`Come on, poppet—surely you can tell me what's wrong?'
That 'poppet' put everything back into perspective, and it didn't matter that he was treating her like the same child
he had that night he had taken her into his bed, her throat unlocked.
`I c-can't undress with you here,' she whispered.
A spurt of anger helped her at his ear-splitting grin. She didn't doubt then that he was regularly in the habit of stripping off in front of a chosen member of the opposite sex, but she had never done it before, and even married to him, she couldn't do it now.
`Oh, Tiffany—you baby!' didn't help matters, and she jerked her chin out of his grasp only to feel his arms come around her in a loose hold. 'How about if I disappear to the bathroom while you undress and get into that old faithful thing you call a dressing gown? Then when I come back you can go and clean your teeth and by the time you return I should be in bed.' He cocked his head to one side, laughter not very far away she was sure, for all he adopted a serious look. 'Well, what do you think of my master plan?'
To think that six months ago she had thought Ben Maxwell an iceberg of a man She had thought him so cold, ruthless, tiresome and belligerent, and now he was so dear to her, so infinitely lovable. Her anger evaporated and a smile she couldn't stay winged its way to him. His arms dropped away from her as her smile hit him, and he turned away muttering something about finding his toothbrush.
Coming back from the bathroom donned in her 'old faithful', she realised everything had gone according to plan except that Ben was not in his bed as he should have been, but was standing with a robe over his pyjamas, poking through her paraphernalia on the dressing table.
What's this for?' he asked, holding up a short-bristled brush.
`It's for putting on blusher,' she answered, only just resisting the impulse to grab it out of his hand.
`I shouldn't have thought you had any need of it,' he
offered, and if that was an oblique reference to the way it seemed to her he had her blushing every five minutes, she chose to ignore it.
`I don't use it all that often.' She strove for a casual note, but her tummy flipped when she saw his grin appear. And since he was still occupied poking through her things on the dressing table, she took advantage of his turned back and was in bed by the time he had finished his inspection.
`Sir Frank Whittle could have learned a thing or two from you,' he remarked.
Tiffany was smiling as she turned her head away from him on her pillow. Sir Frank Whittle, she remembered, had been one of the pioneers in the invention of the jet engine —an engine that had assisted the jet plane to move faster than sound.
She heard the other bed give beneath Ben's weight. 'Are you going to read or shall I put out the light?' his voice came quiet, matter-of-fact.
`I—I think I'm ready for sleep.'
The light went out. She heard more movement as he lay down. She had her back to him and prayed that sleep would come quickly; this was going to be a night of agony if she couldn't forget he was so close yet so far.
`Goodnight,' she said, and was ashamed of the huskiness that penetrated her voice.
It was her imagination, of course, pure imagination, that had her hearing an answering husky note as Ben said, `Goodnight, Tiffany.
She awoke to a glorious May morning to hear the birds singing, telling her how good it was to be alive. Extending her arms above her head, she stretched deliciously. She had slept well even though it had seemed like hours before sleep had finally claimed her.
Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling. She
wouldn't look at the other bed yet. Ben had probably been up ages even though without looking at her watch she knew it was still quite early. It was too lovely a day to waste in bed, but how heavenly to be able to lie here in the peace that surrounded Linwood and not to have to dash around getting ready to go to the airport. Funny, that—no matter how early she got up, it was always a last-minute dash to be at work on time.
`Are you determined not to look this way?' Tiffany's head shot round as Ben's voice shattered the calm of her thoughts to see him propped up on one elbow taking his fill of her. 'I've been waiting to say good morning to you —you've been awake ten minutes.'
Exaggeration, of course, but Ben didn't appear to be in the slightest perturbed by their enforced propinquity; she wished she could say the same for herself. She tried for the same casual note he had used, as she smiled an offhand, `Good morning.'
His shout of laughter confirmed that her 'Good morning' had been too casual, and she turned her head away as he whipped back his covers and got out of bed. 'You can look now,' his yoke tormented her, and she was forced to match his amusement when she looked back and saw him tying the belt of his robe.
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo when he calmly told her to move over and came to sit on the edge of her bed. 'I shall have to leave you to your own devices for most of the day,' he informed her. 'There are a few things I have to go into connected with the estate—I'm sorry, but it's necessary.'
`I don't mind,' Tiffany told him, but she did mind, a whole lot. She wanted Ben to herself and while freely admitting she was being selfish, she excused herself that all too soon there would be no Ben in her life.
As Frances too was at a loose end once the two men had
departed for the study, she suggested she and Tiffany went shopping, and when Tiffany agreed that it was a good idea, Frances said, 'Do you think they'll shoot us if we interrupt them to tell them where we're going?' Tiffany followed her into the study, where Frances announced, 'We're going on a spending spree.'
`Have you enough money with you, Tiffany?' Ben asked, his hand going to his wallet pocket.
Tiffany froze. She didn't want Ben's money. She heard Harvey saying to Frances, 'I expect you could do with some loose change too, couldn't you, my dear,' but Tiffany was concentrating more on making certain she didn't have to take the notes Ben was pushing her way.
`No!' she said, more sharply than she meant to, and found herself hauled up against him with his arms round her as he turned her where his father, engaged in talking to Frances, could not see her face.
`For God's sake,' Ben's voice grated in her ear, 'do you want to give the game away?' She felt sure he would have shaken her had they been alone. As it was, to the onlooker it would appear as though he was taking this opportunity to give his bride of a few months a very thorough hug before she went on her way. Tiffany heard his harsh, `If my money offends you so much you can give it back later —but for now you're damn well going to take it!'
Unbending, Tiffany stood stiffly in his arms. She knew he wasn't going to let her go until she agreed. 'All right,' she said.
Thankful that Frances was unaware of the tension she was feeling as they drove into town, Tiffany cursed herself for the independent streak in her that made it impossible for her to accept money from Ben. She knew without dwelling on it that she had spoilt things between them—they had been getting on so well too.
She gave up chasing her thoughts around in circles and concentrated her attention on Frances' guided tour of the town, and once she had pushed her despair into the background, although not the same as being with Ben, she was able to extract some pleasure for the expedition. Not that they bought very much, but by the time they were ready to return to Linwood she felt more able to face him again.
Returning the money to him was made easy by Frances returning most of her money to Harvey with a light, 'Keep that for me, darling, I didn't see anything I wanted today,' and she laughed as she added, 'But I probably shall the next time I go into town!'
Tiffany handed Ben's money back with a similar, 'Most frustrating, but ...' Ben received the notes without comment.
After dinner that night Frances confessed to feeling a little tired. 'We must have ploughed miles round the shops today.' Tiffany agreed and had the perfect opportunity of asking if anyone would mind if she had an early night. Whatever happened, she couldn't go throu
gh the same ritual of getting into bed as last night. With a bit of luck, if she went to bed now, by the time Ben came up she would be asleep.
She wasn't, of course. Frances and Harvey had come up soon after her, but it must have been a couple of hours later before the bedroom door was quietly opened and closed. She willed herself to keep her breathing even, and heard Ben moving around, quietly for such a big man.
When she dared a quick glance across at his bed the following morning it was to see it was empty, and she was glad about that. Ever since that episode in the study yesterday, things had changed between them. She felt she could no longer be natural with him, and the more she tried to counter this mood, the more stiff she felt she came across.
As for Ben, apart from the show he put up in front of Frances and his father, he was unyielding in his attitude towards her.
They were leaving today for Middledeane and much as she loved her aunt, Tiffany felt she would much rather not go. But on reflection she realised it was preferable to have a third person present to returning to the flat and being alone in his company. To think that this time yesterday she had wanted him exclusively to herself, yet now, within the space of twenty-four hours, the idea appalled her.
The journey to Middledeane was completed with barely a word passing between them. Ben seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, and not for anything would Tiffany have tried to start up a conversation with him. He seemed bent on playing Captain Maxwell of Coronet, so let him get on with it! she fumed.
His greeting to her aunt, though, was as warm as it had ever been, underlining to Tiffany that it was just her he was out with.
`Show Ben where to put your cases, Tiffany,' her aunt said, when their greeting were over. 'I've had another bed put into your room just in case you felt a little cramped in your three-quarter bed.'
That was one worry off Tiffany's mind. Her aunt's thoughtfulness to Ben's size meant she wouldn't be sitting up in a chair all night as she had envisaged.
The visit passed without incident, Ben putting in as much effort as herself to ensure that Margery Bradburn was unaware how things really stood between them. Though when they were on their own, there seemed to be a brick Wall between them. The strain of keeping her aunt from knowing the true situation began to get Tiffany down. Soon she would have to tell the dear soul that she and Ben were splitting up, and on the last day of their visit she wondered
if it was fair to spring it on her at the last minute. Wouldn't it be better to give her some hint?
Deciding against it, Tiffany stood with her aunt while Ben took their cases out to the car, but when Margery Bradburn said, 'You look thoughtful, dear?' Tiffany saw an opportunity to try and break it to her gently.
`Aunty—' she hesitated, then began again urgently before Ben could come back, thinking it wasn't fair, once more, to leave her aunt in this fool's paradise. 'Aunty, I wasn't going to say anything just yet, but,' and she paused only briefly before hurrying on, but I have something to tell you ...' The unprepared-for rapture of her aunt's smile stopped her in her tracks, then before she could say more, say anything that would turn that rapturous smile to tears, she felt Ben's arm come round her, his grip biting into her waist.
`Not yet, Tiffany,' he said smoothly, and it was she who was the most mystified of the three of them as they went down the path to the waiting car, her aunt's look seeming to say she understood perfectly that Ben wanted what she had to tell her to be a secret a little while longer.
There was no doubt about it, Ben was furiously angry; she knew the signs even if her aunt was unaware of them. He kept his arm about her waist, looking for all the world like a devoted husband as he handed her into the car and closed the door. Tiffany turned to wave to her aunt as the car turned the corner, then settled back in her seat with a picture of her aunt's beaming face still with her.
She knew Ben was too angry to want to bother talking to her, and resigned herself for a silent drive to London. But once clear of Middledeane he pulled on to a grass verge, cut the engine, and turned towards her. Tiffany knew then that he was ready to pulverise her, if not physically, then with
a few none too carefully chosen words. She wasn't disappointed.
`And just what in sweet hell were you going to tell your aunt?' he asked ominously.
`I ...' She could get no further. She had felt the strength of his temper before, but this enraged man leaning over her, his fingers digging into her arms as though suspecting she was about to open the car door to get away from him, was something new. The storm must have been building up inside him ever since Linwood, she realised, and she hastened to find her voice before he lost the small control he had when anything could happen, and by the look of it, murder. 'I w-was—that is, I ...' she tried again, and felt real fear when his hands left her arms to settle round her throat. 'Be reasonable, Ben,' she fought to hide her fear. `You know m-my aunt is all dewy-eyed over us. She's g-going to be terribly upset wh-when we split up.' The fingers round her throat tightened at her last word, taking the rest of her explanation from her as she gasped, 'Please, Ben—you're choking me !'
Only then did the mists of his rage let up slightly, and he looked at her grim-faced, as he let his hands fall. 'We'll split up when I say so, and not before,' he bit at her. 'God, you make me so mad I could cheerfully throttle you!'
Tiffany didn't think now was the time to tell him he very nearly had. But she saw some of his rage leave him, saw his control returning, but was frightened to say one word in case she triggered it off again. When his voice next came, it was icy with the control he was exerting.
`You realise, of course, that your aunt has gone hurrying to find her knitting pins and white wool.'
Wh-what do you mean?' She hadn't a clue what tack he was on now.
`Hell's bells, do I have to spell it out for you?' his voice
exploded violently, the ice fractured. 'Your aunt is under the impression that you're the radiantly happy wife of a blissfully happy husband.' That illusion would soon be shattered if she could see them now, Tiffany thought, still not with him. 'Now what,' he went on brutally, 'is she expected to think, believing as she does that we're the happiest couple since Adam and Eve, when you tell her you have "something to tell her?"'
Tiffany stared at him blankly. Then hot colour surged through her cheeks. 'You m-mean
`Exactly,' said Ben through gritted teeth. 'You've just as good as told her you're pregnant.' Oh God, Tiffany thought, feeling as though she was drowning in a whirlpool with no way out. She didn't think she was capable of any other emotion just then but sheer remorse at the pain she would be causing her aunt, but when Ben's next words reached her, rage so powerful stormed through her that it made her totally irresponsible for her actions. 'So,' he jibed, 'since we're now to believe that you're pregnant, and since I don't recall having had the pleasure,' he paused, then said his voice deliberately goading, 'perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who did?'
All her pent-up emotions of the last few days fused together in one high-powered voltage shot, and without knowing what she was doing, incensed by his jibe, Tiffany's hand arched through the air and she hit him with all of her force, catching him squarely on the side of his face. The sound of it echoed back in the closed car and her eyes widened as she saw a livid mark appear on his cheek, and she just stared wide-eyed, unable to believe as her senses returned that she was responsible for it. She knew for certain that he would choke her now, and as tears coursed silently and unheeded down her cheeks and she waited to meet her fate, she realised with beaten certainty that this
was the end of all her hopes for her marriage, and she just didn't care about anything anymore.
The shock of the touch of his hands closing over hers as they lay in her lap had her looking wordlessly at him. `Don't cry,' he said quietly, and only then was she aware of her tears. 'That was a filthy remark and I know completely unfounded.' Tiffany snatched her hands away from him to find her hanky and wipe her eyes. 'I'm most sincerely sorry,' said B
en, and she knew he meant it. But wanting to yield at the remorse in him, probably caused, she thought, by seeing her in tears for the first time, Tiffany found she couldn't
`Let's forget it,' she said woodenly, and turned her face away from him, knowing already that she had forgiven him, was so much in love with him she would forgive him anything, but to find it in her to unbend was an impossibility.
Silence followed her words, and as she refused to look at him, Ben took his hands away from her, his tones sombre as he said, closing the subject, 'You'd better ring your aunt when we get home and invent some other news.'
Though he put his foot down, the drive back to London seemed to Tiffany to be never-ending. She felt utterly spent and in no mood for idle conversation, and Ben too seemed equally used up. She thought his relief was as great as hers when he drew up outside the apartment and they were both free from the incarceration of the car.
Whether things would have simmered down between them, whether they would have found something of the friendly atmosphere that had been with them on the journey down to Linwood before she went on duty tomorrow, Tiffany knew she would never know, for all hopes of an easing of hostilities vanished into the air as Ben looked through the mail that had arrived in their absence.
`One for you,' he said, and actually seemed to be studying the postmark before handing it over to her.
If she had possessed more savoir-faire, she realised later, she would have said 'Thanks' and taken it from him to read another time, but the surprise of seeing Nick Cowley's handwriting when she had given him very little thought since her last unfortunate encounter with him had her uttering a puzzled, 'Nick,' before her scattered wits returned, and looking up from the envelope in her hands, she felt a cold chill as her eyes met hard grey eyes that threatened to pierce straight through her.
Turbulent Covenant Page 14
