Carver's Bride

by Nicola West

  'You're beautiful, Linzi,' he muttered thickly, and he ran one hand with exquisite tenderness down the length of her body. 'There's not one part of you that isn't beautiful—perfect. Linzi, I've dreamed about this moment. It's kept me awake at nights, the thought of you in my arms at last, warm and willing, ready to be mine. Sometimes I thought the time would never come—but it has, Linzi my darling, hasn't it? Hasn't it?'

  His last words were an urgent whisper against her mouth. Linzi felt his fingers making their exploration of her body; tracing a line of flame from the hollow of her throat, circling her breasts, teasing the nipples into erection; curving over her stomach and the soft warmth of her thighs. Her mind reeled, her thoughts fused in a bewildering whirlpool of excitement. Her arms snaked up round his neck, dragging his mouth hard against hers, and as they drank deeply of each other's kisses, she let one hand slip forward to unbutton his shirt. With a thrill of delight she felt his skin touch hers, and then he was fumbling at his waistband, drawing away from her to slide out of his own clothes . .. and coming back to claim her, stretching the full length of his massive body against hers, moving against her in a way that had her whimpering for fulfilment.

  'Not yet, my sweet,' he murmured raggedly, his fingers playing upon her body as a violinist plays upon his instrument, turning her to an exquisite rapture before letting her attain the final crescendo. 'Not yet. We've a lot of time behind us, a lot of catching up to do ... and all the time in the world in which to enjoy doing it.' His mouth found hers again, gentle yet possessive, his lips manipulating hers to fresh joy. Linzi let her body move against his, delighting in the smoothness of her skin against his rough maleness. Tentatively at first, then more boldly, she let her hands make their own journey, pressing against the hardness of his ribs, the flat stomach, the taut skin of his thighs. Sinuously, he shifted closer still, gathering her against him, enfolding her in himself so that they lay twined together, moving gently in unison, a tangle of warm passionate human flesh.

  'You know something?' Jason murmured as his lips found the lobe of her ear and played with it. 'I'm never letting you go again. This time you stay—and you stay for good. Nothing's going to come between us this time, Linzi, but nothing.' His arms tightened and Linzi gasped for breath. 'There just isn't room!'

  And then, even as he shifted his position for the last, final assault of ecstasy; even as his body snaked over hers, his knee driving between her thighs, Linzi saw again the pictures in the American magazine. The pictures Selwyn had gloated over. The pictures that, if Jason ever saw them, would fill him with a horror and repugnance even deeper than hers, too deep for him ever to understand or believe her innocence.

  She couldn't let it happen. But if she let this situation continue, if she let Jason possess her now, so that she was utterly committed to him—happen it would. And the hurt it must cause him would be more searing than any simple rejection.

  There was no more time to lose. In seconds it would be too late, for she knew that once Jason had made love to her fully, there would be no going back. With a strength that astonished her, she twisted violently, tipping Jason off balance. With a gasp of surprise, he fell back at her side and Linzi rolled rapidly away from him, off the side of the bed, and scrambled for her clothes. She was already into her jeans, struggling to fasten the zip, when Jason recovered and jerked himself from the bed, his face bewildered and angry, his eyes snapping fire.

  'What the hell did you do that for? What are you playing at now? Linzi!' He reached out, but for once Linzi was too quick for him. She twisted out of his grasp, pulling her shirt round her as she did so. Dressed, she felt at a distinct advantage. She let her eyes run over Jason's body, though it stabbed her to do so, and said cuttingly:

  'It's no use, Jason—you're just not quite persuasive enough. Almost—but not quite.' She dropped her eyes from the expression in his and said wearily. 'I'm sorry. I meant to be gone before you came back. Now—please— will you let me go?'

  'Let you go?' Jason snarled, his face contorted now with fury. 'After that, little Linzi, I'll be only too pleased to help you go. My God, but you're a real prize-winning bitch, aren't you?' He came closer and Linzi cringed. 'One of these days you're going to get yourself hurt, you little fool, don't you realise that? And when it happens, don't ask me to pick up the pieces—I'll be only too glad to help shovel them into the bin, along with the rest of the rubbish!'

  He wrenched himself away and grabbed his clothes. Linzi watched dumbly as he stormed out of the room with them, retaining in his magnificent nakedness a dignity that she envied. She heard the door to his bedroom slam, and then there was silence.

  Slowly she picked up her cases and carried them down the oak staircase. Slowly she packed the car. She took a long look around at Bron Melyn, at the flower-tubs outside the door, at the long grey studio, at the golden hills that rose above the house and the dark purple line of the mountains beyond. Then she got into the Mini and drove carefully out into the lane.

  When she reached a quiet spot where she' could safely pull in, she stopped the car, put her head down on the steering wheel, and cried as though her heart would break.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sound of heavy rain woke Linzi from an uneasy sleep, and she turned her head towards the greyness of the window in an attempt to judge the time.

  It was light, so morning must have come. Not that it mattered a lot, although she was always thankful when the long night was over. It was during the small hours that she felt the worst. At two or three o'clock in the morning, when even the traffic was stilled and all London slept. When it seemed that she must be the only person in the world awake, totally alone in her unhappiness. She would lie there then, staring into the darkness, reliving every moment of the past few weeks, imagining life at Bron Melyn going on without her. Jason, completing his sculpture—would he really be able to finish it without her, as Selwyn had said? And Selwyn, smiling his foxy smile as Ceri continued with her plans and eventually, as Linzi was quite sure she would, succeeding in them to become Jason's wife and mistress of Bron Melyn.

  Her thoughts would become too much for her then, and as often as not Linzi would swing abruptly from the bed and snap on the light to go to her little kitchen and make a hot drink. She must have drunk enough milk to bathe Cleopatra in, she reflected ruefully, stirring yet another cup of chocolate. It was probably all that helped her survive anyway, for during the day her appetite was minimal.

  This morning it seemed that the fine weather had really broken at last. It had been threatening for some days— sometimes fine, sometimes showery, and with one or two quite violent thunderstorms. Wearily, her eyes and head heavy, Linzi got up and drew the curtains to look out at the wet street. Rain streamed down the roofs around her, splashing into the puddles below. A few bedraggled starlings perched along the guttering and a small dog, its coat plastered to its sides, trotted along the opposite pavement. Otherwise there was no sign of life.

  A wet Sunday in London, Linzi thought wryly. Empty streets, empty parks, empty everything. Symbols of an empty life—the life hers had become. And, although she had told herself again and again that it did no good, she let her thoughts drift back again to Bron Melyn.

  What would a wet Sunday be like there? She had known Bron Melyn only in sunshine. She imagined Hugh bringing in logs and piling them in the big stone fireplace in the sitting-room, setting them ablaze. Jason, no doubt, would go over to the studio to do some work. Perhaps later, he would take Bracken up on the hills and they would both come back soaked to towel themselves dry and stretch out before Hugh's log fire. And then there would be dinner, with the heavy curtains drawn to shut out the weather, and the room filled with flickering fire-glow, and the strains of music from Jason's stereo.

  Suddenly her flat, although warmed by central heating and furnished with care over the years, seemed cold and bare. It wasn't home any more, Linzi thought, looking round with critical eyes. The walls were too smooth, the furniture too modern. There had b
een no real life here; no loving, no noise of children, no family laughter and tears. The atmosphere that took generations to build up was missing, and probably would, never exist between the stark walls of these too-square, over-convenient little rooms.

  A bitter longing filled her heart. A longing for the old farmhouse that looked as if it had grown in the mountains; a longing for the mountains themselves, with their long ridges, their table-tops, their jagged rocks and steep valleys, their gay little rivers and profusion of colour. And, above all, a longing for the man who lived at Bron Melyn. The man who looked as if he himself had been carved from the granite, with his rugged profile and craggy face. The man who had had possession of her heart ever since she was a child; whose single glance from brilliant sapphire eyes could turn her bones to water, her flesh to fire and her mind to oblivion.

  Restlessly, Linzi turned away from the window and its dreary outlook, and went into the kitchen. With a listlessness that was fast becoming habit, she made coffee and drank half of it, poured milk on a bowl of cornflakes and ate only two or three spoonfuls. She switched on the radio but scarcely heard the music that poured from it, and when the music stopped and a Sunday service began she snapped it off irritably. Making her bed 'seemed almost too great an effort, and a shower and fresh clothes only made her feel marginally better.

  She was drinking another cup of coffee and staring indifferently at the Sunday paper when someone knocked on the door. Linzi's heart jumped. She laid down the paper and looked towards the door with frightened eyes, willing whoever it was to go away. But the knocking persisted, and after a moment or two she heard a voice calling her name.

  'Linzi! Linzi, are you there? Linzi!'

  'Richard!' she breathed, and shrank back in her chair. What was Richard doing here? He was supposed to be abroad—why had he come here, to her flat?

  She kept silent, hoping he would go away, but he continued to knock and call. And at last, his voice exasperated and edged with something else—surely not fear?—he shouted: 'Linzi, this is your last chance! If you're there, open the door and let me in. Or I'll go and fetch the porter and get him to let me in! Now, what's it to be?'

  With a heavy sigh, Linzi swung to her feet and crossed the room. She unlocked the door and pulled it back. Richard, wearing a dripping mackintosh, his face red and angry, stared at her.

  'So you were in there!' he exclaimed. 'I thought you would be—Linzi, what in God's name are you playing at? What's all this hiding in aid of? Do you realise that nobody has known where you were for the past week?'

  'Well, that's their hard luck,' Linzi retorted, adding wearily, 'Oh, don't stand there, Richard. You'd better come in.'

  He followed her into the living-room, looking critically around him. Linzi shrugged and flopped back into her armchair. She knew the place looked neglected, she just hadn't had the energy to dust or tidy up, any more than she had had the energy to cook meals or put on make-up. She brushed her hair back from her pale face and looked up at Richard. Had he got fatter since he had been away, she wondered without any real interest, or had his stocky build been running to plumpness before that?

  Richard stood on the hearthrug, his hands behind his back, and looked down at her censoriously. 'Well? I'm waiting for an explanation, Linzi.'

  His assuming attitude lit a small flare of annoyance. 'I wasn't aware that I owed you any,' she retorted sharply.

  'Not aware that you owed me an explanation? Linzi, do you realise that I cut short an important business trip because I was worried about you? Do you realise that I flew to Cardiff, hired a car to take me to that benighted place at the back of nowhere that your ex-employer is pleased to call his studio—only to find that you'd vanished, left him for some reason he either didn't know or didn't care to explain, and taken off for God knows where. Even Anna didn't know where you were. I came here just as a last chance, in case you might have left some clue at least as to where you might be. I've been telephoning at every opportunity—where have you been that you didn't hear it?'

  'I did hear it,' Linzi confessed indifferently. 'I covered it up with pillows.'

  'You—you covered it up with pillows?' Richard's face was suffused with scarlet. 'Linzi, have you gone out of your mind?'

  'Perhaps,' she acknowledged. 'Have you driven up from Wales this morning, Richard? You must have started out in the middle of the night. Would you like some coffee?' She made her remarks automatically, not really caring whether he had coffee or not. But he nodded and sat down suddenly in the other armchair, and she realised with a faint pang that he really was exhausted. Poor Richard, she thought as she went to make the coffee. He wasn't having much luck.

  When she returned, he had calmed down a little and was sitting with his head back and eyes closed. She stood looking down at him, wondering idly why she had ever even considered spending the rest of her life in his company. He would have driven her mad within weeks, she thought, comparing his thinning hair with Jason's thick black thatch, his pale, pudgy face with Jason's strong profile, stamped with his powerful personality. And that short, almost tubby body! The memory of Jason's iron arms, holding her close against his broad, muscular frame, shook her for a moment. She handed Richard his coffee and returned to her chair.

  The silence stretched between them. Linzi thought that perhaps she ought to make an effort, ask him why he had interrupted his tour and gone to Wales, but she just didn't have the energy. She wasn't being fair, she knew that, but somehow what Richard did had ceased to have any interest for her. She just wished he would drink his coffee and go away, leaving her with her thoughts.

  But Richard evidently had no intention of doing that. At last, with obvious irritation, he demanded: 'Well? Aren't you going to say anything?'

  Linzi roused herself. 'What do you want me to say?'

  He gestured helplessly. 'Tell me why you left Wales, for a start. Why you didn't let anyone know where you were. Why you haven't been answering your phone.' He leaned forward. 'Linzi, I've been worried out of my mind about you!'

  Linzi looked at him. He really did look upset. With a pang of remorse, she said gently, 'Yes, I'm sorry, Richard. I can see I should have let you know I'd left. But I'd no idea you were going to come looking for me, had I? So far as I knew, you were somewhere between Vienna and Paris, or Madrid or wherever your next stop was. I didn't deliberately cause you worry.'

  'Well, I don't suppose you did,' he said, slightly mollified. 'But it was extremely thoughtless of you, to say the least.'

  Linzi bent her head. She already knew that Richard had a tendency to grumble on about things that had upset him. There was no way of stopping him, it just had to be tolerated until his hurt feelings were appeased. After a while, he said: 'Well, you still haven't told me why you left.'

  Linzi shrugged. 'It just didn't work out.' No way was she going to tell Richard the truth about what had happened between her and Jason.

  Richard looked complacent. 'So I was right, then.'

  'I didn't say that. Look, Richard, let's leave it at that, shall we? Things didn't work out and I decided to leave and come home. I didn't get in touch with you straightaway because I wasn't sure where you'd be and I didn't want you to worry. Anyway, I just felt like being on my own for a while.'

  'And that's why you didn't tell anyone, not even Anna, that you were here? Why you. didn't answer your phone?'

  'Yes, that's why,' Linzi agreed with a sigh.

  'H'm.' Richard finished his coffee and got up to put the mug on the table. He glanced round at her, his eyes narrow in the plump flesh of his cheeks. 'Well, I'm not satisfied that you're telling me everything, Linzi, but we'll leave it there. No doubt you'll confide in me one day. In any case, I can guess what happened.' His mouth thinned with disapproval. 'Carver's obviously a barbarian—living out there at the back of beyond in that dreadful old house. Oh, he's made quite a showplace of it, I agree, but can you imagine what it must be like in winter? It was bad enough yesterday, with the rain lashing down—but once the cold we
ather starts, with snow and ice, it must be virtually inaccessible.' He moved across to the window and gazed complacently down at the wet London street. 'Thank God to be back in civilisation, anyway! I can understand your need to recover, Linzi. And I'm thankful that you had the sense to do as I told you and come back, even if it did cause a little confusion.'

  'Let's get this straight, Richard,' Linzi roused herself to say. 'I didn't come back because you told me to—I came because I chose to.'

  Richard smiled patronisingly and Linzi looked round for something to throw at him. 'No, of course you didn't. But you're here, aren't you? And I'm very pleased that you are. I'm only surprised you stayed as long as you did—as I said, Carver has some very strange notions. I saw some of his sculptures.' He wrinkled his nose fastidiously..

  'And just what was the matter with them?' Linzi was beginning to feel really angry now. God, how pompous Richard was! How was it she'd never noticed it before? And how could she ever have borne to live with it?

  'The matter?' He had a high, shrill laugh too, she noticed disgustedly, 'Linzi, you saw them! Why, some of them are highly suggestive. Or perhaps you're a little too naive to have realised.'

  'No, I don't think I'm naive.' Linzi kept her temper with difficulty. 'I don't think Jason's work is suggestive, either. I think it's sensitive, beautiful and evocative—but anything suggestive about it is in your mind, Richard, not in Jason's work.'

  He looked at her in surprise. 'Linzi! That's not a nice thing to say!'

  'Well, I'm not feeling very nice at the moment,' she snapped. 'So if you don't like me the way I am, perhaps you'd better go.'

  Richard stared at her. 'You've changed, Linzi,' he said slowly. 'Something's happened to you since I've been away. What is it? What happened at Bron Melyn? What did that brute do to you?'