'Why is your mother moving out of the house?' she tried again.
His face hardened in the soft glow of the bedside light. 'It's best this way.'
That didn't tell her much. 'Best for whom?' she asked.
'Best for both my mother and myself.'
'Was it a joint decision?'
'The decision was mine.'
There was something about that quietly spoken statement that made Jo realise she would be at risk if she continued to question him on this subject. Would she ever know the truth? She sighed inwardly and was about to turn away when her nightdress was snatched from her fingers without warning.
'I don't know why you bother to wear something when you ought to know by now that I'm just going to take it off again,' Rafe chided her unexpectedly, his voice deepening on a note of sensuality that made her nerve-ends tingle in response.
'I'm trying to preserve what little dignity I still have left.' She was outwardly calm despite that treacherous quickening of her pulses, and her hand was remarkably steady when she held it out for the filmy garment he was drawing idly through his fingers. 'Give me that, Rafe.'
'This flimsy thing adds mystery to your body, and part of the excitement is having to peel it off you, but it's much more exciting to watch a woman undress herself.' She should have known what to expect—it was there in the glowing depths of his dark eyes and the sensuous curve of his m o u t h — but it still came as a shock when he commanded softly, 'Strip for me, Jo.'
Her eyes were emerald pools of astonishment in her flushed face, and in the shadowy hollow at the base of her throat a tiny pulse was beginning to throb erratically. 'You must be mad if you think I'll stand here a n d — '
'Strip, Jo!' He cut across her indignant protest in an ominously soft voice, and his smile mocked and challenged her simultaneously while he bundled up her nightdress and thrust it under his pillows. 'Or would you prefer me to tear that lovely, expensive dress off your body?'
Jo did not doubt for one moment that he would do exactly as he had said, and her hand rose involuntarily—almost protectively—to the wide, delicately embroidered collar of her pale lilac dress. The dress was of the purest silk, and the price had set her back almost a month's salary, but she couldn't resist purchasing the dress when she had seen it in a shop window several months ago in Cape Town.
'You never leave me with much of a choice, do you?' she accused stiffly while her mind was searching frantically for a way out of this dilemma.
'You could always buy yourself a new dress.'
'I hate needless waste,' she protested before she could stop herself, and the glitter of triumph in Rafe's eyes made her realise that she had lost.
'In that case,' he smiled lazily, 'strip.'
Jo wished that she could shrink into the carpeted floor and remain there forever. Rafe stirred impatiently and, afraid that he might carry out his threat, she started to undo the tiny pearl buttons down the front of her dress.
His eyes were like darting flames. They leapt at every movement of her hands as she discarded her clothes, and they seemed to scorch her skin as she slowly exposed her body for his desirous inspection. His burning gaze lingered on her small, firm breasts after she had peeled off her bra, then it dipped lower to follow the last lacy garment as it slid to the floor along her shapely thighs, and it was at this point that Jo realised she was no longer embarrassed, only curiously excited as she stood naked before him.
'Come here,' he growled, flinging aside the duvet, and reaching for her impatiently. Jo landed on top of him, flesh against flesh, and it felt as if every taut muscle in his magnificent male body was suddenly being stamped into the length of her soft, feminine frame. One hand settled on her firm bottom to grind her hips into his while the other came to rest at the nape of her neck, and they remained like that for a moment, their glances locked antagonistically, then he dragged her mouth down to his. The white-hot passion of his kiss drew a matching response from Jo, and her body was eager for his when he eased his mouth from hers to release her hair from its confining combs. Her hair fell forward over her smooth shoulders like a golden brown veil, and her scalp tingled pleasantly when he plunged his hands into its silken thickness.
'You're so beautiful.' Flames of desire were leaping in his heavy-lidded eyes while his glance traced the delicate contours of her face. 'I can't seem to get enough of you.'
Jo wished she could think of a scathing response to that statement, but her mind refused to function normally. Her body was craving fulfillment, and for the moment that was all that mattered, she realised, as she lowered her mouth to his invitingly. His tongue slid between her parted lips to explore and draw on the sweet moistness within, and coherent thought was no longer possible when he slowly rolled her over on to her back.
They made love with a fierce urgency, their bodies straining relentlessly towards that ultimate moment of exquisite physical release. Afterwards, when they lay sated in each other's arms, Jo could barely recognise herself in the wild, wanton behaviour she had displayed during that passionate drive towards the satisfaction her body had craved.
What's happening to me? she wondered agitatedly when Rafe switched off the bedside light to plunge the room into darkness. Making love had never been this frenzied before, nor quite as desperate. Could it have something to do with the fact that Averil Andersen would be returning to Satanslaagte at the end of the week?
Jo felt her insides spasm nervously at the thought of Rafe's mother, and she untangled her limbs from his to sit up in bed. 'Rafe?' She took him by the shoulder and shook Mm. 'Are you awake?'
'I am now,' he muttered with a measure of annoyance in his sleep-filled voice.
'You can't move your mother out into that flat.'
'It's all settled,' he grunted, thumping his pillows into shape and turning over on to his side to lie with his back to her.
'You can't do it, Rafe!'
Silence greeted her statement, and she thought for a moment that he was going to ignore her, but then he switched on the bedside light and turned over on to his back. 'What makes you think I can't do it?' he demanded, frowning up at her.
'This has been your mother's home since before you were born, Rafe,' she argued with him. 'You can't banish her now to a few small rooms, no matter how nice and new they might be.'
'I'm not banishing my mother from the rest of the house, I'm merely giving her a place in our home where she'll have total freedom to do as she pleases.' His frown became an angry scowl. 'And may I ask what right have you to question my decision?'
'I'm not questioning your decision,' she contradicted him calmly. 'I'm trying to appeal to your better nature.'
His face hardened. 'I know what I'm doing, Joceline!'
The full use of her name acted as a warning not to pursue the matter, and when he switched off the light she slid down beneath the duvet to lie frowning into the darkness. Rafe might have his reasons for wanting his mother to move into that flat, but to Jo it made no sense, and neither did it feel right. Averil Andersen was a proud, autocratic woman, and she had done everything within her power to maintain her hold on what she had considered her kingdom. What could have happened to make her give way to Rafe's decision that she should move out of her home and into the flat?
It was futile attempting to unravel the situation. The more she tried, the more entangled it became and, sighing tiredly, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.
Jo had stationed herself out on the shady stoep on the Saturday afternoon. She had thought she might keep herself occupied with her crocheting, but it lay untouched in her lap while her gaze remained fixed on the road leading up to the house.
She wished Rafe would hurry the repairs to the water pump so that he could come home. The nervous anxiety which had been building up inside her all week was now fast reaching its peak. If only Rafe would come home! She did not want to be alone when Averil Andersen arrived.
Jo picked up her crochet work in a renewed attempt to while away the ti
me, but she lowered it to her lap again a few minutes later. How would Averil react? Would she be cool and polite, or would she be openly hostile? A moving cloud of dust caught Jo's attention and her stomach muscles seemed to spasm nauseatingly. She would soon have the answer to those queries.
She hurried into the house to inform Elsie that she could make the tea and bring the tray through to the living-room, then she went out on to the stoep again to await Averil Andersen's arrival. Where was Rafe?
What could be taking him so long?
Several agonising minutes elapsed before the metallic-green Mercedes came up the drive towards the house with Averil seated comfortably in the back and Stan at the wheel acting as chauffeur. Jo remained standing on the stoep until the vehicle was brought to a halt, and it was only when Stan walked round the bonnet of the car to open the door for Averil that Jo went down the steps to greet her mother-in-law.
Rafe, where are you?
Averil Andersen was tall and still remarkably slender for a woman in her late sixties, and she was expensively dressed in a long-sleeved blue dress with her favourite pearls about her throat. The short hair which was styled so elegantly about her regally held head had changed colour from streaky grey to snow-white, but other than that she still looked exactly as Jo had remembered her.
'Welcome home, Mrs Andersen.' Jo had her years of rigorous training as a nurse to thank for the outward calmness with which she looked into that haughty face on a level with her own. There was no warmth in the dark, assessing gaze that swept up to meet hers, and Jo was beginning to think that the hand she held out in greeting was going to be ignored when she suddenly felt Averil's cool fingers clasping hers.
'You must be tired,' said Jo, taking a steadying grip on Averil's arm when she saw her swaying slightly on her feet.
'The journey by car from Cape Town has been rather tiring,' Averil admitted and, leaving Stan to see to her luggage, she allowed Jo to assist her up the steps and into the cool interior of the house. Elsie hovered respectfully in the hall to welcome Averil home, and they exchanged a few words before Elsie returned to the kitchen, leaving Jo to usher Averil into the living-room where a tray of tea and biscuits awaited them.
Averil lowered herself into a chair with an audible sigh on her lips before she cast a brief glance about the room. Those dark, piercingly sharp eyes were so like Rafe's, and they would not have missed the few changes Jo had made in the room, but, surprisingly, she said nothing.
'Where is Rafe?' She finally asked the question which Jo had been asking herself for the past hour.
'I'm expecting him any moment now, but he said we should have our tea if he was late, and not to wait for him.' Jo had seated herself on the edge of the sofa to pour their tea, and she was relieved to see that her hand was steady when she passed Averil her cup.
Averil's taut mouth relaxed, and she smiled for the first time as she helped herself to a biscuit from the plate Jo proffered. 'I'm glad to see that Elsie remembered to bake my favourite ginger biscuits.'
'Elsie was busy this morning, so I baked them.'
The smile faded. 'I didn't know you could bake.'
There was a sting in that remark, but Jo chose to ignore it as she caught sight of Rafe through the living-room window. Thank goodness he was here!
'Hello, Mother,' he said when he entered the room, and Jo was astonished at the lack of warmth in his voice and manner.
'Rafe!'
Averil remained seated, but there was something almost pathetic in the way her face had lit up when she saw her son, and Jo felt her heart contract with compassion when Rafe leaned over his mother to kiss her briefly and coolly on the cheek.
'You're looking well, Mother,' Rafe announced with a tight smile as he seated himself on the sofa beside Jo and accepted the cup of tea she passed him in silence.
'You said I would enjoy an extended visit with my sister, and I did, but it's good to be back again on familiar soil.'
Prompted by Rafe, his mother mentioned some of the places she had visited during her stay in the British Isles, and while they talked Jo could not help but become aware of an element of strain which had not been there before between Rafe and his mother. Did this still stem from that argument they had had more than a year ago? The argument which Elsie said had taken place on Rafe's birthday the previous year?
The conversation finally petered out, and there was an awkward silence before Averil leaned forward to place her empty cup on the tray. 'Is my flat ready for me?' she asked.
'Everything is as you wanted it.' Rafe got up and held out his hand to help his mother out of her chair.
'Let me show you.'
Jo had also risen, but Rafe indicated with a brief gesture of his hand that she should remain in the living-room, and she nodded acceptance. She had dreaded this moment, and she was relieved that Rafe had considered it unnecessary for her to accompany them.
She waited until the inter-leading door closed behind Rafe and his mother before she turned towards the window and stared thoughtfully out across the spacious garden where the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn.
Meeting Averil again after all these years had not been as difficult as she had imagined it might be. She was not quite sure what she had expected, but she had certainly not imagined she would be meeting a subdued version of the woman she had once known.
Subdued? Yes, that was where the difference lay in the relationship between Rafe and his mother. A cataclysmic change had occurred to place Rafe in command as master of his home as much as he was master of his land, and Averil had become subdued in the process of relinquishing control over her portion of that kingdom.
Jo heard the door open and close behind her and she turned to see Rafe walking towards her. 'Is everything all right?' she asked, meeting him halfway across the carpeted floor.
'Mother is going to unpack her suitcases, and then she'll most probably rest a while before dinner.' His smile mocked her. 'What were you so worried about?'
'I wasn't worried,' she lied.
Rafe cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his and forcing her to meet his eyes while he brushed his thumb in a light caress across her bottom lip. 'I don't know if you're aware of it, but there's a little nerve at the corner of your mouth that tends to jump whenever you're nervous or agitated, and it's been jumping all day.'
'I don't like the idea that your mother has moved out of her own home,' Jo confessed reluctantly against that tantalising thumb. 'I can't help feeling guilty about it.'
His face hardened and his hand dropped to his side. 'You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.'
He turned towards the fireplace and selected a pipe off the rack on the mantelshelf. 'This was my suggestion, and Mother agreed to it without hesitation.'
'Was it simply a suggestion, or was it a decision that left your mother without a choice?' she asked suspiciously, well aware of his ability to manoeuvre someone into a position which was devoid of options.
'It was a suggestion which she could have turned down if she'd wanted to.'
Jo tried to gauge Rafe's thoughts while he fingered tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and struck a match to light it, but his expression remained shuttered, and she was not sure what to believe. 'I still don't understand why you thought it necessary to make such a suggestion.'
'I had my reasons, and I don't wish to discuss them at the moment,' he said sternly, his teeth clenched about the stem of his pipe and smoke billowing from his mouth as he dropped the burnt-out match into an ashtray.
'But surely I'm—' Entitled to an explanation, she had wanted to say, but she was not given the opportunity.
'Enough!' he barked, smoke jetting from his nostrils when he removed the pipe from his mouth, and Jo paled visibly at the dark fury she glimpsed in his eyes. 'This subject is no longer open for discussion, Joceline! Do I make myself clear!'
'Absolutely.'
Jo was feeling faint. The floor seemed to be moving b
eneath her feet, but she somehow managed to remain standing until Rafe had stalked out of the living-room. Only then did she sink into the nearest armchair, and all thought of Averil Andersen was now swept from her mind. The dizziness passed swiftly, but Jo remained seated a moment longer with her hand resting lightly against her flat stomach. She could no longer ignore what was happening to her. The natural cycle of her body had been disrupted, and during the past weeks the sudden dizzy spells and telling bouts of nausea had become a regular occurrence.
She was pregnant. Jo was now almost convinced of this, but it would be wiser to keep this knowledge to herself until she could have it confirmed.
Averil looked rested when she joined them for dinner that evening. She was polite enough not to ignore Jo, but whatever she said seemed to be directed mainly at Rafe. Jo did not resent being left out of the conversation since it gave her the opportunity to study them more closely, but observing them together brought her no nearer to the truth. Rafe held himself aloof from his mother while Averil treated her son with a great deal of wariness and, studying them unobtrusively while she ate, Jo wished she knew the reason for this unhappy situation.
Their coffee was served to them in the living-room, and shortly after nine that evening, before retiring, Averil went to her flat and emerged moments later with a large, square box which had been wrapped in silver and blue striped paper.
'I bought something for you as a wedding present in Waterford, Ireland,' she said, placing the package on the low marble-topped table.
The clock on the mantelshelf ticked away the seconds, but Rafe made no move towards the gift his mother had presented to them, and Jo shifted her position nervously to the edge of her chair. 'Shall I open it?' she asked, feeling awkward as she glanced up at the older woman, who had remained standing. Averil nodded, her autocratic features giving away none of her feelings, and Jo despised herself for the tremor in her hands as she carefully unwrapped the gift.
A salad bowl of the finest crystal emerged from among the protective mound of tissue paper, and Jo drew an audible breath of delight as she took it out of the box. She lifted it out for Rafe to see and, caught in the firelight, a myriad colours emerged in little sparks from the intricately carved crystal. It was one of the most beautiful things Jo had ever seen, and she stared at it in speechless fascination.
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