It was something of an ordeal, but when she confessed as much on their way home, Alec laughed and said, “Don’t be silly. You’ll have to get used to these functions. Of course all the old cats will be talking behind your back, knowing their husbands are envying me. You took the shine out of the lot of them tonight.”
“I just wanted to do you credit,” Celeste said, disconcerted by his assessment, and even more by the elation in his voice.
“You have,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. “I’m very proud of you.”
When had he stopped being proud of her? When had he stopped wanting to show other men what a prize he had captured, and begun to be morbidly afraid of its being taken away by one of them? She didn’t know. And perhaps for a time both feelings had warred within him, for they were surely two sides of the same coin.
Six months after the wedding, her mother had visited them for a long weekend, and Alec had been charming, both to her and to Celeste. Not that he was ever anything else, Celeste reminded herself guiltily. He had never ranted at her, never raised his voice. His only fault was an occasional absentmindedness when he was deeply engrossed in his work. No reasonable woman, after all, would complain about a husband who made a point of complimenting her almost every day on how pretty she was, and telling her that other men had commented on it to him, who never criticised her for what she spent on clothing, and indeed encouraged her to buy something new when they had to attend a party or a dinner or a reception.
“He’s almost too generous,” she told her mother, showing her a wardrobe full of clothes. “He seems to think I need a new dress every time we go out.”
“That’s sweet,” her mother said. “You’re happy with your father-figure, are you?”
“Father-figure?”
Her mother laughed a little. “Well, I couldn’t help thinking that’s what Alec is,” she said. “Oh, a very handsome and romantic one, I’m sure. But you did lose your dad at a young age. It’s a natural sort of thing to do—marry a much older man. And I can’t help noticing, he does have a rather avuncular manner with you.”
“Not always!” Celeste said, and blushed as her mother’s brows rose.
“I suppose not. Well, as long as you’re happy.”
Quelling a niggling, barely discernible sense of doubt, Celeste said firmly, “I am very happy. Father-figure or not, Alec is the only man for me.”
“I’m so glad.” Her mother hugged her, then said hesitantly, “There’s something I want to tell you. The fact is, I’ve met a man. . . .”
A man who within three months had married her and taken her to live with him in Perth, on the far side of Australia. Hiding her panicky feeling of desertion, Celeste had expressed pleased approval and attended the wedding with a smile firmly fixed to her face. In the next five years she had seen her mother only four times, although they wrote often, and then had come the news that a light plane carrying her mother and the man who had made her happy in those few years had crashed in the heart of Australia, killing instantly everyone on board.
But that was later, some years after Ethan had come back to New Zealand and into Celeste’s life.
Alec had been delighted to see his brother. He was full of excited enthusiasm, plying Ethan with drinks and questions and directing Celeste to sit and talk with them, even though she was preparing a special dinner for three and really needed to be checking on what was happening in the kitchen. Eventually she gently removed his arm from about her shoulder and said, “If I don’t turn that chicken, it’ll be burned to a crisp.”
Ethan brought some empty glasses in later, as she was dishing up. “Anything I can do?” he asked.
“No, it’s almost ready, thanks. Put the glasses over there, I’ll wash them later.”
“I can do it.” He began rinsing them at the sink, glancing around as she placed vegetables on the plates. “Looks good,” he said. “And smells even better. Alec says you’re a great cook.”
“I’m not great,” she said. “But I can cook a decent meal.”
“He’s been singing your praises,” Ethan told her. “According to him you’re the most beautiful, talented, best-dressed, etcetera, etcetera. . .”
“Oh, I wish he wouldn’t. . . .”
“Why not? Isn’t it true?”
She looked up, flushed from her exertion and from embarrassment. His answering gaze was quizzical, reserving judgement, she thought. He took a tea towel from the rail by the sink and faced her, absently drying a glass.
“It’s a lot to live up to,” she said weakly.
He nodded. “You know, I don’t think Alec has been around women much,” he said. “Too busy hiking off into the wilds of New Guinea and the like. He’s like a dog with two tails about you. No woman,” he added deliberately, “could be everything that he thinks you are.”
Celeste put down the dish in her hands, and stood very straight. Something—some current of awareness—flowed between them, and she saw his eyes narrow as he stiffened, too.
She said, her voice husky, “I’ll do my best. I can only try.”
Ethan nodded. “Sure,” he said, overcasually, and carefully put down the glass that he had dried before picking up another.
While he waited for replies to several job applications, Ethan stayed on with Alec and Celeste. “Take Ethan swimming, Celeste,” Alec said. “It’s his favourite sport, and much more fun with company.” Then he suggested other outings, telling Ethan, “I know she likes walking, and on Wellington’s hills I can’t keep up.”
When they came back from hiking up the steep hills to survey the view of the harbour, they found that Alec had left the university early and reached home before them.
As Ethan went off to his room, Alec said approvingly, “You’ve got some colour in your cheeks, Celeste. You should get out more often. You don’t need to stay at home with a crock like me.”
“I like being at home with you,” she said, going over to him to kiss his cheek. “And you’re not a crock.”
“But you enjoyed yourself today, didn’t you? You like Ethan?” “Yes. Your brother’s good company, but—”
“Well, I’m glad. I want you two to get on. Ethan and I are close, you know, in spite of the gap in our ages. It would hurt me if you two couldn’t be friends.”
“We are friends,” she said. She found Ethan stimulating and interesting, and shared his sense of humour. “But we’d both like more of your company.”
“I rather hoped you could entertain him on your own while I’m at work,” he said with a hint of testiness. “You know I can’t take too much time off. Finding it a bit of a drag, are you?”
She must have imagined the half-hopeful gleam that briefly lit his eyes. “No, not at all. And of course I know you’re busy. I just thought, Ethan hasn’t seen you for ages and it would be nice to spend some time together.”
“Oh, I expect he’d rather have you, anyway,” Alec said, smiling at her. “I don’t think Ethan is immune to your charms any more than the next man.”
For the first time, Celeste snapped at him. “I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on my looks! And I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say about your brother.”
Alec showed surprise. “I don’t know why you should object to a compliment,” he said. “And I wasn’t suggesting that Ethan would try to make a pass at you. He hasn’t, has he?”
“Of course not!”
“Of course not,” Alec echoed soothingly. “But no man worthy of the name is totally oblivious to a beautiful young woman, my dear. What a little innocent you are!”
His manner was amused and patronising, and she shut her teeth on a sharp retort. He was trusting and generous, and she knew he was merely making sure that Ethan had a good holiday while he stayed with them. Perhaps he had her welfare at heart, too. He had fretted occasionally that he was unable to join her in active pursuits that he kn
ew she enjoyed, and although she denied wanting to take part in them on her own, he must have realised that she missed them. It was hardly fair to blame him for her confused anger and resentment.
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t swim with us at the weekend,” she said. After his broken bones had knitted, swimming had been part of his therapy.
“Thanks,” he said, “but I don’t fancy making a spectacle of myself, having to be helped out of the water and trying to use my cane to drag myself over the sand.”
“I know it embarrasses you,” she said, “but we could find a quiet beach, and if Ethan helped you, probably no one would notice you at all.”
He shook his head. “I have my pride, Celeste. I don’t want even his help.”
When they were invited to a dinner with dancing afterwards, Alec insisted that Ethan accompany them, and when the dancing began, he almost pushed Celeste into his brother’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” Celeste murmured. “He’s very conscious of being unable to dance, and so determined that I shouldn’t be deprived of the chance. After this, I’ll understand if you want to disappear from our party and find someone else to dance with.”
“I like dancing with you,” Ethan said. “And I have the feeling that Alec would rather it was me than some other man. Is there anyone you’d prefer to be dancing with?”
“It isn’t that.” She shook her head vehemently. “I like doing things with you, Ethan.” She looked up at him and caught a sudden glint in his eyes that made her miss a step.
As she swayed closer to him, off balance, he said quietly, “Do you?” And then he was holding her away from him, his eyes disconcertingly dark and rather measuring.
“You know I do,” she replied uncertainly. “It’s been great having you around. Alec wanted us to. . .”
He was gazing past her shoulder at where Alec was sitting. “I know,” he said softly. “Alec wants you to have all the things that he can’t give you.”
When his eyes returned to her, his face was taut and questioning. She said carefully, “There is nothing I want that he can’t give me.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded and gave her a strange smile. His hand tightened on her waist, and he whirled her around in a complicated turn, and for the rest of the bracket they danced in silence.
They sat out the next dance, and then one of the older men asked her to try a waltz with him. Although Ethan scarcely left their table, he didn’t ask her to dance again.
During the final weeks of his stay, Celeste was more relaxed with Ethan. Some small reservation that she had sensed in him seemed to have melted away. She felt that they were establishing a real friendship, and she responded sweetly and honestly to the gentle, teasing affection that he showed her.
“We should give a party,” Alec said, “before Ethan leaves.”
Ethan had the offer of a good job, designing and installing a computer network system for a large engineering firm in Hamilton, centre of the prosperous Waikato dairy farming region.
“A party?” Celeste was surprised. They had hosted the occasional dinner, but a real party was not Alec’s preferred way of entertaining.
“Yes, a party. He’s met a few people while he’s been staying with us, and I’m sure they’d like to farewell him. Would it be too much for you?”
“Oh, no! It’s just not your usual style.”
Alec frowned. “I’m not such an old stick-in-the-mud as you may think,” he said humorously.
“I don’t think anything of the sort. Who would you like to invite?”
Alec moved restlessly, grimacing, and she said swiftly, “Is your leg hurting? Shall I get you one of your pills?”
Impatiently, he shook his head. “I’m all right. We should invite some of the younger crowd. Junior lecturers and their wives and girlfriends. . . or boyfriends.”
It wasn’t a big party, but it went on quite late. When the last guest had gone, it was almost two o’clock. Ethan drove a young woman home who had rather obviously been making a play for him, and Alec, chuckling, said, “We may not see him until morning. Not if Charmian has her way.”
Charmian was a striking brunette, with beauty as well as brains, and she hadn’t made any pretense of hiding either. In fact, the dress she had been wearing, which left precious little to the imagination, had made Celeste wonder if she had a defensive desire to show the world that female intelligence was no bar to traditional notions of femininity.
“I don’t think Ethan was exactly averse to her having her way,” she said, trying hard to echo Alec’s tone of worldly amusement. “He didn’t have to take her home. She actually asked him to call her a taxi.”
She had, too, although she could equally well have asked Celeste, who was much nearer the phone at the time. But Charmian had been standing by Ethan. As she had practically all evening, Celeste recalled. Well, she couldn’t blame the young woman. Ethan was handsome and unattached, and so, presumably, was Charmian.
Alec yawned. “I’m off to bed. Coming?”
“I’ll clear up a bit first.” She had a strong, illogical urge to start hurling crockery about. She was ashamed of herself, but that didn’t lessen the feeling.
“Leave it until tomorrow.”
“I’ll just tidy up here and stack the dishes,” she promised.
He shrugged. “All right.” He hobbled over to her, leaning heavily on his cane as he did when he was tired. His arm came about her shoulders. “But I’ll probably be asleep. How about a good-night kiss?”
She obliged, guiltily glad that it was all he was asking for tonight. She didn’t think she could summon up the right mood for lovemaking.
He left her, and she began automatically gathering up ashtrays and glasses. Her unsettled, grumpy mood was no doubt a reaction to the gaiety and stimulation of the party, as well as the inevitable work that had gone into the preparations. It had been a definite success, she told herself, wiping away a stupid tear. She would be sorry to see Ethan leave; he had been a brilliant guest. But life had to go on. Settle back into the rut, ran her thoughts, and she scolded herself. Life with Alec was not a rut. She met lots of interesting, intelligent people, and by and large they had accepted her, although she couldn’t help but be aware of raised eyebrows now and then when a new acquaintance discovered she was Alec’s wife. There had been a couple of nasty moments when men who apparently imagined that Alec had become disabled since their marriage made veiled suggestions to her of giving her what she must be missing, but she had told them in no uncertain terms what to do with their offers.
She shivered. There was nothing wrong with Alec in that department. The vague uneasiness that sometimes invaded her after his lovemaking had nothing to do with inadequacy, but with the strange, desperate possessiveness that often seemed to pervade it, especially lately. But she was inexperienced with other men and had no way of knowing if there was anything unusual about it. She must try to conquer the odd aversion that it engendered in her. It didn’t need much experience to know that shrinking from him would only make the problem—if it could be called a problem—worsen.
She had the lounge almost back to normal and was running hot water into the sink over a stack of glasses when the back door opened. She looked around to see Ethan in the doorway.
“You came back!” she said.
His brows rose. “Surprised?”
“Yes. We thought. . .”
He closed the door, leaning against it with his arms folded. “I see.”
Celeste flushed. “Well. . .” She shrugged. “Surely Charmian didn’t send you away.” Her voice, she realised, sounded ever so slightly waspish. She turned off the tap that must have covered the sound of the car, and started swishing a dish-mop around in the water, rattling the glasses.
Ethan came away from the door and inspected a plate full of leftovers on the table. “No,” he said, picking up a chee
se straw and nibbling it. “Actually, she didn’t.”
“I see.” She took out a glass and plonked it down on the stainless steel counter.
“No you don’t,” he said almost under his breath, and yet with such violence that she jumped, dropping the next glass into the sink with an ominous tinkle. “You don’t know a damn thing,” Ethan said. “Or if you do, then I’ve been led up the garden path, and so has Alec.”
Shaking, she scrabbled among the suds, muttering, “I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.” Then she gave a tiny shriek as a sharp pain pierced her hand, and she lifted it from the sink, seeing the suds clinging to it stained pink.
Ethan dropped the cheese straw on the table and strode over to her. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“I broke a glass,” she said in a muffled voice. “I didn’t realise—”
His fingers clamped about her wrist. “God, you’re a little fool!” A watery pool of blood was forming in the palm of her hand. “Where’s the first aid stuff?”
“Over there.” She nodded to a cupboard above the refrigerator.
Without letting go of her hand, he pulled her over to the cupboard and lifted down the red box. Then he thrust her into a chair.
“I can do it,” Celeste said. “It’s only a small cut.”
He ignored her, swabbing the cut with disinfectant on a cotton wool ball and drying it carefully with more cotton wool before smoothing a plaster over the wound. He did it all slowly but efficiently, with grim concentration.
“Thank you,” she said.
He still held her hand in his. His head was bent, so that she couldn’t see his face properly. He said, “You know why I didn’t stay with Charmian, don’t you?”
Guilty Passion Page 14
