by Anne Mather
Lesley made a helpless movement of her shoulders. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘You’ll let me have him?’
Her lips tightened. ‘Temporarily.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You used the word—temporary custody of your son, you said. Well, I don’t have any choice—this time.’
‘This time?’ His brows drew together. Even in the filtered light from the neon lighting outside she could see his perplexity.
‘Yes.’ She clenched her fingers tightly together. ‘You hold all the cards at the moment, I can see that. I can’t fight you, and you know it. But—but if things were different, if I had a home to offer him …’
‘What do you mean—a home?’ His mouth drew into a thin line. ‘Are you thinking of trying to divorce me? Of marrying again?’
Lesley held up her head. ‘That would be quite a solution, wouldn’t it? I could fight you on your own terms then!’
Carne uttered a frustrated sound. ‘All this talk of terms—and fighting …’ He shook his head. ‘For God’s sake, Lesley, why should I have to fight for what’s legally and morally mine?’
‘Oh, morals, is it?’ Lesley’s temper was briefly dispersing the gloom and despondency that had gripped her in the restaurant. ‘You’d know a lot about them, of course.’
Fortunately the glass screen was between them and the driver, and the diffused lighting kept their faces in shadow. But Lesley sensed his interest by the way his eyes kept moving to the rear-view mirror and she moved as far into her corner as she could, staring out blindly at the busy streets.
After her last little outburst, Carne had said nothing, and as the busy thoroughfares gave way to the quieter squares of Holborn, her nerve began to give out on her. They would reach St Anne’s Gate in a few more minutes and once she got out of the cab who knew when she would see him again.
‘What—what will you do?’ she ventured at last, and his eyebrows lifted.
‘When does term end?’
‘Thursday week—that is, a week on Thursday.’
‘The fifteenth, then.’
‘Is it? Yes, I suppose it must be.’
‘How does he get home?’
Lesley hesitated. ‘By—by train. To Paddington. I—I meet him there.’
‘I see.’ Carne frowned, and then the taxi was drawing up at the block of flats, and the driver swung open the door for them to get out.
Lesley followed Carne on to the pavement, expecting him to bid the driver to wait. But he didn’t. He paid the fare and then, seeing her surprised face, remarked: ‘I can walk!’ before guiding her towards the entrance.
As they waited for the lift, Lesley wondered what else he wanted to say. She felt sick and drained inside, unable to look beyond the holidays, contemplating what might happen if Jeremy should find he preferred Ravensdale to London.
When she would have rummaged for her key in her bag and opened the flat door, however, Carne’s hand on her wrist stopped her.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘There are things that need to be said before we join your mother.’ He saw her eyes jerk to his hand and released her. ‘Like, for instance, I want you to come to Raventhorpe, too.’
‘What?’ Lesley’s face went even paler than before. ‘But you just said—–’
‘—that I didn’t want to spend all my time with Jeremy in your company—yes, I know. But you’re forgetting something. Jeremy hasn’t seen me for over two years. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to expect us to—take up where we left off as though nothing had happened.’
Lesley moistened her upper lip. ‘You really think I might agree to come to Yorkshire!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have a job. That’s what all this is about, or had you forgotten?’
Carne leaned against the wall beside her. ‘You also have holidays,’ he pointed out. ‘Which, your mother tells me, you take when Jeremy is at home. Why shouldn’t you take a week of that holiday at Raventhorpe? If not for mine then for Jeremy’s sake.’
Lesley moved her head determinedly from side to side. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
She stared at him with incredulous eyes. ‘You ask me that?’
Carne straightened. ‘I should have thought, after your impassioned appeals to me to let you care for our son, that you’d welcome a week spent in his company. Or are you prepared to spite yourself and wait until Christmas in the hope that he won’t want to come back to Raventhorpe again?’
Her composure crumpled. ‘You’re a cruel swine, Carne Radley!’
‘Practical,’ he corrected her grimly.
Lesley shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. ‘And what will your mother say?’ she taunted. ‘Aren’t you afraid she’ll think you’re trying to persuade me to come back?’
‘Oh, no!’ Unwittingly, she had caught him on the raw, and suddenly his hands were gripping her shoulders, forcing her round to face him. ‘No,’ he said again, looking down into her resentful face. ‘She won’t think that. She knows exactly how I feel about you!’
‘Does she?’ Lesley refused to let him see how he had hurt her, and out of the depths of her humiliation came the words to exacerbate his already uncertain temper. ‘Does she know that holding me like this makes you tremble?’ she asked contemptuously, turning her eyes to the white knuckles that showed through the brown skin. ‘How you fight to disguise the fact that I can still arouse you just as I always did? Does she know that, Carne?’
His hot breath was expelled into her face, faintly scented with the odour of Campari. The hands gripping her shoulders tightened convulsively and the blood drained out of her arms, leaving them numb. He was fighting desperately to control the desire to shake her until she was as weak and helpless as a broken stem, but beneath the mask of frozen fury something else was stirring. She saw it in his eyes, in the tiny flames that licked along the chips of black ice, in the twisted sensuality of his mouth; and she felt it in the feverish heat from the body that leapt the space between them to bring a wave of perspiration out all over her.
‘You little bitch!’ he muttered, his eyes dropping to the low vee between her breasts. ‘What do you want from me? Blood?’
‘Is that possible?’ she got out, and then his mouth was crushing hers, bruising her lips against her teeth, forcing her mouth open.
His hands dropped to her waist, jerking her against him. Her thin dress was no barrier to the throbbing pressure she could feel between them and her hands groping to push him away lingered against the taut muscles. So many memories rose to blank out the angry passion in his eyes, and although she knew his strongest emotion at that moment was hatred, she couldn’t prevent her body from moulding itself to his …
It was eight years ago, and while Lance had been outlining the proposed questions he intended to ask in the filmed interview which was to follow, Lesley had stood and shamelessly watched Carne, stirred as much by the muscles that moved beneath his brown skin as by the arguments he made in favour of an independent farming treaty. He was twenty-six at that time, broader then than he was now, but marriage had fined him down. Compared to Lance, whose bulky frame seemed pallid by comparison, he was younger, stronger and definitely attractive, with an unconscious earthy sexuality that had excited Lesley’s susceptible senses. She had never known anyone with such dark eyes before, and encountering those eyes upon her had been aware of her own instantaneous response. He had been aware of it too, she had known that, and the faint humour in the smile he gave her after the interview was over had both tantalised and irritated her. She didn’t want to be attracted to a farmer, she had told herself contemptuously, forcing herself to think of all the intellectual people she met in the course of her work. But Carne was not unintelligent, and over the lunch his mother had reluctantly provided for the television crew in the kitchen of Raventhorpe, he had demonstrated his ability to hold his own with the best of them. That fact, combined with his good looks and disturbing personality had made Lesley’s preconceptions seem rather
weak and childish.
Even so, she had been prepared to dismiss him as rather conceited and arrogant until he offered to show her round the farm before she left. Lance and his technicians were reloading the equipment, but she did not ask his permission before eagerly agreeing, which made a mockery of her pretence of indifference. Carne showed her the milking shed and the stables, the mare with her young foal, the Friesian cattle which he told her held the record for the best milk-producing herd in the district. He showed her the pedigree bull in his pen, whose beady little eyes drove her a little closer to her escort, and in the high barn, with its bales of hay and pitchforks, the tall ladders leading up the loading gantry, with the sun streaming in through the cracks in the timbers, in that earth-soaked atmosphere, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Until then, she had not known what kissing was all about. She had been kissed before, mauled even by boys at university, but never had it felt like this; this aching, drowning feeling, that made her want to wind her arms around his neck and never let him go. When he had drawn her down into the hay, she had gone with him willingly, surrendering herself to him with a wanton abandon which she would remember with embarrassment later. But right then, it had seemed the right thing to do.
Of course, it had to be his mother who found them. Fortunately she came soon enough to prevent anything but the most passionate kind of petting, nevertheless, Lesley had been hot and shamefaced, not at all amused by Carne’s lazy indifference. His words had sent his mother away, but not before Lesley had seen the jealous resentment in the older woman’s eyes and felt the whiplash malice of her tongue.
Carne had picked the straws out of her hair and helped her to straighten her shirt and waistcoat. Her denim suit showed little harm from its contact with the straw, but she had felt cheap, and convinced that he imagined she was easy game for any man.
Lance had looked at her a trifle strangely when she returned to the others, and she wondered whether Mrs Radley had said anything to him of what she had seen. Then they thanked Carne for his help and wished him goodbye, and Lesley had travelled all the way back to London with an awful sinking feeling in her stomach.
She had never expected to see Carne again, but his reappearance outside the studios one evening had driven all thoughts of self-recrimination out of her head. He had been waiting for her beside the old Ford convertible he had been driving at that time, and the girls she had emerged with had stared admiringly at the tanned dark man leaning against its bonnet.
‘Hi,’ he said, and when he swung open the passenger side door, she had not hesitated before climbing inside.
Their courtship had been brief and hectic. They were hungry for one another and the demands of the flesh imposed an almost irresistible strain upon them. But Carne had insisted on marrying her before going to bed with her, and as Jeremy was conceived during the first days of their honeymoon, Lesley was glad she had not tried to persuade him to change his mind. As it was, their first night together had been spent in the hotel in Paris where Carne had booked a suite for the all-too-short week he could spare away from Raventhorpe, and Lesley had come back to her new home convinced that nothing could ever separate them again …
She came back to the present to find him thrusting her angrily away from him, wiping blood from his lips which when she licked her own she realised came from her mouth.
‘No,’ he was saying harshly, looking at the blood on the back of his hand. ‘I won’t let you make a fool of me again!’
‘I? Make a fool of you?’ she choked, and he nodded.
‘What would you call it?’ he demanded. ‘Ravensdale is a tight community. Can you imagine what was said after you left?’
‘Is that why you want to take me back again?’ she cried futilely. ‘To prove that you can?’
‘If that’s what you choose to think,’ he conceded, with a cold bow of his head, and as she half turned towards the door it opened, and Mrs Matthews’ face appeared.
‘Oh, Lesley, it is you!’ she exclaimed, and then her eyes moved on to Carne. ‘Carne! Are you coming in?’
‘Carne was just leaving, Mother,’ declared Lesley, brushing past her, but when she would have left them, his voice halted her:
‘Thursday,’ he said. ‘Thursday the fifteenth. What time is the train?’
Lesley hesitated. ‘Three—three fifteen,’ she admitted unwillingly. ‘Why?’ She forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘You can pick him up here.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll pick you up here before meeting the train.’
Mrs Matthews looked perplexed. ‘You’re talking about Jeremy?’ she asked. She looked at her daughter. ‘Lesley, what’s going on?’
‘You should know,’ muttered Lesley, and then relenting added: ‘Carne is taking Jeremy for the holidays. Just as you wanted.’
‘And Lesley is coming, too. For a week,’ Carne stated, daring her to contradict him. ‘To help the boy get settled in.’
‘You are?’ Even Mrs Matthews looked surprised at this, and Lesley pursed her lips.
‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’ She took another step and then looked back at Carne. ‘The last week—the last two weeks of his holiday. Can he come back here? I—I’d like to have some time alone with him.’
Carne shrugged. ‘We’ll discuss it later,’ he observed non-committally, and not waiting to wish him goodnight, Lesley disappeared into the living room.
Her mother found her in her bedroom, standing before the long mirror of her wardrobe, tugging a brush through her hair.
‘Well?’ she said challengingly. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’
‘No.’ Lesley shook her head.
‘But you’ve agreed that Jeremy should spend some time with his father. I’m glad about that.’
‘I haven’t agreed anything,’ replied Lesley shortly. ‘I was presented with an ultimatum. But I expect you know about that. As you and Carne have been corresponding!’
‘He told you?’ Her mother nodded.
Lesley put down the brush and unzipped her dress. ‘Do you mind leaving me alone now? I’d like to go to bed.’
Mrs Matthews hovered uncertainly by the door. ‘It is for the best, dear,’ she murmured persuasively. ‘Try and see it that way.’ And when Lesley didn’t reply: ‘How do you think Jeremy would feel if he grew to a man without even knowing his father? I mean, you never know. He might have blamed you. Boys will be boys, you know. It’s not like having a daughter, is it? Boys are much more—much more—–’
‘Independent?’ Lesley’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes, I know. Lucky boys!’
But after her mother had left her, so too did her attitude of control. With a sob of despair, she sank down on to the side of her bed and buried her face in her hands. What a situation she had got herself into! But not by her own doing. Not by her doing at all. Her mother had planned this. Even if she wasn’t well, there was no excuse for her going behind her daughter’s back and writing to Carne, and Lesley couldn’t help wondering whether this idea hadn’t been introduced before Mrs Matthews became ill. She remembered too well how impatient with Jeremy her mother had been at Easter, how eager to get him out of the flat and away from the cluttered bric-a-brac of its rooms. Of course, she was not a young woman, but she was not old either, though she had an old woman’s fanaticism for the valueless objects she had collected over the years. If only she had realised, Lesley thought now. She would have made other arrangements—somehow.
In bed, between the cotton sheets, her thoughts irresistibly shifted to Carne and that amazing scene in the corridor. It had been an accident of genius to turn the tables on him like that, although in the all-concealing darkness she conceded it had almost been her undoing. What had put that particular weapon into her hands? How had she known that he would not reject her with the contempt that could shrivel her soul?
With trembling fingers she traced the swollen scar on her lips where his mouth had forced them against her teeth. A shiver of alarm slid along her
spine. She had forgotten how aggressively Carne could hold her, how rough his touch could be. But she hadn’t forgotten the feel of his hard body, she remembered now, sliding her hands down over her breasts, provocatively pointed beneath the cotton nightshirt, to the smooth line of her thighs. It was more than five years since they had slept together, but she could recall the feel of his body close to hers in the early morning. She hadn’t forbidden him her bed, he had chosen to sleep elsewhere, but no one could entirely destroy those memories.
Rolling on to her stomach, she tried to sleep, but it was impossible. There was Jeremy to think about, her darling Jeremy, who soon now was to learn that there was another world besides the one he had always lived in. Another world, where mating wasn’t a rude word, and women worked alongside their men instead of playing bridge and giving tea parties. What would he make of that world? What would he make of his father? And his other grandmother …
CHAPTER FOUR
PADDINGTON STATION was crowded with a mixture of holiday makers and commuters, and parents there to meet their children from the Taunton train. Standing by the booking office, Lesley tried not to look too obviously for Carne’s tall frame, but it was almost a quarter of an hour since he had disappeared to make a phone call and Jeremy’s train was due in five minutes.
Nervous fingers smoothed the skirt of the tan-coloured smock she was wearing, and occasionally she lifted a foot and examined the plain wedged sandals with a critical eye. But nothing could rid her of the feeling of imminent disaster that had gripped her ever since Carne arrived at the flat that afternoon, and her anxiety for his return owed more to the distraction of his presence than a desire for his company.
Shifting her bag from one hand to the other, she wondered for the umpteenth time whether she ought to have warned Jeremy what to expect. But what could she have said? Surprise, surprise, Daddy’s going to take you to his home for the holidays! The father you haven’t seen for three years, and can hardly remember, is trying to take you away from me! Over-dramatic, perhaps. Her throat tightened. But how could you introduce such a topic in a letter? Instead, she had contented herself by telling him that they were going to spend part of the summer holidays on a farm. She had not explained that the part she would spend would be much shorter than his. That could come later. It had, however, irritated her to realise that in spite of her resentment towards Carne, it would have been even harder if he had not insisted on her accompanying them. But that didn’t make it any easier for her.
