Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion
Page 11
Catherine was furious. ‘And you came all the way from Cavendish Mews just to tell me this?’
‘Not exactly.’ Neil held up his head. ‘Naturally, I was concerned—’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you were my wife—’
‘Were being the operative word,’ retorted Catherine, pushing an indignant Hector off her knee, and getting to her feet. ‘How dare you think you can come here and make any remarks about what I do or don’t do? My life is my own, Neil. And I’ll do what I like with it.’
Neil’s mouth took on a sullen twist, but he didn’t get up. ‘Well, who is he?’ he demanded, looking up at her.
‘Who?’ Catherine put her hands on her hips and regarded him contemptuously. ‘You said men, didn’t you?’
Neil did get up then, emptying his glass and setting it down noisily on the coffee-table. ‘Stop trying to provoke me,’ he said. ‘You know who I mean.’
‘Do I?’ Catherine found she was enjoying this in a funny, self-derisory kind of way.
‘Yes.’ Neil’s mouth worked uncertainly. ‘Is it someone I know? Not—Simon Lewis!’
‘It’s none of your business.’ Catherine was adamant.
‘Then it is him!’
‘No, it’s not.’ Catherine was frustrated, but she refused to give him that satisfaction. Neil had always regarded Simon as a bit of a wimp, and it would have cheered his ego no end to think that Catherine had been compelled to resort to his company. ‘It’s no one you know, but that’s as far as I’m prepared to go. Now—will you?’
‘Will I what?’
‘Go,’ said Catherine pointedly. ‘And mind your own business in future.’
Neil looked at her rather strangely now. ‘I always thought you were my business,’ he said, surprising her again. He bit his lip. ‘I still love you, you know, Cat.’
Catherine caught her breath. ‘No, you don’t—’
‘I do.’ Neil’s expression grew faintly resentful. ‘If you hadn’t been so all-fire keen to pursue your career, we’d probably still be together. A man only goes looking for what he can’t find at home.’
‘Oh, honestly!’ Catherine stared at him. ‘Is that the excuse you’ve invented?’
‘It’s not an excuse—’
‘Well, it certainly sounds like one.’ Catherine couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘I thought you were in love with Marie. At least, that’s what you told me when you said you were leaving.’
Neil shrugged. ‘I thought I did.’
‘You thought you did!’
‘Yes.’ Neil made a defensive gesture. ‘But—well, things haven’t been too good between Marie and me lately, and then, when I saw Mrs Scott—’
‘You thought you’d come and say your piece!’
‘As I say, I still care about you, Cat—’
‘Do you?’ Once, that would have meant so much, but now it was only academic. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Neil, but I don’t care about you. Not any more.’
‘I don’t believe that—’
He grabbed her arm then, trying to pull her towards him, but Catherine fought him off. One of the advantages of being as tall as she was, she thought wryly, realising she wouldn’t have escaped Morgan so easily. She suspected Neil’s real motive was that he resented her becoming involved with anyone else. It was all right so long as he thought she was sitting at home, pining for him. Discovering she was making a life of her own must have really pricked his ego.
‘It’s the truth,’ she said, when she was free of him, rubbing the arm he had held with rueful fingers. ‘You can’t rekindle something that’s already dead and cold.’
Neil scowled. ‘I suppose you think this man, whoever he is, will marry you,’ he sneered. ‘Getting a bit old to play the field, aren’t you, Cat?’
This was more like the Neil she remembered, and Catherine sighed. ‘Just go, Neil.’
‘Oh, I will.’ Neil moved aggressively towards the door, and Hector scurried out of his path. ‘But don’t forget what I’ve said. You may be riding high now but this bloke may not be so keen when you tell him you can’t have children.’
Catherine closed her eyes as he passed her. Only Neil would have brought that up, she thought disgustedly. Why hadn’t she ever realised before how mean and small-minded he was?
Opening her eyes again, she picked up Hector, and followed Neil along the hall, noticing almost inconsequently how thin he was. Even the trousers of the suit he was wearing looked too baggy on him. Unwillingly she was reminded of Morgan’s hips, and his buttocks, which were lean and tight beneath his jeans, but tautly muscled. Morgan’s legs, too, were not like Neil’s legs. They were muscled, as well; strong and powerful. Not like the legs of someone who worked in an office at all, she reflected, with sudden perception. Was that why his skin was so darkly tanned? she wondered. Because he was more used to working outdoors? Of course, it could be because he did a lot of sports, she argued. Water-sports, or skiing; golf, even. One thing was for sure—he was unlikely to tell her.
‘I’ll go, then.’ Neil had opened the door, and paused on the step. Catherine inclined her head.
‘Goodbye,’ she said, unconsciously stroking Hector’s ears as she spoke, and Neil’s lip curled.
‘What’s he?’ he asked contemptuously. ‘A substitute?’ and Catherine slammed the door in his face, no longer able to hide her feelings.
Of course, she still had Kay to face, and Catherine was not surprised when the other girl appeared midway through the following morning. But, just as she was preparing to fend off the inevitable questions, Kay said, ‘Are you free for lunch?’
Catherine blinked, and adjusted her spectacles. ‘For lunch?’ she echoed, surprised at the invitation. It was months since she and Kay had had lunch together, and, whenever they did, it was always planned days in advance.
‘Yes. Today,’ said Kay, glancing over her shoulder, and Catherine guessed she was taking Mr Hollingsworth’s threats seriously. ‘I have to talk to you.’
Inwardly, Catherine groaned. She could guess what about. Why couldn’t people just allow her to get on with her life, in her own way? she wondered wearily. They meant well, she was sure. At least, some of them did. But she wasn’t a child, after all. If she made mistakes, that was her prerogative.
Now, she shook her head. ‘I—don’t know, Kay. I am—pretty busy.’
‘It’s important,’ said Kay flatly, and, realising she couldn’t put it off indefinitely, Catherine gave in.
‘Oh—all right,’ she said, resting her elbows on the table and cupping the back of her neck with her hands. ‘One o’clock, OK?’
‘One o’clock,’ agreed Kay, with none of her usual ebullience, and, watching her friend walk quickly across the floor and out of the office, Catherine surmised that she was in for another lecture. But why? she pondered wryly. Morgan was Denzil’s cousin, and they had engineered the introduction. Surely the fact that Morgan had kissed her in full view of the accountancy department didn’t warrant some kind of formal warning? They didn’t know the half of it, for heaven’s sake!
Still, Kay had always been fairly straight with her, and she supposed she did owe her an explanation. She just hoped she could get away without being too honest. There were things about her association with Morgan that she preferred to keep to herself.
They went to Salki’s, a little Italian restaurant in the next street, where the pizzas tasted nothing like the pre-packed ones Catherine occasionally bought at the supermarket. She studied the menu with a jaundiced eye, aware that everything she liked was at least a thousand calories, and then rejected her misgivings. So what? she thought resignedly, choosing the deep-pan cheese and tomato, with extra cheese, for good measure. She might need this. Kay was looking awfully serious.
The waiter brought a pot of coffee for them to share while their pizzas were cooking, and Kay waited until Catherine had added cream and was stirring the fragrant brew before she said shortly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Morgan?’
Kay snorted. ‘Don’t give me that! Not after what happened yesterday.’
Catherine could feel a faint prickling of irritation. What gave Kay the right to speak to her like this? she wondered tightly. When had she ceased to function as an intelligent adult?
‘What did happen yesterday?’ she enquired, refusing to make it easy for her. ‘Why don’t you refresh my memory?’
Kay looked a little disconcerted now, but she ploughed on. ‘I never thought you could be so—so irresponsible!’ she declared tersely. ‘It’s not as if you don’t know what kind of man he is!’
Catherine expelled her breath carefully. ‘What kind of man is he?’ she demanded. ‘You tell me.’
Kay ran distracted fingers into her mop of blonde curls. ‘I always thought you were so sensible,’ she said, evading the question. ‘When Denzil suggested you should join us for dinner, I was sure it would be all right. I mean,’ she spread an expressive hand, ‘you said yourself, you didn’t want to get involved—with anyone.’
Catherine caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Does it matter?’ She paused. ‘What is wrong?’ A cold hand gripped her heart. ‘He’s not really married, is he?’
‘No!’ Kay’s dismissal of the idea was so derisory that Catherine was forced to believe her. ‘I told you. He was married—once. But that was over before—well, years ago anyway,’ she finished hastily.
Catherine shook her head. ‘So? Why all this?’ She indicated the restaurant. ‘I can’t believe you brought me here just to express your disapproval.’
‘I didn’t.’ Kay gave her a resentful look. ‘Honestly, Cat, I thought you had more sense!’
Catherine felt a twinge of perception. ‘Don’t you mean, you expected Morgan would have?’ she suggested drily.
‘What do you mean?’ Kay’s face turned red, and, realising she had struck a nerve, Catherine pressed on.
‘I mean, you didn’t think Morgan would be interested in someone like me, did you?’ she asked equably. ‘As you said, he is a very attractive man. Why would he go for someone who couldn’t even keep her own husband?’
‘It’s not like that!’ Kay looked indignant now, but Catherine suspected there was a grain of truth there, somewhere. ‘I’ve never blamed you for Neil walking out.’
‘Denzil does.’
‘Yes—well, Denzil likes Neil. They’re a lot alike.’
More than you know, thought Catherine drily, but she merely acknowledged her friend’s words with an indifferent lift of her shoulders.
‘Anyway, that doesn’t alter the fact that your getting involved with Morgan Lynch is—not a good idea.’
Catherine was pretty sure Kay would have preferred to use a stronger expletive, but experience had taught her caution, too. Waiting until the waiter had set their pizzas down in front of them, she went on in the same conciliatory vein. ‘You don’t understand, you see,’ she said, taking out her frustration on the pizza, ‘Morgan was in Vietnam.’
‘Was he?’
Catherine barely whispered the words, but, before she had had the chance to consider the implications of this revelation, Kay continued.
‘He volunteered, you see. He didn’t have to go, of course. Denzil never did. And with Morgan’s father—well, never mind about that now. Suffice it to say that Morgan has never done what his family expected of him.’
Catherine frowned. ‘But what has that to do with my seeing him? I’m not,’ she added swiftly. ‘But—if I were.’
‘Oh!’ Kay sighed. ‘Must I spell it out for you? You know what happened to men in Vietnam!’
‘I believe it was pretty horrific.’
‘There was nothing pretty about it,’ retorted Kay grimly, and Catherine inclined her head.
‘All right. Perhaps that was the wrong word to use. I assume you’re saying he saw active service.’
‘He enlisted, Cat. Of course he saw active service.’
Catherine sighed. ‘Well, I’m sorry if I seem obtuse, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.’
‘He was captured, Cat. By the Vietcong. They tortured him!’
The smell of the pizza was suddenly more than Catherine could stomach. Pushing her plate aside, she poured herself another cup of coffee, hoping Kay wouldn’t notice that her hands were trembling.
‘Now do you see what I’m getting at?’ Kay demanded, apparently as indifferent to the food as her friend. Having mangled her pizza, she too pushed the plate aside, and propping her elbow on the table, she rested her head on her hand. ‘When he came home, he spent at least two years in a mental institution!’
Catherine felt sick. Physically sick. All around them, the sounds of the restaurant were going on. Plates clattering, cutlery jangling, the steady hum of conversation from the patrons. But all she could hear was the keening sound Morgan had made that night he’d slept on her sofa, and all she could see was his sweat-streaked face, as he’d apologised for waking her up.
‘Are you OK?’
Kay was looking at her oddly now, and, realising she couldn’t allow the other girl to know what she was thinking, Catherine managed to nod her head.
‘Yes, fine,’ she lied, even though she had never been so close to throwing up. ‘Er—could we get out of here, do you think? I’m not very hungry after all.’
‘Nor am I,’ admitted Kay, summoning the waiter with evident relief.
Outside, the cool damp air was reviving. Catherine could feel the nausea receding, and the colour came back into her face. The Vietnam war had been over for fifteen years, she reminded herself. There was no way those sadistic monsters could hurt him now.
‘So you see, don’t you,’ said Kay, continuing her argument, as they walked back to the office, ‘it’s crazy for you to get involved with someone like him. Oh, I know he’s Denzil’s cousin—second cousin,’ she amended, as if it was important to emphasise that remove, ‘but Denzil only acknowledges their relationship because he has to.’
‘He has to?’ echoed Catherine, still busy with her own thoughts, but catching those words, and Kay sighed.
‘Well, you might as well know, I suppose,’ she said shortly. ‘Denzil will probably kill me when I tell him I’ve told you, but Morgan’s father is General Lynch. He’s virtually retired now, but he was one of the security advisers at the Pentagon.’
‘I see.’
The pieces were beginning to fall into place. That was no doubt why the Sawyers had been obliged to invite Morgan to dinner. As he was General Lynch’s son, Denzil couldn’t afford to offend him. Not overtly, anyway, she appended, remembering how the two men had almost come to blows.
‘Anyway, I’m glad we’ve had this talk,’ Kay said, as they reached the swing doors of the office building. ‘I mean, we have been friends for a lot of years, haven’t we? And I couldn’t let you go on thinking Denzil was to blame for what happened the other night.’
‘Kay—’
‘No. Let me finish. Morgan Lynch is poison, believe me. Actually, Denzil thinks he’s still half-crazy; him, and that man who looks after him, both. His father should have left him down in Florida. He seemed happy enough there. But, no, General Alexander Lynch had to have his son doing something for his country, even if Morgan himself has no interest in the work.’
‘At the Embassy?’
‘At the Embassy,’ agreed Kay, preceding Catherine into the lift. They were alone, and, pressing the button for the fourteenth floor, she gave the other woman a penetrating look. ‘You do agree, don’t you? You do see that there is absolutely no sense in going any further with the relationship?’
Catherine forced a tight smile. ‘I’ve told you,’ she said, ‘we’re not having a—relationship. We had—lunch together. That’s all.’
Kay looked sceptical. ‘But you did let him kiss you—’
‘Well? Insanity’s not co
ntagious, is it?’ enquired Catherine politely, and Kay gave her a doubtful look.
‘You’re not—I mean—you wouldn’t…see him again, would you?’ she ventured, clearly troubled by her friend’s ambivalence, and Catherine was glad when the lift doors opened at the fourteenth floor and she could get out.
‘Tell Denzil I appreciate his concern,’ she replied, without really answering. ‘Oh, look, is that Mr Hollingsworth looking for you?’
By the time Kay had realised this was just a diversion, Catherine had put at least a dozen yards between them. And, as her office lay in precisely the opposite direction, she could hardly follow.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she called, as Catherine disappeared around the corner, and Catherine was relieved to avoid any rejoinder.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A WEEK LATER, Catherine was forced to face the painful fact that she was unlikely to see Morgan again. He hadn’t phoned; he hadn’t called; she had had no communication with him whatsoever. Even the flowers he had sent the previous week were already losing their petals, and, although she knew she should throw them out, she had put off doing so. It was stupid really, but they had become her only remaining link with him, and, despite the fact that he had never touched them, they were the only tangible reality.
Of course, it had made things easier at Bracknells. She could tell Kay honestly that she was not seeing Morgan, and, without his disruptive influence on her life, she was able to put all her energies into her work. She suspected some of her appraisals were not as shrewd as she would have liked them to be, and the judgements she made weren’t always verified by their performance. But she plodded on regardless, determined not to give in to her emotions.
After all, it wasn’t as if they had had a real relationship, she told herself when she felt really down. At best, it had been a one-sided affair, with her being completely frank about her divorce—well, almost, she amended—and Morgan clamming up every time she asked a personal question. If she thought she knew now at least part of the reason why he had been so reticent, that didn’t really change anything. It simply reinforced the fact that she hadn’t known him—not the real Morgan Lynch, at any rate. All she had been permitted to see was the face he showed to the rest of the world, the guarded mask that hid so many secrets.