by Anne Mather
‘An apology?’ He pressed out his cheroot savagely in the ashtray on the chest. ‘Is that how you see it, Susannah?’
She turned away defeatedly, moving towards the stairs. ‘I—I won’t be a minute—’ she began unsteadily, but he came after her, his hands grasping her shoulders, pulling her irresistibly back against him. For a few moments she struggled, but when his mouth sought the warm curve of her neck she surrendered to the desire to submit to something that was stronger than self-respect.
‘Susannah,’ he groaned in a tortured voice, ‘I did not come here to apologize. I came because I had to. I had to see you again, do you understand? Amada, I don’t want to hurt you, but you have—how do you say it—penetrated my skin? I am in love with you.’
Susannah couldn’t believe her ears. Even though the possession in his hands about her waist was reassuringly real, she could not accept that he had actually said he loved her.
‘Fernando?’ she breathed questioningly, and with an exclamation he turned her in his arms so that his mouth could find hers once more.
Eventually he had to pull away from her again, but this time she felt no sense of shame or withdrawal at his parting. It was intoxicating to know that she could arouse this man in such a way that he had no defence against her. A smile touched her lips at these secret thoughts and seeing her expression he said dryly: ‘You find it amusing?’
Susannah was contrite, and she went close to him, fingering the lapels of his coat, looking up at him appealingly. ‘No, not amusing,’ she denied softly. ‘Just—just wonderful, that’s all.’
Fernando’s fingers lingered on her upper arms, but he was determined in his efforts to keep her away from him. ‘Susannah,’ he said, huskily, ‘I don’t think you are wearing anything under that sweater, and the temptation to find out becomes stronger by the moment. Please, allow me to remain in control of the situation!’
Susannah’s cheeks burned, and now he smiled, smoothing a hand over his hair, fastening the buttons of his jacket.
‘Go and get a coat,’ he said quietly, giving her a gentle push. ‘We will go and have some lunch and then you can show me some peaceful part of your city where we can be alone together, si?’
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY had lunch at an out-of-the-way little restaurant in Soho. Fernando had chosen a Greek establishment this time, and they ate moussaka, sliced aubergines and minced meat in a thick sauce, and veal cutlets served with a green salad. They talked desultorily throughout the meal, relaxed casual conversations concerning impersonal topics, and only when their eyes met across the table did the communication between them become intimate and disturbing.
Afterwards, they walked for a while. Fernando had dismissed his hired car the previous evening, so they were confined to taxicabs for transportation. But Susannah liked walking. She liked the sensation of Fernando’s strong fingers enclosing hers, and the way the light breeze lifted his straight dark hair depositing a thick swathe across his forehead. The brightness of the day seemed to reflect her mood, and she thought she had never felt happier. Neither of them had spoken so far of Fernando’s eventual return to Spain. For Susannah, it was sufficient at present to know that he had stayed because of her.
Towards teatime they found a quiet corner beneath the trees in Kensington Gardens and sat down upon the grass. It was a favourite rendezvous for lovers, and they attracted no especial attention. Fernando rested back upon his elbows, and Susannah drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. The day was almost over and now a sense of anti-climax was developing, threatening to overwhelm her.
Fernando stretched out a hand, touching her shoulder and drawing her back beside him. ‘Now what are you thinking?’ he demanded, scanning her troubled features. ‘Have you not enjoyed yourself today?’
Susannah relaxed back against the soft turf, warmed by the unusual heat of the sun. ‘I’ve had a wonderful day, Fernando,’ she murmured, rather wistfully. ‘But it’s almost over.’
He rested on an elbow looking down at her. ‘Ah, I understand,’ he said softly. ‘You do not wish it to end?’ He shook his head. ‘Nor do I.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But there are hours yet—’
‘No!’ She tried to prop herself up. ‘No, I have to be back before seven. Señora Castana expects me to put Eduardo to bed.’
Fernando’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Cannot Lucie Castana put her own child to bed for once?’ he exclaimed.
Susannah sighed. ‘She asked me to do it. I—I have to go back. It’s my job, after all.’
Fernando uttered an impatient ejaculation. ‘And tomorrow, of course, you will be working?’
‘Tomorrow?’ she faltered.
‘ Si, mañana. ’
‘But—but—’ She licked her lips. ‘Won’t you be—that is—I thought you had to return to—to Spain.’
Fernando’s eyes narrowed, the thick lashes veiling his expression. ‘Do you wish me to return to Spain tomorrow, Susannah?’
‘Oh, no, no!’ She reached towards him, stroking his cheek with her fingers. ‘I—I don’t want you to return at all,’ she confessed honestly.
Fernando covered her hand with his own, turning her palm to his lips, kissing each of her fingers with nerve-shattering tenderness. ‘I shall not be returning to Spain tomorrow,’ he stated huskily. ‘I shall telegraph them that I have been—delayed.’
‘Oh, Fernando!’
Susannah’s lips parted tremulously and with a muffled groan he bent over her, seeking her mouth and exploring it with his own until passion flared between them. The the weight of his body was a disruptive pressure that destroyed her defences, causing her own body to become soft and yielding, arching against him, inviting his possession…
‘What are you doing?’
The high, childish voice caused Fernando to draw back from Susannah with reluctance, looking over his shoulder impatiently at the small girl who was standing watching them. He jack-knifed into a sitting position, and while Susannah tried to gather her scattered senses he raked a hand through his hair and said sharply: ‘Ought you to be speaking to strangers, pequeña?’ in peculiarly taut tones. ‘Where is your mama?’
As though in answer to his question, they could now hear a woman’s voice shouting: ‘Linda! Linda, where are you? Come here at once, you naughty girl!’
Linda, for that was obviously her name, gave Fernando a rather impudent grin and then darted away between the trees in the direction of her mother’s voice.
But the incident had had a curious effect on Fernando, for now, without looking at Susannah, he rose to his feet, dusting himself down and saying: ‘Perhaps we should be going for some tea, si? Then I will take you home.’
Susannah scrambled to her feet, brushing the blades of grass from her trousers. She wondered why his mood had changed so drastically. Surely a child’s innocent curiosity was not wholly responsible for that grim line around his mouth.
They had tea and scones at a coffee bar in Knightsbridge and then Fernando hailed a cab to take them to Lorrimer Terrace. They had spoken little since that incident in the park and Susannah was beginning to feel that awful sense of anti-climax again. What was wrong? Why was he so-withdrawn?
The taxi halted outside the Castana house and Susannah climbed out before he could stop her. However, asking the taxi driver to wait, Fernando climbed out also, halting her at the foot of the steps. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ he demanded, possessing himself of her hands.
Susannah was confused. ‘Do—do you want to?’
‘Do you doubt it?’ Fernando’s lips thinned.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to think. I—I thought you had changed your mind.’
Fernando sighed, raising her hands to his lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said huskily. ‘And I haven’t changed—not at all.’ He glanced round impatiently at the waiting taxi. ‘Tomorrow evening, si?’
‘All right,’ Susannah nodded.
‘The usual arrangement.’ He smiled. ‘I will endeavo
ur not to be late.’ He bent his head to her fingers again. ‘Te adoro, mi alma. Hasta mañana!’ Then he turned and left her, climbing into the taxi without a backward glance, leaving her feeling oddly tearful.
* * *
Susannah saw Fernando every evening of the week that followed. Fortunately the Castanas were so wrapped up in their own affairs that they paid little attention to her movements and consequently she was not obliged to make any awkward explanations. It was a time of nervous excitement for Susannah, living her days in eager anticipation of the evening to come, and then spending the latter half of the evening worrying in case Fernando had decided to return to Spain the next day.
Their meetings were all in public places. They spent very little time alone. Susannah thought this was a deliberate ploy on Fernando’s behalf. He knew better than she did how easy it would be for their relationship to develop into dangerous intimacies and she suspected that he respected her too much to take advantage of her. All the same, the brief kisses in the cab taking her home were an unsatisfactory substitute for what she knew to be his wholly passionate lovemaking, and she cried herself to sleep at nights, aching with a hunger that only he could assuage.
But on Friday evening, sitting in the comfortable smoky atmosphere of a pub they had frequented in Chelsea, he said: ‘How does the idea of a week-end in the country appeal to you, Susannah?’
He was looking particularly attractive this evening in a cream lounge suit and a bronze patterned shirt, and she had been sitting looking steadily into his eyes, sharing in that intangible communication the kind of mounting awareness that physically they denied themselves.
Now, she blinked and said: ‘A week-end in the country? Why?’
Fernando moved closer to her on the high-backed banquette that gave an added privacy to their secluded comer of the bar. ‘A friend of mine—a business colleague, if you like—owns a cottage in a place called Wendcombe, do you know it?’
‘Wendcombe?’ Susannah frowned, trying to ignore the trembling sensation that was assailing her. ‘Vaguely. It—it’s a village, isn’t it? In Buckinghamshire?’
‘That sounds familiar—Buckinghamshire. Si, I am sure that is the word he used.’ Fernando nodded. ‘Bien—does a week-end at this cottage sound appealing to you?’
Susannah could feel her cheeks beginning to bum. ‘I don’t quite know what you mean—’ she began unsteadily.
‘Don’t you?’ He looked at her and his face was very close to hers. ‘I think you do, Susannah.’
She quivered. ‘You mean—spend a week-end at this cottage—with you—alone?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that such a daunting proposition, Susannah?’
She caught her breath. Daunting was not a word she would have used. Provocative, reckless, dangerous even—they were words she would have used.
She dragged her gaze away from his and stared down into her glass. How was she to answer him? How could she tell him that she had never done such a thing before? Did he perhaps think she had? Had her response to him in some way influenced his decision to ask her? Didn’t he realize that no man had ever aroused her as he had aroused her? Or was he of the opinion that all young Englishwomen indulged in permissive sex?
She darted a glance at him. He was staring down into his glass and there was a curiously vulnerable sag to his shoulders. What was he thinking? What answer did he expect her to give? Did he expect her to refuse?
All week he had taken her to busy night spots,’ and never once had he attempted to make love to her. Even the kisses he had given her in the cab going home had been tender and circumspect. And now this…
She drew a deep breath. During this week she had learned only a little more about him. She now knew that his family owned vineyards in the southern part of Spain, near Cadiz, and that he was in London on business to do with the exporting of the wine they produced. But that was all. He had told her nothing about his personal affairs, although she imagined he thought he had told her all that was necessary. There was no doubt that he loved her—it was there in every touch of their hands, every gentle kiss bestowed upon her cheeks, every look they shared that intimated at the satisfaction they would share if ever she surrendered completely to him. And she had fondly imagined that sooner or later their relationship would develop into a more binding contract. But not like this…
Taking her elbows from where they had been resting on the table in front of them, she said quietly: ‘I—I couldn’t do that, Fernando.’
There was silence for a while as he absorbed this, not moving from his hunched position. Then he lay back against the soft upholstery, his mouth twisting. ‘Very well.’ He looked towards the bar. ‘Would you like another drink?’
Susannah gave a helpless little exclamation. ‘Fernando—try to understand. I—I couldn’t—’
‘You do not have to go on, Susannah. I quite understand.’ He swallowed the remainder of the whisky in his glass, considering its emptiness thoughtfully. ‘Excuse me. I need another drink.’
He walked across to the counter and she watched him. He moved easily, lithely, and quite a number of women turned to look after him. His clothes fitted him closely with the evident cut of good tailoring and his hair always looked newly washed and smooth. To seriously consider spending a week-end with him—imagining him without his excellently tailored suits, lean and tanned, his hair tousled from sleep, making love to her—could not be so carelessly dismissed. Other girls went in for that sort of thing and with men much less attractive than Fernando Cuevas. Men they did not even love—and Susannah was sure she loved Fernando…And he loved her…or could he, to ask such a thing?
By the time he came back her palms were moist, and there was a terrible feeling of inadequacy invading her stomach. She was such a coward. She was so afraid of what might happen. Was she going to risk the same consequences as her mother and possibly find herself alone and pregnant by a man who had quickly disappeared after getting what he wanted?
But would Fernando desert her? He had said he loved her. She didn’t believe he had made that up. She couldn’t believe it. So where did that leave her? If she refused him, would she ever see him again? Or was this in the nature of an ultimatum?
He came and sat beside her again, raising his glass to her in a silent salute. Then he replaced it on the table and sought about for his cheroots and lighter. When a cheroot was lit, and he had inhaled deeply, he said: ‘I have something to tell you, Susannah. I must return to Spain at the beginning of next week.’
Susannah felt numb. She had known it would have to come—eventually. But so soon! She felt almost ill with reaction.
Forcing her lips to move, she spoke rather stiffly: ‘I see. I—I shall miss you.’
He half turned towards her. ‘And I shall miss you,’ he told her roughly. ‘You don’t know how much.’
She was breathing jerkily. ‘Do—do you have to go?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ He turned away from her again, drawing almost impatiently on his cheroot. ‘You have made my stay in London very—memorable.’
Susannah found it hard to swallow. ‘Is that all?’ she whispered.
He gave her a sideways glance. ‘What do you expect me to say?’
She shook her head. ‘Will—will I see you again?’
‘Maybe.’ He looked down at the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘Maybe the next time I come to London—if you are still living with the Castanas.’
Susannah gasped. ‘But the Castanas are leaving London. They’re going to live in New York. They—they’ve asked me to go with them.’
His brows drew together in a scowl. ‘And are you going?’
‘I—I don’t know.’ She shivered at the look in his eyes, ‘I’ve told them I need time to—to think about it.’
His fingers closed over her wrist, and quite suddenly his thigh was pressing against hers, ‘Susannah,’ he muttered violently, ‘please—come to Wendcombe with me. I want so much to be with you—alone with you—away from all these people. I wan
t to share this week-end with you—I want to show you how much I love you!’ His lips caressed her ear, ‘And you want it, too. You know you do.’
Susannah was trembling quite uncontrollably now, ‘Fernando,’ she began half-heartedly, but the desire to please him, to do as he wanted, was eating away at her puny resolution.
His eyes were warmly compelling, openly sensuous. He stroked his fingers along the veins at the inner side of her wrist. ‘You could get away, could you not? I am sure the Castanas would permit you to leave after lunch tomorrow, si?’
Susannah drew a shaky breath.—They—they might…’
He cupped her chin with his hand. ‘Are you afraid of me, Susannah? You have no need to be. I will not hurt you. I just want to—worship you, with my body as well as my soul!’
Susannah gave in, leaning against him, needing the reassuring contact of his broad chest. ‘I’ve never—done anything like this before, Fernando,’ she confessed, almost inaudibly. ‘You—you will have to be patient with me.’
Fernando looked down at her with eyes grown dark with passion, ‘I shall be very patient with you, amada, have no fear,’ he murmured, his gaze lingering on her mouth. ‘But now I think we must be going, before I am tempted to show you exactly how much I need you.’
The Castanas were not unduly perturbed when Susannah broached the subject of her being away from Saturday afternoon until Sunday evening. She hated telling lies, but she had to pretend that she was going to spend the week-end with a girl friend, and that as they were going to be late on Saturday evening her friend had suggested that Susannah should sleep there. Everything went off very smoothly. Eduardo had his lessons as usual on Saturday morning, Susannah’s case was already packed, and after an early lunch she did as Fernando had advised and took a taxi to the Savoy.
He met her in the reception hall, dark and attractive in a navy denim suit, and took her case from her unresisting fingers, smiling down into her eyes so that she was warmed to the farthest extremes of her being. T, too, am ready,’ he told her gently, ‘My case is already in the car.’
