by Anne Mather
Sophie hunched her shoulders. ‘Do you think I .haven’t?’
Simon uttered an imprecation. ‘You should have known it was no good. The parents were always against it.’
‘I didn’t know that until just recently, you may remember,’ she reminded him tremulously. Then the need to hurt him as he had just hurt her overcame scruples. ‘If that’s so, why do you say you want me? Surely the same criterion will apply.’
Simon’s lips twisted. ‘Ah, but I’m prepared to use a little strategy. I’m in no hurry. I can wait. I can wait until you’ve taken your degree, made something of your life. A lot can happen in five or six years, and a woman in her twenties is a different proposition from a teenage girl.’
Sophie turned away from him again. His cool, calculated planning was distasteful to her. Did his mother know how he felt? Would she be in agreement when the time came?
‘I—I might meet someone at university,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘University or Greece—I don’t see the difference so far as you’re concerned.’
‘At university you’d still be in England—accessible, in other words. And if you found someone else-‘
He shrugged. ‘I’d face that when I came to it.’
‘Oh, Simon, don’t talk like this.’ She put her fingers over her ears. ‘You can’t arrange people’s lives for them.’
Simon rose to his feet. ‘I promised the vicar I’d take those slides over to show him this afternoon. Do you want to come?’
Sophie shook her head, not looking up, and with a grimace Simon walked away, Sophie watched surreptitiously until he had disappeared into the house and then lay back on the lounger. Was she never to cease being shocked by her family’s duplicity?
Robert, Laura, Simon—they all tried to manipulate people to, their own ends.
The following evening John took Sophie to dine at an hotel on the outskirts of Hereford. It was quite a large place, newly opened and popular, and several people recognised and spoke to them as they took their seats in the restaurant. Knowing herself to be the cynosure of several pairs of eyes made Sophie nervous, but John soon put her at her ease with his amusing banter. His eyes told her she was attractive, and his good humour showed that he was enjoying himself. And indeed, Sophie had taken pains with her appearance in defiance of the family’s’ disapproval.
Her dress was the second of the gowns Laura had bought for her while Emma was staying with them, and although at the time they had acquired it Sophie had thought it the least attractive of the two, she had now revised her opinion. It was very plain, and made of white crepe jersey, but only this evening had she realised how it moulded the swelling curves of her slender figure and threw the honey gold of her tan into relief. If nothing else, it assured her that she was a woman, and not the child she was sometimes regarded as.
After the meal they sat in the attractive bar lounge with its barrel-shaped bar and swinging coloured lights. They talked about inconsequential things mostly—films and television, books they had read, places they had visited. It was all very easy and relaxing and Sophie really enjoyed herself.
They drove back to Conwynneth soon after ten and by mutual consent parked the car at the end of the drive so that John escorted her the final few yards on foot. The house looked dark and deserted and she recalled that her parents and Simon had planned to go to the Pages that evening. It was still quite early. Obviously they weren’t home yet.
In the porch of the house, Sophie turned to John gratefully, her silvery hair swinging softly about her shoulders. ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ she said warmly, touching his arm. ‘Thank you for being so nice.’
Even in the gloom, Sophie saw his mouth twitching with amusement. ‘I’m sure that’s an adjective calculated to choke off the most ardent suitor!’ he mocked. ‘Nice! Oh, yes, I must remember that.’
Sophie giggled. ‘You know what I mean. You are nice. I only wish - ‘ She broke off, and opening her bag rummaged around for the key she always kept there. She brought it out triumphantly, and then looked up at him again. ‘Well, goodnight, John.’
John frowned. ‘Is no one at home?’
‘I don’t think so. My parents are spending the evening at the Pages’. They’ll be home soon.’
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
Sophie hesitated. ‘I—no, I don’t think so, thank you. They wouldn’t—like it.’
John nodded. ‘Okay, so we say goodnight here. Goodnight, Sophie,’ And before she could stop him, he bent his head and implanted a firm kiss on her mouth.
She gasped when he let her go, because almost at the same moment a light was switched on in the hall of the house, illuminating the porch with unexpected brilliance. She looked at John again and made a helpless little gesture. ‘Obviously I was wrong. They are home.’
John looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure? You don’t want me to check and find out?’
‘Why? You don’t think—oh, no!’ Sophie’s face revealed her disbelief. ‘No thief would turn on all the lights.’ Then she gathered herself. ‘Well, there’s one way to find out.’
She turned the handle of the door and it opened inwards. ‘You see—it’s not locked.’
She stepped into the hall. ‘DaddyI Mummy, I’m home!’
Her father’s study door was open and she walked rather gingerly towards it, ridiculing herself for the faint sense of apprehension she was feeling. ‘Daddy…’ She said again, tentatively. ‘Is that you?’
She almost took a step backward when a man did -emerge from the study, but it wasn’t her father. It was Robert. ‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said bleakly, his gaze moving beyond her to John still standing on the porch, one foot raised to rest on the step as though poised to jump to Sophie’s aid should that be necessary. ‘Hello, John. I thought it might be you.’
John looked taken aback. ‘I understood from the vicar that you left yesterday morning, Rob. What are you making? A series of flying visits, or is Emma with you?’
The introduction of Emma’s name was deliberate and Sophie tensed. But all Robert did was shake his head. ‘I’m alone, John. Literally alone.’ His eyes flickered to Sophie, moving over her without apparent pleasure. ‘Where are the parents?’
‘They’re—they’re at the Pages’.’ Sophie’s shoulders moved involuntarily. ‘Simon, too, I think.’
‘I see.’ Robert looked again at John. ‘Are you coming in or leaving right away?’
John raised his eyebrows. ‘Do I have a choice?’
Robert made a negative gesture. ‘That’s up to Sophie, I suppose.’ And he turned and went back into the study, closing the door with a definite click.
John shook his head as though unable to understand his erstwhile friend’s behaviour. ‘Well, Sophie?’
‘I think you’d better go,’ said Sophie firmly, moving to the door and sliding her fingers over the handle. ‘Thank you again for a lovely evening. I did enjoy it.’
‘Good,’ John nodded, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘So did I.’ He hesitated, looking as though he would like to say more. But then he turned away.
‘Okay, Sophie, I’ll be seeing you.’
Sophie closed the door behind him with some relief. It wasn’t relief at his departure so much as relief that Robert had not chosen Jo cause any more trouble. She had the feeling that if she had invited John in, Robert would have appeared again, and the outcome did not bear thinking about.
With a little sigh, she dropped her evening bag on the hall table, kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. She was thirsty and she knew there were some tins of ice-cold Coke in the refrigerator. She was pouring Coke into a glass when she became aware that she was being watched.
Robert was leaning against the door jamb, lean and arresting in a dark blue silk shirt and navy corded pants. He, too, was barefoot, evidence that he had been home for some time.
‘He’s gone,’ he stated unnecessarily, glancing round the kitchen.
‘Yes.’ Sophie finished p
ouring the Coke and indicated the glass. ‘Do you want some?’
Robert shook his head. ‘Where have you been?’
Sophie forced herself to swallow some of the Coke before replying. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her, she wasn’t. ‘We had dinner at—at some hotel near Hereford. The Swan—is that right? Have you ever been there?’
‘I suppose he invited you out while he was here yesterday.’ Robert’s tones were even, but there was an underlying note of menace which Sophie was not unaware of.
‘I—yes, as a matter of fact, he did.’ She paused. ‘Actually, he invited me out a couple of weeks ago, but I was taken ill and—and couldn’t make it.’
‘Oh? When was that?’
Sophie took another determined sip of the Coke. ‘We—that is, Simon and I went to a dance at the village hall. John and—and his fiancée were there. It—it was while Emma was here. They invited her to go with them. Did—didn’t she tell you?’
Robert seemed disinclined to answer her questions. ‘And do you like him?’
Sophie could feel herself colouring. ‘What a question!’ she managed lightly. ‘Of course I like him.’
She was unprepared for Robert covering the space between them in two easy strides and dragging her round to face him, his hands cruelly hard as they gripped her forearms. ‘How much do you like him?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Tell me! I want to know.’
Sophie caught her breath, holding on to her glass with both hands, like a lifeline.
Fortunately it was almost empty or she would have spilt the contents down her dress.
‘I—I just—like him,’ she got out unsteadily.
‘As you like Simon?’ He paused. ‘Or me?’
Sophie struggled to free herself. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business.’
‘Don’t you?’ He wrenched the glass out of her fingers and thrust it impatiently aside.
Then he hauled her closer to him, so close that she could feel the stirring warmth of his masculinity through the soft material of her gown. ‘Sophie, I’m not asking out of idle curiosity,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘I don’t have some perverted streak that demands you reveal your innermost feelings to me. But-‘ He hesitated, looking down the neckline of her dress to where the hollow between her breasts cast a tantalising shadow. ‘I have to know, Sophie. I have to know whether in the company of John—or Simon—or someone like them, you can forget the things we said to one another on the river bank a few weeks ago!’
Sophie gazed up at him, and his eyes lifted to encounter hers. Her eyes were wide and troubled, and her fingers sought futilely to lever his from her arms. ‘How—how can you ask me that?’ she choked. ‘Oh, how can you?’
Robert continued to stare down at her as though he would penetrate her very soul, and then with a groan, he nodded. ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’
He released her arms and would have slid his arms around her then, but she took the moment of weakness to break free of him, backing away to the wall behind her.
‘Please,’ she begged, her breath coming low and shallowly. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’ She turned her head desperately from side to side. ‘I don’t know what you want of me, but I can’t give it.’
Robert came towards her, ignoring the appeal in her voice, the tremor that revealed her state of emotion. He backed her up against the wall and then placed one hand on either side of her, successfully blocking any escape. His dark face was sombre, and although she could not be unaware of his physical sensuality his thoughts were successfully veiled by the thickness of his lashes.
Having trapped his prey, Robert seemed in no hurry to go further, in a physical sense, that is. On the contrary, he seemed to gain a certain amount of satisfaction from just watching the play of emotions over her expressive face, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin material of her gown, exulting in his power over her.
Sophie’s palms were pressed against the wall at her sides and the tension of the past few weeks was tightening like a physical knot in her stomach.
‘Oh, please,’ she entreated him urgently. ‘Robert, let me go!’
For an answer he lowered his body against hers, his lean thighs demanding an intimacy which she had no strength—or will—to deny him. Then he bent his head, his mouth seeking and finding hers. His fingers parted her lips, cupping her face, probing the curve of her nose and cheeks,- the hidden hollows of her ears. He reached for her hands, drawing them up to his body as though she had the right to do with him as she willed. With a little sob, she wound herself against him, responding with an abandonment that would shock her when she thought about it later, not much caring that their parents might come home at any time and find them like this.
And, in fact, it was the sound of her father’s car in the drive that brought Sophie to her senses. Weakened as he was by the demands of his own body, Robert was in no state to stop her when she dragged herself away from him and escaped to the lounge before the front door opened. She had the sense to close the kitchen door behind her as she went, giving Robert a little more time to pull himself together. When her stepmother came to the door of the lounge, she found Sophie curled up in an armchair apparently intent on reading a copy of Country Life.
‘We saw the lights,’ remarked Laura, coming in and taking off the shawl she had been wearing about her shoulders. ‘We knew you must be home.’
Sophie cleared her throat. ‘As—as a matter of fact, Robert was home—before me,’ she said.
A frown drew Laura’s brows together. ‘Robert? He’s here?’ And at Sophie’s nod:
‘Where is he?’
Doctor Kemble and Simon were following her into the lounge now and Sophie took a moment to speak to them before replying in what she hoped was a casual tone: ‘I—er—I think he’s in the kitchen. I’m not sure.’
Laura looked at her husband. ‘Robert’s here,’ she said blankly, going past him to find her elder son.
‘Robert?’ Doctor Kemble turned to Sophie. ‘Robert’s here?’
‘Oh, yes!’
Sophie sounded irritable, but she couldn’t help it. A rising surge of emotionalism was threatening to overwhelm her, and she took refuge in irritation. Now that she was recovering from that devastating interlude in the kitchen, a feeling of shame and self-disgust was sweeping over her. How could she have behaved so wantonly? she asked herself bitterly. How could she have let him touch her in such an intimate way? It was like Simon had said. Robert was a swine, making love to her while his fiancée was alone in London. Was he naturally promiscuous? She would not have thought so. Or was it simply that the thing that sprang between them was too strong for him to resist? The bond had always been there, she had to admit that. But she was a fool to allow him privileges which he obviously regarded in no serious way. If their parents had not arrived home as they did, might she have found the temptation to know his possession greater than she could resist? And if she had, what then…?
‘How long have you been home, Sophie?’ asked Simon, and she knew he was wondering how long she and Robert had been alone together.
She managed to shrug. ‘I don’t know exactly. Twenty minutes—half an hour, maybe.
Why?’
‘I just wondered.’ Simon turned away, digging his hands into his jacket pockets.
‘Does anyone want any coffee?’
Doctor Kemble was seating himself comfortably in his chair by the presendy empty fire grate. He reached for his pipe and then looked up. ‘What? Coffee? Hmm— yes, I could drink some. How about you, Sophie?’
Sophie uncurled herself. ‘Not for me, thanks.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Would you mind if I went to bed, Daddy? I am rather—tired.’
‘Not at all, my dear.’ But Doctor Kemble’s smile was rather anxious.
Sophie bent to kiss his cheek. ‘See you in the morning. Goodnight, Simon.’
She heard the sound of Robert’s and her stepmother’s voices as she approached the kitchen, but she had to say goodnight as though nothing
was wrong. Pushing open the door, she said: ‘I’m going to bed, Mummy. Goodnight.’
Robert was standing by the fridge, drinking from a can of beer, but he lowered the can and wiped his mouth when he saw Sophie. Although she knew only she was aware of it, there was still a vaguely languorous look in his eyes, a sensuous twist to his mouth. Just looking at him she could feel rivers of emotion running through her veins, moistening her palms, weakening her knees. She wanted to go back into his arms and stay there, and the knowledge brought the hot flush of colour up her cheeks.
Fortunately, Laura was filling the kettle at the sink and was too wrapped up with what she had been saying to Robert to pay a lot of attention to Sophie. She scarcely glanced at the girl, saying shortly: ‘All right, Sophie. Goodnight!’ without even offering her cheek to be kissed as she usually did. Sophie closed the door behind her and ran up the stairs to her room feeling sick with reaction.
All the while she undressed and went into the bathroom to have a wash, she went over what had happened a dozen times. At school, in the seclusion of the dorm at night, she had indulged herself in fantasies about Robert, but never in her imagination had she experienced the overwhelming surge of feeling he had inspired in her tonight. It wasn’t fair, she told herself over and over again. It wasn’t fair that he should arouse her as he had and then expect her to behave as though nothing had happened. No amount of shame or self-recrimination could rid her of the memory of the hungry possession of his mouth, or compensate for the undoubted ecstasy complete surrender would bring.
She scrubbed hard at her teeth. One thing was becoming apparent—she would have to go away from here, away from Robert’s presence, away from the devastating possibility that one day she might give in to him, might lose all self-respect and any chance of happiness with someone else. And if he should already be married…
She clenched her lids tightly, feeling the hot wetness of tears trickling down her cheeks. She must control herself, she thought fiercely. Crying would solve nothing.
