Perilous Refuge

by Patricia Wilson

  The final effect was worth the effort. The cleverly cut pageboy was just clear of her shoulders, shining, swinging and glossy. It fell in dark wings against her cheeks, blue-sheened and dramatic. It seemed to have altered her disposition because she went out into crowds with a smile on her face, her whole being light-hearted.

  Ross had insisted that she left most of the clothes to be delivered and she saw the good sense of this as her purchases mounted steadily. She was meeting him for the journey back home but until then she was without help as far as carrying parcels was concerned. She had a coffee and caught a taxi to Russell Square

  , knowing she would be a little early but too excited about meeting him to worry about that.

  Her mind never seemed to leave him at the moment.

  In spite of her fears she secretly longed to be back in his arms. He could arouse her so easily and it was something she had never felt before. Miles had taken no trouble to arouse her, no trouble to please her, his desire brutal, animal and cruel. There was nothing brutal about the hard arms that had recently held her; there was only excitement, a tempting danger, a rising hunger that left her empty afterwards.

  She took out her small mirror, trying to see herself clearly, her heart beginning to flutter at the sight of her own flushed cheeks. She was behaving like a bride! It was madness. Nothing could come of it, after all. At this rate, Ross would see her weakness as soon as they met. She stopped the taxi.

  'Here will do.'

  'We're not there yet, miss.' The driver glanced over his shoulder but she smiled quickly and nodded.

  'I know. I decided to walk the rest of the way. I'm too early.'

  'As you like, love.' He pulled into the side of the road and Helen got out into the cold of the afternoon. This chill would take a bit of the steam from her, she thought with a wry smile as she set off on the short walk to her meeting-place.

  She saw Ross almost at once. He was a man to draw the eye, his height and good looks making him stand out clearly from the crowds. And he wasn't alone. Donna Street

  was clinging to his arm, laughing up into his face, her smile self-satisfied as he hailed a taxi.

  Helen stopped, panic-stricken that they should see her, a nearby doorway the only refuge. She wanted to run, to turn back and go the way she had come, but a perverse feeling of shame had her watching still as the taxi stopped and Ross handed his companion into it. Donna smiled up at him and then impulsively reached out, her arms encircling his neck, her lips pressed close to his. Helen looked away then, shaking and defeated.

  What had she expected? He had told her he would have no shame in seeking female company and this particular female had announced her intention of staying well within reach. He could afford to wait, as he had said, because nothing was being denied him in the meantime.

  'Helen?'

  She had hurried around the corner, arriving before him, standing looking into a shop as he came up.

  'I thought I was seeing things. You had that long hair cut.'

  'I don't need to look so efficient now.' She couldn't smile. She hardly dared raise her eyes. It was stupid to feel so betrayed when she had insisted on having her own room, on having a very impersonal marriage, but she felt betrayed all the same. The whole reason for the marriage seemed to have changed so swiftly. Ross could hurt her and he didn't even know it.

  'Do you feel all right?' His brilliant gaze moved over her face, caught the swinging shine of her hair as the winter sunlight flashed blue lights across it.

  'Just tired. I've been on my feet for most of the day.' 'Then let's go home. I could do with a rest myself.'

  He knew there was something specially wrong but he was not about to ask again. His crystal eyes had hardened, his firm mouth set uncompromisingly.

  'Have you been in meetings all day?' She had to pry.

  Suddenly she wanted to scream at him, to accuse him, to sob out her jealousy, but she knew perfectly well she wouldn't.

  'Most of the day.' His laconic reply didn't surprise her. What had she expected? He was hardly likely to tell her he had spent the day with Donna, perhaps in some hotel.

  He was particularly silent, moodily so, and she was glad. It gave her the chance to collect her pride around her. She felt wounded, lonely, back where she had started but for a very different reason. On the way back it began to snow heavily, the wind rising to drive it along.

  'A white Christmas. Tansy will get her snowman after all.'

  'Yes. Tomorrow I'll decorate the tree.' Helen said nothing more, continuing to gaze out at the driving snow. It seemed that every wish uttered was to be granted. She had mentioned to Tina that the huge drawing-room would accommodate a high Christmas tree and next day it had been delivered. A sledge had come too, something she had vaguely murmured to Tansy when Ross had first come home with her for dinner. It was to be a golden cage, the bars of her own making because she was securely trapped by the past.

  Christmas Day dawned clear and bright with a good covering of snow, at least two inches. The trees in the garden were a wonderland and Tansy's excitement seemed to get into them all. There were presents to unwrap, shrieks of delight from Tina as she opened the gifts around the tree, and Ross was warmly amused, crouching by Tansy to help with her own unwrapping. 'Let's try out the sledge,' Tina suggested eagerly as Mrs Hill came in to help clear away the brightly coloured wrappings. 'There's a super run in the next field.'

  'Not me.' Ross stood and stretched like a great cat, unexpectedly reaching for Helen and helping her to her feet. 'If I'm to enjoy the rest of the day I have about an hour's paperwork to complete.'

  'Don't you ever stop working?' Tina looked at him with mild exasperation. 'I had it in mind for you to push uphill.'

  'Ah! Just as I suspected.' He grinned down at her. 'Paperwork is quieter, warmer and takes less energy.' 'Spoilsport! It won't be the same, will it, Helen?'

  'I expect we'll manage.' She could feel his eyes on her, ironical and wryly questioning, and she wasn't going to draw him any closer. As she had watched him this morning she had felt the great heaviness on her heart, the unexpected surging again of misery. The other day there had been Donna. Helen couldn't pretend it hadn't happened.

  She looked up and he was watching her as Tina made for the door with Tansy in tow, and he wasn't looking ironical at all. There was a sober look of understanding on his face.

  'Keep behind your wall, Helen. it's safe enough there.' He glanced at the window, the bright glare of sun on snow making the room extraordinarily light. 'I'm not at all sure that it's cold enough for you out there,' he added flatly.

  He walked out and Helen looked at the bracelet on her wrist, an expensive present from her husband. A cage of gold with bars of molten misery. She wouldn't let it happen! She didn't need more than his protection after all. She ran upstairs and changed into warm clothes, adding thick boots and an anorak, a red woollen cap pulled over her ears, and when Tina dragged the new sledge from the garage Helen was right there with her, pulling a wildly excited Tansy across the huge garden and into the adjoining field. They were her family, not Ross.

  'It's hot work,' Tina complained as they dragged the sledge uphill for the tenth time. Tansy enjoyed the ride back as much as she enjoyed the wild trip downhill and Helen trudged uphill, Tansy on her back.

  'Have a go, chief,' Tina suggested as they reached the top of the steep hill. 'We'll sit this one out.'

  'Me?'

  'You!' Tina looked at her sideways. 'Who knows, with a bit of luck it might bring out some Christmas spirit. You certainly know how to put a damper on things.'

  Helen felt a swift surge of annoyance. She was doing her best! If they hadn't been here they would have all had a happy, relaxed Christmas. If things had stayed as they were she wouldn't have been trudging up the hill trying to smile and thinking about Donna Street

  . Fairness surfaced belatedly. They would probably have been hiding behind locked doors and dreading the arrival of Miles.

  'You're on!' She looke
d with defiant haughtiness at Tina and manoeuvred the sledge into place. So far she had walked down the hill behind them as Tina had gone rapidly down with Tansy clutched close. What was the matter with her? She was twenty-four not eighty-four. She flung herself face forward on to the sledge and pushed off.

  It was steeper than she thought and the sledge went faster than she had expected. There was the sound of the runners on the crisp snow, the feel of wind in her ears and she heard the other two shrieking with delight. She ended up in deep snow by the hedge, rolling off and standing to give a self-satisfied little bow.

  'Again, Mummy!' Tansy was delighted and Helen was startled to see the pleasure it had given her little daughter. Was she getting staid, bitter? Was it beginning to affect the way she dealt with Tansy even?

  She didn't stop to think. She got back on and went down again but this time her mind was almost left behind, seeing herself with fresh eyes. She missed the snow bank by the hedge and went right through the gap, the sledge turning over, landing on top of her as all the breath left her body.

  She seemed unable to move for a minute and that was all the time it took for Ross to lift the sledge free and look down at her vibrantly.

  'Where do you hurt?' His voice sounded harsh, reprimanding, and she sat up, brushing snow from her jacket.

  'I don't hurt at all.' She could see Tina plunging down the hill, Tansy in her arms. 'You must have eyes in the back of your head, and seven-league boots.'

  He was dressed for the snow and yet she had left him indoors, working.

  'I was almost here, as a matter of fact. I saw your first Cresta run and your second.'

  Now he wasn't making any attempt to help her and Helen stood up all by herself, instantly sliding back into the wet snow.

  'Oh!'

  'Now we know where you hurt.' His eyes glinted down at her. 'We'll begin again, I think.'

  'I've twisted my ankle.' She looked up at him a bit desperately and he gave her a rather grim smile. Her red woollen cap was lying in the snow, her hair curved around her cheeks, blackbird wings of darkness against her flushed face. The vulnerability that her ankle made her feel was written in her eyes, and her crazy resentment, as if it were Ross who had arranged her fall.

  'Are you all right?' Tina arrived breathlessly and Helen caught hold of her flying feelings, her acute sense of anger that Ross didn't belong to her.

  'I'm perfectly all right. I twisted my ankle. Now I'll hobble indoors, to the fire.'

  'Pull Tansy in on the sledge,' Ross ordered. 'I'll deal with our injured athlete.'

  That certainly dispelled Tina's worries and she went off grinning as Ross lifted Helen effortlessly and turned to the house.

  'Do you have to control everything?' she spat at him, knowing she was being unfair but unable to cope for much longer. 'We've been managing our own affairs long before you came on the scene.'

  'Storm away, Helen.' His face was grim and he didn't look at her, simply continuing towards the house. 'We've come a long way since you were the efficient Miss Andrews. A very peculiar shift in our relationship.'

  'Not really. We're married for mutual defence but deep inside there's no change at all.'

  'Perhaps you're right.' He sounded bored, weary of the conversation, and she felt like a spoiled child. He had done everything for them, surrounded them with his powerful protection, but she didn't feel protected. She felt restlessly uneasy, perilously close to tears.

  'I can walk quite well. I didn't break a bone.'

  'You should know. It's your ankle.' He lowered her to the snow-covered ground and pain twisted her lips at once. She turned her head but it was too late.

  'I trust you've finished playing games?' He scooped her up and continued towards the house, ignoring the flush of embarrassment that flooded over her cheeks. She didn't know what to say to him any more. The thought of Donna Street

  was eating into her like acid. She wanted his arms to tighten around her but they didn't. He held her impersonally, merely as a kindness. She was perverse, mad, and she knew it. If he tightened his arms, looked at her as if he wanted her, she would be afraid.

  Indoors he slid her to the floor, keeping her upright as she slipped off her anorak.

  'You'll have to change, you're wet through. I'll get you upstairs.'

  The cold observation brought a further burst of misery. Upstairs, to her own room. What was the matter with her? It was exactly what she had wanted, protection and no strings attached. She made no demur when he carried her upstairs.

  'Do you need any help?' He set her down on a soft chair, looking at her with coolly indifferent eyes.

  'No, thank you. If I need help I'll call Tina.'

  'You won't.' His voice took on a sharpness that stung her. 'Tina expects your husband to help you to undress. That being the case, you manage or I help.'

  'I can manage. I said that originally, I believe.'

  Ross just turned and walked out of the room and she was suddenly bereft. This was a no-win situation, everything closing around her. She had never felt this for Miles even when she had first known him. He had pretended kindness, laughed, been considerate and gentle, all tricks to lull her senses.

  Ross was imperious, in control of himself and everything around him. There was no pretence with Ross; the pretence was all on her side. She felt treacherous, her body dominating her mind. They had agreed on the sort of marriage this would be and now she was blaming him for being exactly what she had wanted, his constant generosity counting for nothing. She remembered how she had felt protective towards him when she had glimpsed sadness for one brief second. Shame flooded over her, bringing tears to her eyes.

  She pulled off her boots and struggled out of her thick trousers, dropping them to the carpet, her sweater following as she dragged it over her head. It seemed a long way to the wardrobe, even further to the bathroom, but she managed to get a slip from a drawer and slide it over her head.

  She splashed her face with water and looked down at her ankle. It was puffy, red. Probably it would be bruised and purple tomorrow. It showed what happened when she tried to be normal, to behave like a child instead of a woman with responsibilities.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks without her even knowing. She didn't want responsibilities, not the endless, unbroken responsibilities she had faced for so long. She was tired, wound up, no longer capable of giving off the icy cold image of efficiency. In the office now she would have simply folded and gone under. Even here there was no place to hide, not from herself.

  It was ridiculous. A grown woman standing looking at the dresses in her wardrobe and crying like an idiot, hot silent tears that streamed down her face. She was too upset to even decide what to put on.

  'This.' A strong brown hand reached out and selected a long dress of amethyst, one of her new dresses. 'It will hide your ankle, keep you warm and please Mrs Hill, who is fussing over a very elaborate Christmas lunch.'

  Helen spun round, going off balance, too startled to speak as Ross caught her and stood looking down at her unhappy face.

  'What are you ... ?'

  'Doing in your room?' he finished for her. 'I don't know.' He shrugged and looked into her eyes. 'Maybe I'm doomed to help the weak and the lame. Right now, you're both.'

  'I'm not dressed.' She began to wipe the tears away, her hand shaking, and he smiled wryly.

  'I have normal vision. I'll just go on looking at your face.'

  'I'm covered up.' She tried to sound loftily sure of herself but it came out something like a plea. His touch was light but it sent signals right through her, excitement beginning to rise over her misery.

  'Reasonably so,' he agreed, glancing down at her slender figure in the lacy slip. 'There, you've spoiled it now. Until this moment I'd never noticed you.'

  Even though he sounded wryly amused, there was a vibrant quality to his voice that had her looking at him with anxious eyes, her expression changing when she realised that her anxiety was that he would go. His gaze intensified, his eye
s holding hers.

  'How is the ankle?' He went on looking down at her and she couldn't speak for a second.

  'It..it hurts like mad.'

  'Then don't stand on it.'

  He swung her into his arms, her figure slight against him, the silk of her skin as soft as the slip that covered her. Slowly his head bent and she made no move to turn her face away because she needed his kisses, his arms, his strength and the warm masculine feel of his body against hers.

  Languorously her head fell back to the curve of his arm. She seemed so fragile against him, his strength too much for her, and his arms tightened.

  'I'm going to kiss you, Helen.'

  The dark voice was almost as exciting as his announcement and her eyes closed slowly, a breathless waiting about her that brought a low deep murmur to his throat. His mouth caught hers quickly, urgently, moving convulsively over hers, and she surrendered at once, her arms winding around his neck, slender and clinging. Without knowing it she arched her body, pressing closer.