'Do you like pheasant?'
She nodded.
'Good.'
Again, it was delicious, perfectly cooked, the vegetables were crisp, light. Every mouthful she took nearly choked her, but she managed to eat a little, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on her plate. She knew he was watching her closely, as a snake might watch its prey, and his hard-eyed gaze made her nervous.
'You haven't changed much, you know.' He spoke so suddenly that she almost knocked her glass over, and looked up startled to see his face was closed, thoughtful.
'I remember when you were born.' The cold grey eyes never faltered. 'I was seven then, home from school. My mother took the call. The families were still friends then, of course. It was before…' He shrugged. 'I watched you grow up, Luisa.'
'I don't recall…'
'I do.' He looked at her coldly. 'We went to visit you once, my father and I. You were staying with some aunt…'
'Aunt Con. She's dead now.'
'That's right. Your mother was still alive then, I think.' He paused. 'You were up in the nursery with Claudia, but you came down to tea. I remember you sitting in the corner, never saying a word, watching everything. A funny pale quiet child, with this extraordinary hair.' He broke off. 'You were twelve, I think.'
'I don't remember.' But she did, she thought. She remembered every time she had met him, and certainly then. The embarrassment among the grown-ups, the veiled allusions. And a tall dark proud boy, sitting to one side watching them all with contempt.
He gave a sudden harsh laugh.
'Of course, it was Kit you took to, wasn't it? Quite an adolescent flirtation. We spent a summer together once, all four of us, do you remember that? The year before your mother died. In Scotland.'
Luisa put down her knife and fork; she knew she had gone pale.
'I don't want to talk about all this.'
'Too many memories?' Julius looked at her coldly. 'As you like.'
'And I don't want anything else to eat.'
'I see.' He smiled mockingly. 'Coffee?'
She stood up quickly, almost knocking over the chair in her haste.
'Will you please stop this! It's unbearable!'
'Perhaps I should have continued to let you think I was Kit.' His words cut across her harshly, and she swung round, startled by the venom in his voice. 'Would that have been more bearable, Luisa?'
'No, it wouldn't!' she cried. 'I…'
'Shall we go upstairs?'
He moved towards her, and she knew he was about to touch her again, to take her arm, but she forestalled him, moving quickly out of his reach. She turned to the door, and he drew back, opening it for her with insolent courtesy. Not looking back, she went ahead of him, along the passage, and back to the hall. But there her nerve deserted her. She turned into the drawing-room.
'In here?' His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Instinctively she had moved towards the warmth of the fire, and he stood just inside the room, watching her. She was shaking all over, but all she was conscious of now was that she had to get it over with, had to get out of his house, away from his words and the memories they conjured up out of the darknesses of her mind, away from him and his cold clever appraising eyes. Trying to steady her hands she moved them impatiently to the neck of her dress, fumbling with the catch, the long zip that snaked down her back. Julius made no move to help her, and said nothing. The catch had tangled in her hair; impatiently, aware that her cheeks were burning, her eyes vivid with tears, she struggled to free it. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then he crossed quickly to her.
'Let me.'
She felt the catch give; felt the glancing touch of cold hands against the skin of her back as he undid the dress with one easy movement. For a moment she paused, clutching the black folds of the dress to her throat. He stepped back, his arms folded, and watched her, as if he were looking at something inanimate, a statue in a gallery, and the coldness in his manner suddenly filled her with a terrible anger. It was he, not she, who should be ashamed at all this, she thought. And she would make him feel that shame.
She loosed her hands, and the dress, with its wide sleeves, slipped from her body to the waist. She was wearing nothing underneath its top, and her small high rounded breasts were naked to his eyes. She heard him give a sharp intake of breath.
CHAPTER FIVE
For a moment neither of them moved. Curiously anger had taken her beyond modesty, but it had not given her detachment. Her breath came quickly, lifting her breasts; her hands trembled, and the silence of the room seemed immensely loud to her ears. Their eyes met for a long moment, and she was unsure what she saw in Julius' face— desire perhaps, but also something like pain, perhaps anger. The grey eyes were shadowed,, and his hands did not move from his sides. The silence lengthened, beat in on her, until she could bear it no longer.
'Well?' The words came out like a taunt, and he moved.
He stepped towards her, and without touching her he bent his head and kissed her lips. She kept herself rigid, unresponsive, but her control was not needed; the kiss was brief, cold, dismissive. He stepped back, lifted his hand, and then let it fall again.
'Cover yourself,' he said harshly. Luisa stared at him, transfixed.
'God damn it, you heard what I said!'
His eyes met hers with a look of such dislike, such hatred, that she wanted to hide her face from it. But she steadied herself, drawing a deep breath, staring at him in confusion. For a moment she was aware of something else within her, another emotion, akin to disappointment or want, and she felt colour wash up her neck and across her face. Silently, slowly, she gathered up the folds of the dress.
'Shall I go, then?' Her voice sounded forced, near to breaking.
He crossed and dismissively helped her arms into the sleeves, did up the zip, hardly touching her, as if proximity to her filled him with distaste.
'No,' he said facing her once more. 'Sit down. I want to talk to you.'
'I wouldn't have thought there was anything to say,' she cried bitterly.
'Well, there is.'
Suddenly he looked terribly tired, exhausted; all vitality had left his face. Something in his voice, not just the imperative of its tone, but the fierceness of it, stopped her arguments. As quietly and calmly as she could, she sat down, and after a moment Julius crossed and sat next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, he staring into the fire, his face averted. Covertly she looked at him, at the harsh profile of forehead, nose and chin, the eyes shadowed by the dark straight brows. Something near pity moved within her for a moment; he was a man now; when he was a boy there had been something in his face, an openness, a vulnerability— surely she remembered that? But it was gone now, and she did not want to think of the past. She looked away.
On his left hand he wore a plain gold signet ring—it had the crest of some bird of prey on it, she remembered its being given him for his twenty-first birthday. Now he circled it upon his finger with his long, curiously beautiful hands; his knuckles were white with tension.
At last he spoke, his voice light, cold, dismissive, professional: as if he were summing up to a jury, Luisa thought sadly.
'If you'd given me the chance I should have explained.' He paused. 'I'm not interested—in all that. Not with you.'
Pain shot through her like a knife, and her eyes widened. Julius saw her reaction and smiled bitterly.
'Obviously you're relieved.' He paused, and when she didn't answer, went on, never looking at her. 'I don't need another woman, or another mistress, and seducing unwilling girls isn't something that gives me a particular kick.' He smiled coldly. 'In spite of all the literature devoted to the subject, in my experience it's time-consuming, tiresome, and generally unpleasurable. For both parties. I prefer…' he hesitated, '—well, shall we say I prefer women of experience.'
'I see.' She could feel the pain behind her eyes, knew it was close to welling into tears, but she kept her voice flat and dull.
'In short. You're ve
ry beautiful, Luisa. But not my type. There's a certain mixture of heat and ice in you which is initially intriguing, but…' He shrugged and broke off. 'Please don't cry,' he said coldly, as the tears spilled silently from her eyes 'There's no necessity to get emotional about this, is there?'
'Maybe not for you!' Luisa stood up, and stared down at him accusingly, brushing the tears angrily from her cheeks. 'No doubt you're enjoying this very much. Setting me up, playing me along, letting me think… putting me through all this! And for what? So that you could—extract every last variation on the situation, humiliating me, shaming me… God, Julius, I hope you're satisfied!'
'Yes, well, I'm sorry to have put you through such a range of maidenly emotions,' he said sarcastically. 'However, I've changed my mind. And I should have said so earlier, if you'd given me the chance.'
'No, you wouldn't!' She stared down at him angrily. 'Because then your nasty little revenge wouldn't have been complete, would it, Julius?'
'Revenge?' He smiled up at her mockingly. 'Well, I must admit that it was all quite entertaining, watching you wrestle so hard with your conscience. I admit to being quite intrigued to see how far you would actually take all this, Luisa. And at what point you might or might not admit to yourself that your motives were not entirely as altruistic as you'd like to believe…'
'How dare you! You mean you think I… I wanted to go through all this?'
'You showed a remarkable alacrity in undressing.' He paused, looking up at her insolently. 'In fact, I'd have said you were quite practised at it. No…' he moved with amazing grace and speed, catching her hand even as she raised it to strike him, 'we won't go through all that again, I think.' He paused, holding her tightly and painfully. 'You'll listen to me for a change.' He smiled coldly down into her flushed upturned face. 'I have an alternative suggestion to make.'
'Oh, have you? Well, I'm not interested!'
'You'd better be. As far as I'm concerned, our bargain still stands. It's just that I'd like to suggest an alteration of the terms. You could be extremely useful to me, Luisa.'
'Useful?'
'Oh yes.' He smiled at her coldly. 'As I said, I have no need for a new mistress. I do, however, have need for a wife.'
'What?' His words stopped her struggles to free her wrist, and she stared at him, frozen with disbelief. Julius let go of her, and sat down composedly, as if daring her to walk away, to turn from him. As he had known she would, she thought bitterly, she stayed, mesmerised, watching him.
'May I explain? It's quite simple really.' He paused, his voice crisp now and businesslike, devoid of emotion. 'I'm thirty-two. As it happens quite rich. I'm considered successful at what I do—for what that's worth. Up until now I've had no inclination to marry and considerable success at avoiding the intrigues of those women who sought to persuade me to do so. However, I find it increasingly tiresome. If I married…' he hesitated, 'I should be free of all that.'
She stared at him. 'Are you saying you'd marry… to give yourself an… an escape clause, an excuse?'
'Something like that.' He smiled. 'It would be an extremely convenient way of ending any other relationship that threatened to become too involving, don't you think?'
'I think it's the most evil, horrible suggestion I've ever heard! You can't mean it!'
'Oh, but I do. What's marriage, after all? A contract, a legal contract. If you doubt that, you should work on some' of the divorce cases I've handled, and see what happens when people decide to disentangle it. Do you think they talk about love, responsibility, need, then, Luisa?' He laughed bitterly. 'I can assure you, they don't. They talk about money and property. About possessions. Maybe you don't believe me—you're a romantic, of course.'
She stared at him, all the anger slowly seeping away, and made no answer.
'So—it's always seemed to me that if one married it would be much more honest to regard it as exactly what it really is—a contract, one engaged upon by both parties, clearsightedly, without hypocrisy; a business agreement. No more, no less. And certainly free from all those inherited notions of true love and eternal truth that happen to be so unfortunately locked up in most people's consciousness.'
'How can you say that?' she interrupted him passionately. 'It… it isn't true! Of course… things go wrong. It doesn't always work out. But at the beginning, the promises people make, the words they say…'
'Oh, that?' He laughed. 'Well, if they say them and they mean them—and I agree that the ritual aspects of the marriage ceremony are most poetically expressed… but if they make those promises, then they have to stick by them, don't you think?' He looked at her coldly. 'It really won't do, Luisa, to talk so ingenuously about things going wrong, about change. Either marriage is immutable, or it isn't. And as—in our society—it clearly isn't, then I think one has a duty to say so, to invent a new kind of marriage. As I say— no poetry, no high-flown vows. A business and legal arrangement.'
'That isn't a marriage!'
He shrugged. 'It's an alternative.'
'I don't think it will catch on!' Luisa laughed at him scornfully.
'Possibly not. People have an endless capacity for self-deception. Look at your own family.' He stood up. 'However, it's what I'm proposing.'
'To me?'
'Certainly.' He gave her a long cold look. 'You could be extremely useful to me, Luisa, in innumerable ways. This house would benefit from a woman's presence; a hostess is a role Myers can't, alas, fulfil. It would enable me to live my private life…' he paused, 'as I want to live it. And I think we might get on together perfectly well, don't you?'
'Of course I don't!'
'Why not?' He looked at her calmly, as if her vehemence did not convince him.
'I… I don't love you!'
'I see.' His mouth tightened, and there was a brief silence. 'Well, I see you cling to your romantic illusions. Perhaps I should spell it out for you. I'm suggesting a purely platonic arrangement.'
'Platonic?'
'But of course,' he said smoothly. 'You would have no need to fear any advances from me. You can have your own room—and you needn't worry, Luisa, about locking the door. I have no liking for forcing myself in where I'm not wanted.'
'I shouldn't have said so!' she said sharply. Julius gave her an odd glance as if her words pained him.
'Perhaps I just wanted to be sure on that point,' he said lightly. 'Now that I am…' He broke off. 'Well? Perhaps you'd be good enough to give me an answer. And—before you speak…' He lifted his hand, and touched her hair with a surprising gentleness. 'You might remember, we still have an agreement. Now we're just negotiating the terms.'
Something in his voice made her hesitate. 'An agreement?'
'Yes.' He looked directly into her eyes. 'You might call it a long-standing agreement.'
'Long-standing?' She stared at him.
He turned away suddenly with a gesture of impatience.
'Do you think you could stop repeating my phrases in that idiotic fashion? It's extremely irritating. You know exactly what I mean. I know you now find it difficult to distinguish me from my brother, but presumably your memory for the past hasn't totally been wiped out?' He paused. 'I find it revealing, to say the least, that you're so unwilling to talk about Scotland…'
Their eyes met. There was a long silence. Luisa felt her blood pound in her ears, felt the years slipping away before her eyes, saw his face changing, growing younger, gentler, so different from the way it was now. Scotland. She put her hand to her eyes.
'I see…' she said softly.
His eyes registered her words at once. Recognition, and something like triumph came into his face.
'Then you haven't forgotten?'
She stared at him silently. Suddenly the room seemed infinitely still beyond the clamour of her heart. The shapes of the furniture in the room blurred; she saw only his pale intent face, the watchfulness of his eyes.
'Well?'
'It was so long ago…' Her voice faltered, and broke off.
; 'Well now,' he smiled coldly, folding his arms, 'perhaps we could refresh your memory. You remember the house, for instance?'
'Of course I remember the house!' Suddenly she could feel sweat begin to bead on her forehead.
'And you remember the loch, perhaps? And the moors behind the house?'
He was leaning against the chimneypiece, his cold eyes never leaving her face. As he said the words an image of the place was conjured up in her mind; instantly she felt her pulse quicken, and a feeling of sick unease lurch in her stomach.
'Well, do you?'
'Stop this!' She rounded on him angrily, something like fear giving her voice strength. Julius registered her reaction—it seemed to surprise him, but obviously he chose to ignore it.
'And you remember our being there, presumably? Your Aunt Con. Claudia and you. Myself.' He paused. 'And Kit.'
'That's enough!' Violently she turned away from him. 'You're not in the court room now. You can't cross-examine me. Leave me alone. I don't remember!'
'Don't remember, or don't want to remember?' With a swift sudden movement he was beside her again, reaching urgently for her arm. 'Which is it, Luisa?'
She managed to evade his grasp, and turned her face angrily towards him. Somewhere at the back of her mind she could feel other, darker, memories start to crowd in on her, and she knew only, blindly, that she must keep them at bay.
'That's a ridiculous suggestion!'
He stopped, regarding her narrowly and intently.
'Is it, Luisa? I'm not so sure. You'll have to face up to the past sooner or later, you know. Why not now? What are you afraid of?' He paused. 'Of what happened, or of what you felt?'
'Be quiet! You're obsessed by the past—you've talked of nothing else since we met…'
'Perhaps because it was important to me,' he said quietly, cutting across her words, but she rushed blindly on, ignoring his tone, knowing only that he must never know what she felt, that all she wanted to do was forget, forget what she might have felt, forget everything.
The Devil's Advocate Page 8
