'You didn't say it was wonderful this morning on the phone to Tom,' Merril observed suspiciously, sure he was acting again, and embarrassed beyond belief at the image he apparently now had of her.
'You don't imagine I'm going to tell Tom about my sex life, do you? It'd be all round the theatre in five minutes.'
'I thought he knew everything about it already?'
'He thinks he does.'
He leaned forward and dragged her towards him. 'I can't move about much because of this damned ankle. Be nice to me. Make it easy.'
Merril shuddered. His eyes were like lightning, alive, full of shock and energy. She could feel herself sinking out of reach of common sense again under their power. It was a drowning feeling. But this was why she had agreed to come back to the millhouse, wasn't it? He had told her she could opt out earlier that morning and she had wilfully pushed her qualms aside. She reached out, slipping her arms around his neck, accepting the consequences.
'At least you're not disobeying doctor's orders,' she murmured, hiding her face against his neck so he couldn't see the anguish in her eyes. 'He told you not to go flying. Was he serious?'
'I usually take a plane up on Sundays. There's an airfield just down the road,' mumbled Torrin, intent on pulling her blouse open.
'When did you learn?' she asked, clinging on to the question as if to keep talking would save her from the swooning of her senses as his hands cupped her breasts.
'At school,' he mumbled, dipping his head. 'I'll teach you, if you like.'
'Me?' She felt white heat flood over her at his touch. He bent to press his lips against her breasts, then raised his head, eyes raising over her flushed face.
'I can just imagine you in a flying suit and white Biggies scarf with all these blonde tendrils escaping from your helmet, piloting in with the latest news,' he told her, moving his hands down over her back as he brought himself up against her.
By now the buttons of his shirt were undone, and as if by magic her skirt and panties had come right off. She felt him pressing her down on to the fur rug in front of the fire and his lips began to brush a tantalising pathway between her breasts, forcing a little groan of pleasure through her lips, then he was driving her feelings to fever pitch with a magical choreography of touch that left her breathless.
*
It was evening by the time they got around to looking at the papers. 'I haven't even read my reviews,' observed Torrin, hooking one arm round Merril's shoulders while he tried to lever himself up to open the pages with one hand. They were still lying on the fur rug by the fire. 'You hold a corner he said, butting the edge of the paper with his head. 'This is too perfect a position to change just yet.'
'Maybe we should get dressed?' Merril suggested, holding one side of the paper so they could read it together.
'Tomorrow morning'll do,' he mumbled, eyes scanning a column closest to him. 'Hey, so I was right!' he exclaimed after a moment. 'Why did you deny it?'
'What?'
'You're nominated for the young journalist of the year award.'
'I am?'
'If your name's Merril Park. Is it?' he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.
Even though it was a joke, she tormented herself with the thought that he must forget some of the names some time. She read the same small paragraph. 'It's true!' she exclaimed. 'Ray must nave known even when he was telling me off the other day, the devil. I'll never trust him again!'
'Should know better than to trust media people,' Torrin remarked, and as she bared her teeth at him he said, 'Sorry!' earning a little nip of reproof before she kissed him better.
It was breaking her heart to play like this, but at least his memories of her would be good ones, and her pride would never let him know how much he was hurting.
'Dad would have been pleased I'm being nominated, even though I don't suppose I'll win,' she observed with a twinge of sadness that her father hadn't lived to see how well she was doing.
'What about your mother?'
'What about her?' Her lip curled.
'Won't she be pleased?'
'Not particularly. She never wanted me to be a journalist. She's the type who would prefer me to have a nice boring husband and lots of babies.'
'Mothers do, so I've heard. And why not? What's wrong with babies? I quite like 'em.'
'Other people's, no doubt,' Merril responded tartly. 'Well, I'm not giving up my career to be trapped in a house with a lot of howling kiddies!'
'It isn't a question of "either/or" these days, though. Lots of women seem to combine a career, a boring husband and a houseful of offspring without any trouble,' he observed mildly.
'That's not what you were saying yesterday in your study,' she retorted, examining his face to see if it gave anything away. It didn't.
'Yesterday?'
'Don't pretend you don't remember. You were unbelievable.'
'Oh, that wasn't me, that was Ron Smith. A TV part I turned down the other day,' Torrin explained with a disarming grin.
'So you were acting?'
'Couldn't you tell??
'I never can.'
'No . . .' his eyes licked over her face '. . . I do believe you mean it.'
'Don't, Torrin!' she begged.
'Don't what?' His voice had dropped several intervals, sending shivers down her spine.
'Don't—don't took at me like that…'
'I can't help the way I look at you. You take my breath away. You look so beautiful, beautiful and wanton . . . naked as nature intended—' He tried to lighten the suddenly serious mood that had got them in its grip, but it fell flat, and as if pulled together by some invisible force they came together in a burning collision of mutual desire.
I know he's only playing a role, cried Merril inwardly, but it will have to be enough. Tomorrow's heartache isn't far away. The masquerade is nearly over. And she closed her eyes, giving herself to Torrin's loving touch without restraint.
*
The rest of the time spent at the millhouse, living up to her image of it as a secret love-nest, made Merril feel as if she was cocooned in a fairy-tale world of love. As long as she could ignore the future, it was paradise enough to lie awake in Torrin's arms, forcing sleep away so she wouldn't miss a single precious moment of their last hours together.
She could hear the cascading of the water through the sluice as it fell from the silent depths of me millpool to the narrow cut that would take it tumbling down the hillside to the river in the valley, and later, much changed, to join the sea, and she felt her love was like that, rising from a deep source within her, then pitching headlong, turbulently, joyfully, inevitably, to become as limitless and enduring as the ocean itself.
It seemed impossible for love like that to come to an end. She could not believe as the hours of the night unfolded that, come morning, she and Torrin would part for ever. Yet she would have to watch him say goodbye—their two or three nights of love complete.
The Jaguar pulled into the side of the road, straddling the double yellow lines outside the office with lordly defiance of the regulations, and Torrin was the first to come to life, sliding across the leather seat to open the door for her and climbing out on to the pavement to help her out.
Breakfast at the millhouse had been a silent affair. Merril, determined to walk away with her head held high, with a show of style Torrin would respect, had been unable to pretend to the extent of carrying on light-hearted chit-chat over the muesli. Not when her heart was lying in a thousand pieces at her feet: Engulfed in misery, she could only go through the motions, answering when spoken to, reserving her comments for practicalities, desperate to see some sign that he had changed his mind. But there was no sign. What he said, he meant. She had chosen to give herself to him and now she had to face the consequences.
He was taking his time about climbing back into the car. The journey had passed in almost total silence. It had seemed as if he was waiting for Merril to break down, plead with him perhaps to let her stay, but pride wo
uld not let her give him that satisfaction.
He was looking at his watch. 'You're early. What about coffee before you go in?'
'You don't drink coffee,' she reminded him.
Torrin was about to say something, then stopped. His shoulders braced and he dug both hands in his jacket pockets. 'Thanks for looking after me this weekend. I hope the article writes itself. And—er—good luck with the award. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.' He sounded like someone reciting a rather boring speech rehearsed too often.
'Thank you.' Merril looked up at the glass box into which she would soon have to disappear. There didn't seem much left to say. 'I hope I don't misrepresent you.' She tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace. She dashed a hand across her eyes.
'All right?' He bent his head, but she shied back.
'It's nothing—some dust. It's gone now.' She blinked once or twice. 'Well, that's that, then. Thank you for your time,' she said stiltedly. She wondered if it was always like this for Torrin the morning after. He playing it cool, trying to make things easy, the girl dashing away tears, on the verge of breaking down. He must be able to see how she felt.
Unable to bear it any longer, she swivelled suddenly and, without looking back, ran up the shallow steps into the building before he could call out.
'Had a good rest, sweetheart? I must say you're looking blooming!' It was Mike, Merril's rival at the next desk. She had spent twenty minutes in the Ladies erasing all traces of emotion from her face.
'I feel terrific, thanks,' she lied. 'I've been working, actually.'
'Oh, yes?' Mike's glance narrowed.
'Relax, it wouldn't interest you. I was doing that piece on Torrin Anthony. Didn't anybody mention it?'
'Only each of the secretaries, singly and at great length, including the married ones, but apart from them, no . . . Except for every other woman in the building,' Mike added as an afterthought. There was a suggestive glint in his eyes when he asked, 'Does he live up to his reputation, then? Bet you didn't have much time to make notes!'
She smiled, extending a hand to tap her notebook. 'It's all here, Mike. And I'm just wondering how much I'd get for it from our rivals down the road.' Then she remembered with stark precision just what Torrin's own rider to that remark had been, and she bit her lip, swinging forward in her seat as if she'd got plenty to be getting on with. .
Luckily, Mike was busy and she could return to her secret misery under a pretence of filing a report.
The day seemed to drag. By the time she managed to leave, superstitiously avoiding the place where their goodbye had taken place, the lights along the street were already coming on. Merril headed for Charing Cross tube, forcing herself to pass the theatre with his name emblazoned all over the front, but not daring to let her glance slither along the side of the theatre to the stage door.
It took her mind off Torrin to have to fight her way through the rush-hour crowds, and when she finally reached the flat she burst in with a hello to Annie that sounded cheerful enough to fool the most astute listener.
'So, aren't you the lucky one!' Annie, beaming, came straight through from the kitchen, a big blue and white apron tied around her middle, long red hair fastened back in a scarf knotted at her nape:
'Lucky?' Supposing she was referring to the weekend, Merril tried to give a smile, but Annie was already pointing to an enormous bouquet of flowers lying on the sitting-room table.
'Need I ask what took place? Would I be so tactless!' She bustled back as a smell of burning wafted through the open door. 'They were outside when I got in from work,' she called over her shoulder. 'There's a card underneath.'
Hands shaking, Merril lifted the flowers and opened the envelope that was there. 'To Merril,' she read. 'From Torrin.' That was it. No greeting. Well, what had she expected? It was a gracious thank-you to one of life's little luxuries.
Unable to stop herself, she felt her face begin to crumple, then sobs were racking through her body, and somehow Annie was holding her and bit by bit the whole story was tumbling out as between sobs Merril tried to explain what she didn't yet understand herself. 'How could I be so stupid?' she sobbed. 'I've behaved like a complete idiot, but I just couldn't—I couldn't help it,' she cried. 'I don't know what came over me. I knew what I was doing. He warned me. He said, don't— don't expect anything . . .
'He's a bastard. He's not worth a single, solitary tear. Men like him deserve to be shot. You'll see that when you've had a good cry.' Annie proffered a' box of Kleenex and, seeing that Merril was incapable of drying her own tears yet, dabbed randomly at her face, murmuring, 'You'll feel better soon, love. It'll soon be over.'
Merril let Annie make her a cup of tea, sipping it and giving her a shamefaced look that expressed what she felt now. 'I must have been suffering from some form of madness,' she said at last. 'He didn't make me any promises. At first, you see, it was different. He seemed—well, I suppose he simply tried to get me into bed in a sort of straightforward manner. I didn't really believe he meant it when he started to say he loved me.'
She stopped. 'Obviously I didn't believe it. Even though he would have seemed pretty plausible if I hadn't kept remembering he was an actor. I was feeling—well, something pretty wild, too. I mean—hell, Annie, he is gorgeous.' She bit back the tears and tried to arrange her feelings so that they made sense.
'We had a sort of argument. I suppose he was annoyed that I was holding out against him. I don't know—it's all a bit of a haze. Ana then I remember running away from him into the garden --'
'The beast! He scared you that much?'
'No. Oh, I don't know. I thought I'd show him. I thought I'd get away—I was just scared, I knew I was going to give in—guessing even then what would happen if I did. I kept trying to tell myself he didn't live up to my ideal, but it's as if I didn't really look at him properly until too late. I made myself keep thinking of Azur instead. I even taunted him a bit --'Merril bit her lip.
'And it made him mad?'
She nodded.
'So then he threatened to show you what a real man was like?'
She nodded again. 'Something like that. But not so obvious . . .'
'What happened when you ran outside?'
'I nearly drowned. I fell into his damned millrace.'
'Millrace?' Annie opened her eyes.
So Merril told her all about the house and the chauffeur-driven Jaguar and the mansion in the park.
'Gee! He's not some sort of drug merchant, is ne? It costs, property like that. A Jag, for heaven's sake! Are you sure it didn't belong to the theatre?'
'No. It seemed to come with the mansion.'
Annie gave her a sympathetic hug. 'If you're going to lose your head and your heart, you may as well do it in style! But, Merril, you'll get over him, really you will. Tell me,' she interrupted herself, 'what happened when you fell in the millrace? Did he turn out to be a wimp? Did you have to drag yourself out, covered in weed?'
'Not at all. He was fantastic. I must have knocked my head on a rock or something, because I passed out, and when I came round I was lying in his arms in the grass on the riverbank further down. He was soaked, so I guess he'd had to dive in after me. He also fractured his ankle and went on stage that night without a murmur, not telling anyone till after the show. It must have been excruciating for him.'
'The show must go on.'
'Exactly.' Merril ignored Annie's ironic tone. 'The theatre doctor thought he needed locking up, by the look on his face. So did his dresser, Tommy. And, I suppose, so did I. It was the way he was then as much as anything that made me realise I'd been so wrong about him. It was the sort of thing Azur would have done, maybe, or Dad.'
'Of Superman. That's the type you really go for, isn't it?' remarked Annie.
Merril ignored the hint of criticism. 'We had to stay in town overnight, so we went to a hotel, and it was then I did the most stupid thing in my entire life—I seduced him.'
'You seduced him?'
'I know. It see
ms unbelievable now.'
'Oh, Merril, you mean you let him persuade you into thinking you were making the running?'
'No, it wasn't like that at all. I really was,' she admitted, shamefaced again.
'And he just lay back and let it happen? After making such a play for you at the beginning?'
'By this time he seemed to have decided that he didn't want to know,' Merril mumbled.
'Neat technique. I wonder if it always works?' Annie looked contrite. 'Sorry, darling, I'm just an old cynic. Take no notice. But it does seem unlikely he'd be totally indifferent to you,' She gave Merril's vivacious blonde beauty an appraising look, noticing with the detached vision of a fashion writer that she really did have the looks men went mad for, and shook her head wonderingly. 'Are you sure you haven't misunderstood him? Did he seriously tell you it was all over between you?' She glanced at the mass of long-stemmed roses.
Merril's lips set in a firm line and she could only nod. She took another sip of tea, by now cold, but she scarcely noticed. When she felt braver she said the words engraved on her heart. 'He said, "I'm not your dream lover—I'm flesh and blood. I'm open to temptation like any other man. I don't want commitment. I'm a coward—you were right." And it's true, Annie. He meant every word.'
'So he sends you flowers? Red roses, note.'
'It's just his style.
'Style? To go around breaking hearts?' Annie got up. 'You could have any man in town and you go and choose a cold, conniving beast like that? Darling, I'll give you two days to get over this little heartbreak, then I'm going to take you in hand. I'm not having one of the most gorgeous friends I possess pining away over a worthless, arrogant man who hasn't the brain to recognise a good woman when she throws herself into his bed. Be warned—this is war!'
Merril was grateful for Annie's no-nonsense approach, even though she didn't for a minute go along with it. Torrin wasn't any of those things Annie said, it just looked like that because she hadn't been able to explain properly what he was really like. How could she, when, as Tommy had told her, he was an original?
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