Enemy From the Past

by Lilian Peake

  Into the darkness, she thought, like a ghost from the past, the kind of thing the young Slade Anderson would have done, watching, following wherever she went. But the motivation this time was not admiration nor infatuation, but covetousness, suspicion and mistrust.

  The house Gerry shared with three other young men was, like Patrick’s, also built in the Victorian era. Music and talking came from behind the closed doors, but no one appeared when Gerry allowed Rosalind to enter in front of him.

  ‘You go up,’ he said, ‘second door on the right. I’ll get a couple of cans of drink.’

  ‘Coke for me,’ Rosalind called as she went upstairs.

  Gerry’s room was untidy and full of cherished belongings. The view from the window was unimpressive. ‘Like my home?’ Gerry asked, balancing the cans in one hand and holding a clean glass in the other.

  ‘Just this side of chaos,’ said Rosalind, smiling. ‘Oh, thanks.’ She accepted the Coke, tearing open the can and pouring the liquid into the glass. Then she looked round for a place to sit.

  Gerry swept magazines from the only chair. While Rosalind occupied this, he lowered himself to the unmade bed. ‘Decided to stay?’ he asked hopefully. When she smiled and looked around, he said, ‘I’ll tidy up so well you won’t recognise the place.’

  ‘No, Gerry, but—thanks for asking. I really did come to talk.’

  Something in her tone made him stiffen. ‘Under instructions to interrogate me? Who am I entertaining—an attractive, rather sexy girl called Rosalind, or her majesty the personnel officer of Compro? It makes a big difference, you see. The first I’ll talk to and laugh with, but if it’s the other, I’ll shut up like a clam.’

  Rosalind finished her drink while Gerry swallowed his in a few mouthfuls. ‘Look, Gerry, I—’

  ‘Has the new, sweep-clean boss been programming you? A nice, easy approach, preferably on his home ground, while he’s off guard …’

  ‘It’s important, Gerry. And anyway, I thought it was— well, cosier than talking formally in my office. We’re friends and I’m not pulling rank, honestly. And one thing I can tell you—I certainly was not told by Slade Anderson to come here to your home. If he knew, he’d—’ Her teeth captured her upper lip, pressing hard. She had so nearly let out her secret!

  There was a long silence. Gerry swilled the remainder of his drink, then tipped the can and emptied it, throwing it hard into the waste paper bin.

  ‘Okay, I’ll make it easy for you,’ he said at last. ‘When I joined Compro I was told I’d be in the commercial department, but instead I was “borrowed” by the scientific section and I’ve been there ever since. I hate the project I’m on. It’s an ongoing thing with no end in sight.’

  ‘Which is why you’re slow,’ Rosalind put in gently, ‘and why it’s already ten weeks over the estimated time? And also why you’re late into work most mornings, and look so miserable most of the time?’

  ‘You’d be a wow as a psychologist, Madam Personnel Officer.’

  Rosalind went over to the bed and stood in front of him. ‘Don’t be like that. We had to find out what’s been bugging you. What is it you want—a transfer to Commercial, where you really belong?’

  ‘An inspired guess, Miss Pres—’

  ‘Be quiet, Gerry.’ Rosalind spoke quietly. Gerry shrugged and slumped, pushing with his thumbs at the beer can which he had retrieved from the waste bin. It gave, then he crushed the tin the other side. ‘Shall I speak to the Commercial Department head and see what’s going?’

  ‘I already know. There’s something in the taxation line that interests me.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll have a word with the project leader and see if there’s a place for you. Does that suit you?’

  He threw the dented can across the room and looked up at her. ‘I know a place for you,’ he said, smiling now. ‘And that’s here, on my bed.’ He reached up and pulled her by the shoulders, swinging her until she was stretched on the bed. He half lay beside her.

  ‘Gerry,’ she begged, afraid now, ‘please don’t—’

  ‘I won’t. I know when I’m beaten. But I just want you here for a moment, your head next to mine on my pillow so that when you’ve gone I can lie here and dream, dream you’re here beside me.’ He placed his head next to hers.

  Fearful of arousing either his desires or anger, she said lightly, ‘I should think you’re surrounded by enough women,’ she indicated the posters round the walls, ‘without adding me to your dream world.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘You’re top of my fantasy world, Rosalind. You didn’t know that, did you?’

  She swallowed. ‘You’ll find someone else, Gerry. A nice girl—’

  ‘No one else. Only you.’ With a look of anguish he gazed at her face, so close to his. ‘Why won’t you stay, why won’t you live with me? Not for ever, just a little while.’ His hand came out, groping. She held it away.

  ‘Gerry, no. There’s—there’s a reason, but—’

  He sat up and Rosalind swung her legs to sit beside him. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

  She nodded. ‘Sorry, Gerry. I can’t tell you who, but one day you’ll know.’

  ‘And then,’ said Gerry, rising, ‘I’ll smash his face in. Come on, I’ll see you home. Then I’ll get drunk.’

  ‘Gerry,’ she put a hand on his shoulder, ‘it never was on, was it? We’ve been friends, nothing more.’

  ‘If there’s someone else, I don’t see the point of discussing it.’ He went with her to the door.

  ‘Please don’t come out,’ she urged. ‘I’ll take myself home, in a cab if I can get one.’

  He looked so disconsolate, she hesitated, seeking in vain for words to soothe him.

  ‘Rosalind.’ She waited. ‘Thanks for—putting your head on my pillow.’

  Moved beyond words, she reached up and kissed him on the lips. Then she ran down the stairs and left the house.

  Slade was in the entrance hall when Rosalind opened the door. He looked behind her as if expecting to see Gerry.

  ‘Disappointed?’ she asked, deciding that attack was better than defence. ‘You know who I’ve been with, because you followed me. Did you hope Gerry would bring me back so that you could have a stand-up fight with him to establish your rights over your wife-to-be beyond all doubt?’

  ‘Okay, so I followed you. As your fiancé, I had a right to know which man you fancied this time to spend the evening with.’

  ‘Just what the younger, uncouth Slade Anderson would have done in the old days. Does he still live on inside you?’ There was scorn in her voice and she knew it was the sixteen-year-old in her that was talking.

  ‘He may do, who knows? But I can assure you that where you’re concerned he doesn’t. For instance, the old Slade wouldn’t have done this to you.’ Without warning he reached out, hooked an arm round her neck and pulled her hard against him. The impact winded her and she gasped. He held her there until her neck ached, but she would not give in and rest her cheek against him.

  To avoid looking up into his eyes, she closed hers. ‘Where have you been with him?’ Slade demanded.

  ‘Nowhere,’ she mumbled, but he didn’t believe her and the hold on her neck tightened, making her cry out. ‘No where, I tell you! It’s true. Just to—’ She stopped, knowing how he would interpret her words, but now she was committed to continue. ‘To Gerry’s place.’

  ‘Why the hesitation?’ Slade sneered. ‘Guilty conscience? Where does he live—with his family?’

  Of course, she thought, in Slade’s eyes, it would have been ‘safer’ if his family had been around. ‘He shares a house.’ The hold on her neck was suffocating her and tears sprung involuntarily.

  ‘You met the others? Had a drink with them? Maybe a meal?’

  ‘I’m not telling you until you let me go.’ The hold loosened, but she was still not free. His other hand had crept to cover a breast, to fasten on it possessively but gently. ‘We went up to his room.’ The gentleness vanished and b
rutal fingers dug into the soft swell, still covered by her clothes. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she cried, fighting to remove his hand. ‘We talked. I—I did what you asked me. Tried to find out what’s wrong for Gerry at work.’

  Slowly he let her go and ran his hands over his hair. Rosalind massaged the back of her neck. ‘You swear on your honour that that was all? Nothing else happened?’

  ‘You’ve got a filthy mind,’ she retorted, wiping away the tears.

  He did not react, but appeared to be deep in thought. He grasped her wrist. ‘Come with me.’ He tugged and she had to go. In his bedroom he went to a drawer, took out a small box and flipped open the lid to reveal a gold ring bearing a large solitaire diamond.

  While her eyes were admiring the purity of the sparkling stone, he caught at her left wrist and pushed the ring on to her engagement finger.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Slade,’ she said, her eyes moistening involuntarily as she watched the brilliant colours reflected from the facets of the diamond.

  ‘I’m glad you approve of my choice,’ said Slade. ‘Too bad if you didn’t.’

  Still moved by the beauty of the gem, she made a face at him, an action which took her back ten years. He gazed broodingly for a few moments at her still figure, then said, ‘Now the world knows you’re mine, including Gerry Alton.’ He reached out and grasped a handful of hair at the back of her head and her face lifted to his. ‘But if,’ he added, ‘you’re lying to me about the way you spent the evening with him …’

  She said earnestly, ‘I’m not, Slade. I discovered what was wrong, as I told you.’ He released her hair. ‘He’s on the wrong project for him. Hence, no motivation. I’ll talk to the appropriate people in the morning.’ The smile she gave him held a challenge. ‘I’ve been working overtime, Slade. Will you give me extra pay?’

  His eyes kindled, his response to her playfulness spontaneous. ‘I’ll give you extra pay, my sweet, provided you give me what I want.’ His hands pulled from his pockets and fastened round her arms. Once again she found herself against him, but this time his action spoke of desire, not brutality, of an appetite demanding appeasement and a determination to feed it with the delights for which it craved.

  He lifted her and his anger made him rough. In two strides he was at the bed and she was dropped on-to the covers. In a moment he was stretched beside her, his hand searching for an opening at the front of her dress. When he found none, he cursed and pushed her on to her side, discovering the zip fastener at the back.

  In seconds the dress was opened and the sleeves sliding down her arms. He knows, she thought bemusedly, he knows all about it, all about women … Why has the knowledge made him grow hard, instead of sincere and artless and as transparently honest as he used to be? Then, as his kisses trailed from her throat to her shoulders, burning a fiery trail where no man’s lips had ever been before, her powers of thought began to leave her. He tugged aside her bra straps and his mouth gentled her breast where earlier he had inflicted pain.

  Her arms gripped his shoulders, her fingers clawing in ecstasy at the fabric of his sweater. As she opened her mouth to gasp, it was covered by his in a relentless, searching possessiveness. It was as if he was telling her, You’re mine, you’re mine, no other man’s …

  Out of the mists came a thought, shapeless at first, but taking form and substance as it emerged. There seemed, through the cloudiness, to come a burst of sunshine and it told her, brilliant and golden before her astonished eyes, I love this man … I love Slade Anderson … And I don’t even know when the hating ended and the loving began.

  ‘Rosa,’ he murmured, ‘I want you. Now.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘wait, Slade, please wait. Patrick might—’

  ‘Patrick’s out.’

  Something told her it mustn’t be like this with not an endearment, not even a hint of loving and tenderness. But there was time between now and their marriage, whenever that was to be, to make him care for her as she now knew she cared for him.

  His head was on the pillow beside her. A blurred memory returned of Gerry’s head beside hers earlier that evening, but she had not stroked his hair, she had not looked upon his face as she now looked upon this man’s. His hold on her slackened and she knew he had, by immense control of his masculine reflexes, conceded to her request.

  He pulled himself upright and looked down at her. ‘Tidy yourself,’ he said, his lips curving. ‘Your wantonness is showing.’ He smiled at her indignation, but because she had closed her eyes, he could not see that he had struck a blow at her deepest feelings. Had this man no shred of tenderness? No love at all to give?

  Hastily she pulled up the shoulder straps, then struggled with the rear zip fastener. In her bewildered state she could not manage. As she swung her legs off the bed and stood up, she appealed to him mutely.

  He came to her, turned her and the fastener was closed in an instant.

  ‘It’s plain you’re an expert,’ she said tartly.

  His fingers lifted her chin, and he gazed at her flushed cheeks, eyes which were still bright with the excitement he had aroused, lips that were pouting a little at the arrogant invasion of his.

  ‘Vinegar, my lovely, when there should only be honey after our kisses?’ His mouth brushed hers and left her lips tingling. She wanted to reach up and pull him down and whisper, Love me again, but this time let’s go through with it. There was a brightness in his eyes which encouraged her.

  She started to speak, but the words which came out were not those which hammered at her brain. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, ‘for—for stopping when you did.’

  Slade did not smile as she had expected. He frowned as if seeking the reason for her gratitude. It seemed he had found it. His eyes grew hard, his lips a thin line. ‘Yes, I suppose you were relieved at my holding back. You would hardly welcome the plundering of your body by the man you vowed you would hate until the day you died.’

  Distressed, she gazed at him, searching for a means of absolving herself from such an outrageous promise. She could no longer claim, as she had before, but I was so young, just an impetuous adolescent.

  There was nothing to say in reply. For a few moments she gazed at the man she now knew she loved, at his candid, shrewd eyes, the long, rounded jaw, the mouth which held more than a hint of ruthlessness. Then she turned away, afraid—afraid of the fire which had kindled between them and which, before it had done its worst, would surely have caused a devastation of her life and her emotions beyond her imagination’s limits.

  At breakfast next morning, Patrick looked up as Rosalind entered. He looked at the wall clock, began to make a brotherly remark about being early for once but changed to commenting that she ‘looked a bit rough’.

  Rosalind had hoped that her restless night would not show, but realised that despite applying a layer of makeup, it was not easy to fool a brother. Slade, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee, looked at her, smiled cynically and handed her the cup. ‘You look as though you need it.’

  Even as she was starting to refuse, her hand went out to take it, but finding, to her consternation, that she could not meet her fiancé’s eyes. Patrick looked closely from one to the other, appeared to weigh up a possibility, glanced at them again. ‘No, I think not,’ he said, and bit into his toast.

  His sister knew, as did Slade, what Patrick had been considering. Colouring, then annoyed with herself for doing so, she sat opposite him. He caught the flash of her engagement ring and said, ‘So you’ve given her the ring.’

  Slade smiled. ‘I thought it was time I let the world know of my intentions.’

  Patrick pushed back his chair, grinned at his sister and went out.

  Slade came up behind Rosalind and wrapped his arms about her breasts. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded. Her head turned and tilted back and a gentle, irresistible kiss took her lips. When he let her go, hours seemed to have passed. Her body went slack against his. ‘You liked that?’ She nodded, her body coming alive under the pressure of his a
rms.

  He lifted her to her feet, turned her to face him and clasped his hands behind her back. ‘After the wedding, you’ll discover that in marriage there’s a time for tenderness and a time for …’ He smiled. ‘It’s the wrong time of day for such thoughts. When the right moment comes, I’ll teach you, my sweet, I’ll teach you so many things.’

  ‘Break it up,’ Patrick said briskly from the doorway. Five minutes later they were on their way.

  Rosalind was at her desk re-reading the short list of applicants for the post of customer liaison officer when the telephone rang.

  ‘Rosalind?’ Slade’s voice was abrupt. No sign now of Slade the lover. It was Slade the businessman, Slade the brilliant academic turned technocrat, wielding his power and loving it. It made Rosalind stiffen.

  Memories of his kiss, his caressing hands, still lingered on her body. She could not banish from her mind as easily as he could all that had so recently gone before.

  ‘I want the interviews for customer liaison officer brought forward to Friday. Better still, tomorrow.’

  Her thoughts were in a turmoil. ‘But Slade, how am I expected to get letters off to six people, receive their replies—’

  ‘Call them on the phone.’

  ‘Suppose none of them can make it tomorrow?’

  ‘There’s only one of those six that I want. You know which one. Her name’s Nedra Farmer. Tell her to come tomorrow. If she makes a fuss, offer her double her train fare, or plane fare. Or put her in a five-star hotel.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’ A niggle of jealousy began to work its way into Rosalind’s system.

  A crash of the receiver in her ear ended the conversation. Rosalind raced down the stairs and burst into Patrick’s and Slade’s room. Slade looked up irritably. ‘Now what?’

  ‘What about the others? The rest of the short list?’