Carver's Bride

by Nicola West

  He came towards her and Linzi recoiled as he took her arms in his plump fingers. She jerked away and moved restlessly towards the kitchen, saying wearily, 'Oh, for heaven's sake, Richard, don't be so melodramatic! Jason's not a brute, and he didn't do anything to me.' And that was an out-and-out lie, she reflected, remembering the things Jason had done to her, both physically and emotionally. But she wasn't prepared to tell Richard about them. In fact, she was tired of the entire conversation, and she looked at him, wishing he would go. But he was still standing there, watching her, his face creased with suspicion.

  'Look, Richard,' she said at last, 'there really isn't any point in us continuing with this. All right, I am different. I've changed in my—my feelings towards you. I'm sorry, Richard, but I just don't want to go on with our engagement. It wouldn't work, I know that now.' She went towards the bedroom. 'I'll give you back your ring now.'

  Richard's eyes goggled as she moved towards him. His pale face flushed, his mouth opened and closed, and he uttered a faint sound of protest. But he made no move to touch her as she went past him and through the door. And when she came out and handed him his ring, he took it and stared at it almost in disbelief.

  'You—you want to break our engagement?' he spluttered at last. 'Linzi, you can't be serious. You're ill—I thought you looked off colour when I came in! Look, you mustn't do this—you must see a doctor, you're run down, probably need a tonic. It's my fault for letting you go away on that ridiculous job, with that dreadful man.' He pawed at her arm in agitation. 'Don't worry, my dear, everything will be all right. I'm sorry if I was harsh with you, but I'd been worried, you understand that, don't you? Linzi, come and sit down, Linzi ‑'

  'Oh, stop it, stop it, for God's sake!' Linzi shrieked. 'You're like a hysterical old woman! Richard, I'm sorry, but I do mean it—I don't want to marry you, I can't marry you, it would never, never work, not in a million years. We don't love each other, can't you see that? You don't love mi—you just want a hostess, a status symbol, someone to have a nice neat two point three children for you and bring them up and send them to all the right schools. I don't think you even know what love is, not real love. And I don't love you. I want—oh, I want ‑'

  But she could go no further. The full realisation of what she wanted and could never have burst upon her and she flung herself away from Richard and into a chair, the tears torn from her body in a series of painful, wrenching sobs.

  For several minutes the room was still, Linzi's sobs the only sound to break the heavy silence. Then Richard spoke, his voice flat and toneless.

  'I see. Yes, I see. You haven't been entirely truthful with me, Linzi, have you? You say nothing happened, but something did. It's Carver, isn't it? You're in love with him—or imagine yourself to be. And in such circumstances, of course, I don't stand a chance.'

  'Richard ‑'

  'No, don't make it worse.' He straightened his shoulders and went back to the hearth, his back stiff. 'I can quite see that a man like Carver has more—personal magnetism—than myself. I'm not quite so blind as you seem to think me, Linzi. But I'm not at all sure that what he can offer you is any better, in the long run, than what I offer. However, I can't expect you to understand that.' He put the ring carefully away in his waistcoat pocket. 'I'm sorry you feel like this. I had hoped—but there it is. I'd better go.'

  'Richard,' said Linzi, raising a tear-stained face, 'you've got it wrong. Jason isn't offering me anything. I don't expect ever to see him again. Yes, you're right, I do love him. But he doesn't love me, and he never will. I destroyed all chances of that long ago.'

  'And yet you still don't want to marry me?' he asked, and she shook her head.

  'I can't.'

  There was a long silence, Richard sighed, glanced out of the window at the rain and then sat down again. He seemed to be' making up his mind to speak, and Linzi witched him curiously. At last he shot her a glance, then said:

  'Then would you mind telling me the reason for this?'

  Linzi reached out and took the scrap of paper he was holding out. It was a flimsy, pale blue sheet—an air-letter. It was addressed to Richard at his hotel in Vienna, and it said:

  If you want to marry Linzi Berwick, better hurry home. There's more than sculpting going on in that studio.

  Linzi stared at it, feeling cold and sick. She raised her eyes at last and whispered: 'Who?'

  'You tell me.' Richard lifted his shoulders. 'Not a pretty thing to receive, was it?'

  'Richard, I ‑' She wanted to say it wasn't true, but the words wouldn't come. Nothing, indeed, had ever happened in the studio—Jason had never been anything but the professional sculptor there, totally absorbed in his work. But in other places? In the chapel—in her bedroom? Feeling her cheeks turn scarlet, she looked down at the paper again.

  'And this is why you came back?' she asked in a low voice.

  'I didn't want to lose you,' he said simply, and she felt guilt and remorse flood her body. All right, he'd wanted her for the wrong reasons—but she still hadn't played fair with him. There had still been times when her need for Jason had almost come before her loyalty to. Richard.

  'I'm sorry,' she said at last. 'Richard, I really am sorry. But it doesn't make any difference, I'm afraid. I still can't marry you—even though I know I'll never be able to marry Jason.'

  'Well, that seems to be that, then.' He stood up. 'Not that I think you'd be well advised to marry Carver, anyway. He struck me as a very strange man. Morose, curt—even the girl he was helping seemed half scared of him. I felt quite sorry for her, though he'd obviously been doing quite a lot for her.'

  'Girl?' Linzi said absently, still staring at the letter and wondering who could have sent it. 'What girl was that?'

  'Oh, some local child with an illegitimate baby—didn't look more than seventeen at the outside. Carver did tell me part of the story, since I arrived in the middle of it. All rather squalid, but what can you expect in these primitive parts? Actually, it was nothing short of feudal.' Richard shrugged into his raincoat and picked up his umbrella. 'Local landowner seduces village maiden—that kind of thing. Only in the old days they never minded taking the consequences for their bit of fun, never let the children want for anything. This one didn't want to, it seems. Your friend Carver took a hand and persuaded him that he should, and now the child's getting an adequate maintenance payment. Quite right too, though I must say I was surprised at a man like Carver taking so much trouble over it.'

  He turned at the door and took her hand, but Linzi waved aside his next speech. Her brain was spinning— focal landowner—village maiden—Jason taking a hand? What did it all mean?

  'Linzi ‑' Richard began, but she cut him short.

  'The girl? Did he tell you her name? The local girl,' she added impatiently. 'The girl with the baby.'

  'Oh, her.' Clearly, Richard didn't understand her sudden interest. 'Oh, some Welsh name, can't remember it now. Never quite caught it, to tell you the truth. Linzi ‑'

  'Was it—was it Sian?' She hardly dared ask, but Richard wrinkled his brow and nodded.

  'Yes, that's it. Never heard it before.' He tried again. 'Linzi, don't decide too quickly about—you know, about us. You're upset now and I understand that, but I'm sure when you've thought things over you'll see things more reasonably. And when you do, don't hesitate to get in touch. I'll—well, I'll be waiting.'

  Linzi looked at him and smiled. Dear Richard! He still couldn't really believe that she would turn him down. Safely ensconced in his world of money and status, he was comfortably sure that no girl with any sense could refuse his offerings of money, marriage and lifelong security. He didn't even know that nobody on earth could offer that.

  Well, it would save his pride for him to go on thinking that. And by the time he realised that she wasn't going to get in touch, he would have stopped missing her and got used to leading his own life again. Perhaps some day he would meet a girl who wanted what he had to give, and could give him in return the things he wa
nted from a wife.

  And although she couldn't be absolutely certain yet, Linzi was more than half sure that he'd given her something that she needed badly. For that alone, she had to be grateful.

  'Goodbye, Richard,' she said softly, and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek. 'And I hope the rest of the trip goes well.'

  'My goodness, yes,' he said, glancing at his watch. 'There's a flight to Paris in an hour's time—I might just make it, if I hurry!'

  Linzi sighed a little as she closed the door after him. Richard would never change. Totally self-absorbed, completely self-satisfied—why had she never seen it before? But she'd had other problems then, she reminded herself. Her flight from New York after the publication of those photographs—her decision to give up modelling and the worries that had come from not knowing how she was to earn a living. And Richard had been kind and attentive. Good manners were important to him, and he would never really be anything else.

  And now he was gone, and she could give her full attention to what he had told her. He'd been to Bron Melyn and met Jason! Jason had been curt and morose—what did that mean? And Sian—Richard had seen Sian, seen that Jason was helping her, had heard the story of her seduction by a local 'landowner'—surely that could only be Selwyn—and had only mentioned it casually, in passing, as he was about to leave.

  Was it true? Was it Selwyn who had made Sian pregnant, and not Jason, after all? Had she been mistaken?

  With trembling fingers, Linzi made another cup of coffee. She tried to recall every word spoken on the subject of Sian, including those by Sian herself. Who had told her Jason was the father of the dark-haired little baby? Sian hadn't. And Jason, although he'd never denied it, had never actually confirmed it either. The only person who had said straight out that Sian's baby could be Jason's— and even she hadn't actually said it was—was Ceri.

  And Ceri wanted Jason for herself. Wanted Linzi out of the way, and had told her so.

  Sipping the hot coffee, Linzi thought again of the letter Richard had received. Someone had known where to find him, someone who wanted ,to remove Linzi from Bron Melyn. Ceri fitted the second requirement—but what of the first?

  And she remembered the night Richard had telephoned. The way he'd told her the address of his hotel in Vienna; and the way she'd repeated it aloud as she wrote it down.

  Ceri had been at Bron Melyn that night. She'd been in the living-room and the door had been ajar. She could quite easily have heard every word Linzi said.

  'My God,' Linzi muttered. 'The bitch! The nasty, cheating, spying little bitch!'

  Her depressed lethargy had vanished. Consumed with an angry energy, she roamed about the flat, going over the whole thing in her mind, over and over again, until she believed she had the picture clear. Ceri had feared her from the start. She had been resentful that Jason had chosen a London model for his figure instead of herself, and she'd been suspicious of his determination that it should be Linzi Berwick. As soon as she had seen Jason and Linzi together she'd sensed the undercurrents, the tension between them—and she'd guessed only too accurately what had been going on in the chapel. It wasn't surprising that she'd made up her mind to get rid of Linzi, and she'd used every trick at her disposal to do so. She must have written to Richard before Selwyn had come home—and it had been an additional bonus to her armoury to find that he not only knew of Linzi Berwick, but knew something very much to her disadvantage.

  She had even manipulated Linzi into believing that Jason could be the father of a local girl's baby and was denying it—when all the time the culprit was her own brother!

  Well, that was one thing she could put right, Linzi determined. She knew Jason well enough to realise that he must have been bitterly hurt by her accusations regarding Sian. Too hurt to deny them—his pride would have compelled him to allow her to go on believing the worst, considering that she should have had more trust. As indeed she should, Linzi admitted humbly. He deserved her apology. And not just by letter, either. This was an apology that must be delivered in person.

  Her mind made up, Linzi swung into action. The flat was dusty and untidy—it wouldn't take long to put that right. For some reason, she felt she had to leave everything as neat as possible, as a symbol of a fresh start. Quickly she whisked through the apartment, making the bed, tidying the sitting-room, freshening up the bathroom and clearing the kitchen.

  She hadn't even unpacked one of her suitcases when she'd arrived at the beginning of the week, she had been so depressed. Now, she threw a few more clothes into her other and lifted them both. Why, she had no idea. Jason was as likely to show her the door as to listen to her now. But hope sang in her heart and a smile quivered on her lips as she closed the door behind her and hurried down the stairs.

  Though what reason she had to-be optimistic, heaven only knew, she told herself wryly as she threw the cases into the back of the Mini and slid into the driving seat.. Jason's welcome to her was hardly likely to be any more fulsome than Richard had found it. And her face grew grave again as she recalled that last encounter between her and Jason. A tingle ran fierily through her body as she thought of the way they had lain together on her bed, close in each other's arms, their mouths and hands and limbs taking joy in each other and promising a fulfilment that never came. Jason's pride must have taken quite a beating when she rolled away from him, off the bed, making it plain that her arousal hadn't by any means matched his—and if only he knew the truth, she thought with a groan. But he didn't, and it was too late to convince him.

  Would he even care that she now knew the truth about Sian? Would he even let her into the house? Or would he send her away, and this time for ever?

  Well, if he did, it would be no more than she deserved. And at least she had to try.

  With her optimism gone and a grim determination in its place, Linzi drove to the nearest garage to fill her petrol tank and check that the Mini was fit for a long drive. Then, with the windscreen-wipers switching relentlessly back and forth against the streaming rain, she turned west and headed resolutely through the storm for Wales.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Darkness was already falling when Linzi arrived at last at Crickhowell. The rain had not eased all day, and a strong wind besides had made the journey more hazardous than she liked. Several times she had felt the little car swerve as a gust of wind caught it, and the spray from other vehicles had been too much at times for the wipers. She was thankful to find the end of the journey in sight, and at the same time increasingly nervous and worried about her reception.

  Now that she was almost there, Jason's possible reaction to her unannounced arrival seemed more and more uncertain. As she drove into the little town she even looked around for a hotel, half inclined to put up for the night and go back to London next day without even having seen him. But that would be stupid, she scolded herself. Stupid and cowardly. She owed Jason an apology, right? Then that was what she would do. What he did about it was another matter entirely. At least she would have lost nothing, and there must be the faint chance of a gain.

  Rain slooshed down her windscreen as she turned into the narrow lane and drove slowly up it, thinking how different this was from the first time she had come here. Then, the lane had been bathed in blazing sunshine. Now it was dark and wet, the sullen clouds bringing a heavy gloom. The bracken that had been green and gold was now dead-looking, its bedraggled fronds catching at the sides of the Mini with slimy fingers. The rain had flattened the grass along the banks and the hedges dripped soddenly. Under the wheels of the car, the uneven surface of the road was wet and muddy, with deep puddles here and there, and the hills ahead had vanished in a thick curtain of rain and mist.

  Even Bron Melyn looked different as she turned the last bend and found herself facing it. The yard was empty and shining with water, the studio dark and shuttered. The tubs no longer had flowers in them; at some time during the week Alun must have replaced them with next year's bulbs, as he'd been talking of doing. He was already thinking of
spring, but the general effect was dismal.

  Slowly Linzi drove the Mini into the yard and stopped. She sat for a moment looking at the house, then got out. There was no point in waiting here. The rain lashed at her and she ran for the door, knocking on it hurriedly, and sheltering under the porch.

  'Miss Berwick!'

  Hugh had opened the door and was staring at her in astonishment. Suddenly at a loss, Linzi brushed back her russet hair, damp from the rain, and smiled at him.

  'Hallo, Hugh. May—may I come in?'

  'But of course! Miss Berwick—Linzi—we thought—yes, come, in out of the rain. Have you driven here? Today? You must have had a terrible journey!'

  'It wasn't the best,' Linzi admitted ruefully. 'Hugh, is Jason home?'

  'Yes, he is.' Hugh's face was grave. 'I don't know how he'll take it, though—you coming back. He's been—well, not like himself at all these last few days.'

  Linzi's heart sank. That didn't sound good. Briefly, she wondered if she'd done right to come. But she had to make that apology.

  'Let me see him.' She smoothed her hair again and looked down at herself. She was wearing a rust-brown trouser suit that exactly matched the tawny shade of her hair and eyes, together with a white polo-necked sweater that effectively showed off her figure. 'Is he in the sitting-room?'

  Squaring her shoulders with a boldness she didn't feel, she strode towards the sitting-room door and opened it.

  Her heart was almost in her throat, beating against her ribs like a wild bird trying to escape from a cage, and her limbs trembled. She felt dampness in her palms and realised she was clenching her hands, the nails digging into the soft flesh. For a moment she held tightly to the handle of the door, gathering together all her courage. Then she took a deep breath and went in.

  The room was almost dark. The heavy curtains were still drawn back to show the increasing gloom outside, the big window splashed with the rain that beat against it. In the fireplace was the comforting flicker of the log fire Linzi had imagined, the glow warming the old stone walls, reflecting from an old copper kettle that stood in the hearth.