you mean!”