by Lilian Peake
‘Just look at them with your big eyes and maddening smile and whisper over and over again, Compro’s the best.’ A brief silence, then, ‘Are you receiving me?’
‘Y-yes, boss,’ she whispered. And he rang off.
CHAPTER NINE
THERE was so much work to do in connection with the reception that the two days to Slade’s return passed quickly.
His secretary had used the telephone exhaustively, inviting guests from all over the country and from across the Channel. Even some of Slade’s American friends who were working in Britain had agreed to attend.
On the evening of Slade’s arrival, Rosalind could not keep still. Every sound outside she thought might be a taxi bringing Slade home, or his key in the lock. Patrick was in his study while Emma watched television. Emma sighed, rose and switched off the set.
‘You’re like a cat on the proverbial hot bricks,’ she said to Rosalind. ‘What’s wrong? Are you dreading my brother’s return or longing for it so-much you can hardly contain yourself?’
Rosalind managed a shrug which she hoped conveyed indifference.
‘Patrick’s told me all about it, Rosa. How Slade insisted on marrying you along with helping Compro.’
‘Well,’ said Rosalind wearily, ‘so now you know.’
Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t really know, do I? And I don’t want you to tell me. Slade certainly hasn’t confided in his “little sister” and I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if his wife did. But look, dear,’ her hand rested softly on Rosalind’s arm, ‘I’m a nurse, aren’t I? That doesn’t mean I hold qualifications in psychology, but if there’s anything you’d like to talk over, just ask Auntie Emma.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rosalind with a weak smile, then jumped when a car door slammed outside.
Emma pulled aside the curtain. ‘False alarm. Next-door neighbour. I’m off to bed, but I’ll call in on Patrick for my goodnight kiss.’ She smiled. ‘You must know by now how your brother and I feel about each other?’
Rosalind nodded. ‘I can’t say how pleased I am, Emma. We never thought, years ago, when we were kids, how we’d all end up, did we?’
Emma made a face. ‘Maybe it was as well. If we had, maybe we’d have run to the four corners of the earth and each found ourselves another partner.’
Rosalind nodded. ‘Cheer up,’ said Emma, going out. ‘Slade shouldn’t be much longer, should he? I expect he’s going over the speed limit to get himself back into his wife’s loving arms. Hold them out good and wide when he opens that front door. He’ll probably fall into them from exhaustion !’
Rosalind waited a moment, then went to the window, gazing out at the darkness. ‘Found ourselves another partner,’ Emma had said. Even if she had, Rosalind thought, Slade wouldn’t have let that stand in his way. Years ago he’d warned her. ‘I’ll be back,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t care if by then you’re married with half a dozen kids, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve said and done to me. For you there’ll be no escape.’
Well, he had come back, and she hadn’t escaped. She was caught up into his orbit and now her life was revolving round him and him alone. She was caught by her love for him like a tree held securely by its roots to the earth from which it drew its life-giving nourishment. Slade gave her life meaning, excitement and a deep enriching love—even though his love for her did not exist.
Giving in to her tiredness, Rosalind went upstairs, noting that Patrick’s study was in darkness, too. After taking a bath, she pulled on a towelling robe and tiptoed into her bedroom. She slipped into a filmy nightdress and combed her hair until it crackled, curling around her face and nestling around her neck. There were footsteps on the stairs, familiar, heavy. She could not help herself, she ran to the door and on to the landing, watching Slade reach the top.
He wore his glasses, which meant that he must already have removed his contact lenses. His jacket was over his shoulder, his tie hanging loose. His lips were moist as if he had just finished a hot drink. He must have arrived while she was still bathing and she had missed the key in the lock.
Now he was here, looking down at her. A smile curved her lips, lighting up her face. He did not smile back. Hold out your arms, Emma had said. But what if he disregarded them, looking on her as tame after Nedra’s bolder yet more experienced charms? Her smile faltered as lie greeted her emotionlessly and went to his room.
The urge to run after him was overpowering. It hit her like a falling tree in a storm how the tables had turned. Eight years before, it was Slade who had loved helplessly, hopelessly. Now it was she who longed for him, the essence of him, not just the heady feel of his body. Yet, despite the appearance those glasses gave of his still being the younger Slade, she knew it was illusion, nothing else. He was now denying her everything she had denied him in the past. And what was worse, denying it deliberately, whereas she in her youth and innocence had not known just what she was doing to him.
He left her looking at his back, and she had no choice but to retreat. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. There was the rushing in of water in the bathroom and eventually the swirling out of that water. At last the door closed, his door, she was certain. Disconsolately she rolled on to her side.
Moments later, unbelieving, she watched her own door coming open and Slade, wearing a robe, entering. His glasses were in his hand. These he placed carefully on her chest of drawers. He stood beside the bed looking down at her. She could hardly bear to see the shadowed eyes, the sagging shoulders. Easing herself to one side of her large-sized single bed, she left a space. It was up to him now. If he wanted to place himself beside her, he would see that she would not repulse him. If he decided to walk away, he was free to do so. It seemed he needed no further invitation. His robe was thrown aside and Rosalind felt a rush of feeling at the tall, strong, muscle-hard sight of him. Pulling back the covers, he got into her bed and covered them both. He held away from her, gazing at her face. Who, she wondered in anguish, was he really seeing—herself or Nedra? A dark-haired girl or a straw-blonde beauty?
‘I came home,’ he said, ‘exhausted. There was no one to greet me.’
If I’d known, she wanted to cry, I’d have been there. I’ve been waiting so long, two endless days …
‘I heated milk. I walked upstairs. Then I saw an apparition at the top, an apparition with a smile, a smile like arms opening wide. That’s what brought me in here, Rosa.’ He ran his hand over her shoulder. ‘Act like a wife,’ he murmured, ‘a loving wife. If it’s difficult, I’ll help. I’ll ask nothing of you, just hold you close.’ His eyes dropped to her nightgown. ‘With no barriers.’
He slipped the ribbon straps from her shoulders, pulling the soft fabric down, easing it away and throwing the nightgown to join his robe. He turned and found the bedside light switch and plunged the room into darkness.
He moved to the centre, fastened his arms around her and pulled her to him. Desire flared inside her at the hard, demanding touch of him, but at once she damped it down. It was comfort he had come for, wifely understanding, not desire.
‘These last two nights,’ he murmured into the hollow of her neck, ‘they’ve been mad, crazy … Hours of work in the day, followed by more work into the small hours. No rest for the mind, and none for the body.’
‘Were you—alone?’ she ventured, her heart pounding at what his answer might be.
‘No, of course I was not alone. How could I be? Selling Compro, Nedra there, giving her all … She’s done so much … I must reward her … More money, something, some way of saying “thank you” …’
Rosalind’s blood grew cold, her heartbeats slowed, her eyelids squeezed tightly to hold back the moisture.
‘No, no,’ he said, halfway to sleep, ‘don’t go away from me. Give me warmth, Rosa, give me peace and calm…’ He was silent and she thought he slept, but he went on, ‘All the way home I’ve been wanting a woman. Dark-haired, with curls like a young girl,’ he was drifting into a dream. She could feel his body tensions slackening.
‘A smile that waited for me …’ He was asleep. Unable herself to resist sleep any longer, Rosalind slept, too. His heart might be with Nedra, she thought tiredly, but it was she, his wife, who held his body safely and lovingly in her arms.
In the night he stirred, found her beside him and his desire woke her. His hands caressed, softly, intimately, holding the womanly softness of her.
She whispered, ‘Slade, it’s me, Rosa, not Nedra. You do understand? Oh, Slade, please answer that you know who it is you’re making love to. It would mean so much to me, darling, if you would just say, “Yes, Rosa, I know it’s you.” ‘
He murmured, ‘Yes, Rosa, I know it’s you … darling.’
Even in her joy she knew that he did not really know. It was as if he were halfway between sleep and waking and was fulfilling a dream …
Rosalind went to work with Patrick, leaving Slade asleep.
Emma had come down while they were eating breakfast. ‘No Big Brother?’ She had looked at Rosalind smiling. ‘What have you done to him?’ Rosalind coloured slightly and touched her mouth with her napkin. ‘Ah,’ said Emma mischievously, ‘worn him out.’ Patrick smiled at the morning paper. Emma went to him and twined her arms around his neck. He looked up at her and saw her lips puckered in invitation. He reached up and kissed them.
‘Still going home tomorrow, love?’ he asked.
‘I must.’ She sat at the table and took some toast from the rack. ‘They told me on the phone that the hospital’s short-staffed. I’ll have to go, darling.’
Darling, Emma had said. Between Patrick and Emma it was a word that meant something …
‘I’m sorry you’ll be leaving us,’ Rosalind had said.
‘No more sorry than I am,’ Emma had replied, in between chewing toast and marmalade.
At the office entrance Rosalind said, ‘Slade will be mad with us, Patrick, for leaving him in bed.’
‘He won’t be mad,’ said Patrick, and went into his office.
Slade was mad, however. When Rosalind’s telephone rang, and she heard his curt voice say, ‘Why didn’t you shake me awake?’ her heart sank. Now I know, she told herself miserably, that when he made love to me he didn’t really know it was I, Rosalind, he held in his arms. I wasn’t even just a woman. I was Nedra.
‘Last night, you were so tired I couldn’t bring myself to—’
‘To hell with that. What do you think I’m made of?’ He rang off. Two minutes later he rang again. ‘The reception. Have you done as I asked?’
‘The caterers have been contacted, the arrangements confirmed. The guests have been invited, and most of them have accepted by telephone. The house next door has been cleaned from top to bottom. Everything’s ready.’
‘Good.’
‘Slade?’ She knew he had paused in the act of ringing off.
‘Yes?’
Don’t say it, a voice whispered. But something beyond her control drove her on. ‘Am I as efficient as Nedra? Have I done so much for Compro I merit a reward?’ There was a heavy silence. A demon inside her persisted, ‘Will you give me more money, will you find some way of saying “thank you”?’
The clatter of Slade’s receiver made her wince. The memory of his words, spoken when he was utterly off guard, had brought a lump to her throat. The jealousy that had driven her to ask the bitter questions tore at her chest.
It was Emma’s last evening, so Slade and Patrick had returned early for a celebration meal which Emma herself had cooked. Slade ignored Rosalind. Patrick could hardly bear to take his arm from Emma’s waist.
Afterwards, washing the dishes, Emma asked, ‘What’s wrong, Rosa? Not on speaking terms with Slade again? Whose fault this time?’
‘Don’t know,’ Rosalind said shortly. ‘Partly his, partly mine. Well, mostly mine, maybe—I don’t know. Don’t let it bother you, Emma.’ She sighed. ‘Things will work out somehow, but which way,’ her shoulders lifted and fell, ‘who knows? One thing bothers me, though. The parents— both sides—I hope they’re not too disappointed if things don’t work out.’
Emma dried her hands. ‘They will be disappointed. It won’t be long before they start clamouring for grandchildren. Since Patrick and I aren’t even married yet, it’ll be you two they’ll look to. Never mind, it won’t be long before Patrick and I become officially engaged. He doesn’t want to wait long, Rosa. You do understand?’
‘Only too well. I know how lonely he’s been. Jeanie left a vacuum in his life which only the right person could fill. By the way he looks at you, there’s no doubting you’re that right person!’
It was strange returning to the office premises the following evening. Slade had ordered a car to collect them. Patrick had not returned home, having stayed on to supervise last-minute details.
Rosalind stole a glance at the man beside her on the back seat of the car. After a quick glance as she had descended the stairs, he had made no comment on her appearance. It would have been pleasant to know if her husband approved of her choice of dress. The long skirt was a dazzling blue, while the top was long-sleeved and patterned with broken, uneven white stripes on a matching blue background. From the waist hung a blue and white tie in dramatic contrast to the unbroken blue of the skirt.
‘Slade?’ She looked smilingly up at him, endeavouring to bring back the lover who had held her in his arms. ‘Is my neckline too revealing?’
He glanced at the appropriate part of her anatomy. ‘Too revealing for what?’
She frowned. He was remote again. Was he regretting what had taken place between them on his return? Was he annoyed with himself for mistaking her for the beautiful Nedra? ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
‘It will draw the men’s eyes,’ he said indifferently. ‘Those of one man in particular.’
Her head shot round ‘Oh? Who?’
‘Someone you know.’
‘Not John Welson?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I’ve invited him to the reception.’
‘That—that was kind of you.’
‘Kind? To whom? To you?’ She did not reply, being puzzled by the question. ‘Hardly kindness,’ he went on. ‘Expediency on my part, perhaps. One person’s loss is another’s gain.’
‘You’re talking in riddles. What do you mean?’
‘You’ll find out.’
She thought, the other night he mistook me for Nedra, so I’ll have my revenge now. ‘I can’t wait to see John again.’
He answered tonelessly, ‘In less than fifteen minutes your wish will be granted.’
Slade paid the car driver and followed Rosalind into Compro’s offices. ‘Before we go next door,’ he said, ‘I must look up some figures.’
‘And I’ll comb my hair. Slade, do I need more lipstick?’
Her ruse to get his attention failed. ‘I don’t know why you wear lipstick.’ He went up the stairs two at a time.’ ‘Don’t be long.’
Rosalind followed more slowly. Always, she thought, I’m following Slade. The young man from the past was having his revenge indeed. She had combed her hair and applied a touch of lipstick when the internal telephone rang. ‘I’m coming,’ she said, and rang off.
When she appeared he was waiting at his office door, tossing the key impatiently. As they entered the newly-acquired property next door, she said, ‘This place has atmosphere. Pity to take away its character and turn it into offices.’
As they climbed the stairs, meeting Patrick about to descend, Slade said, ‘This sister of yours is a sentimentalist.’
‘That’s news to me,’ said Patrick.
‘That proves,’ said Rosalind, annoyed, ‘that neither of you really knows me. What about men? They haven’t a streak of romance or sentiment in them.’ Patrick, as he passed by, laughed caustically in a brotherly way.
Slade bent down and whispered, ‘I’ve got a whole oil well of sentiment deep inside my nature. The trouble is that you just don’t possess equipment powerful enough to drill through and reach it.’
He had spoken goadin
gly, but she turned away to hide the hurt he had inflicted. ‘What about—?’ She had been going to say, What about the other night? But she remembered just in time that the lovemaking had been part of his dream. To him she had been Nedra.
The room was filled with flowers and their perfume reached out to them as they entered. Food was arranged enticingly on long tables covered with white starched cloths. Sparkling glasses chinked on a table to one side of the room. Bottles of all shapes and sizes stood near them. Behind the tables, neatly dressed women waited. Behind the bottles men stood making deft, expert last-minute alterations to the arrangements of soda siphons and ice buckets.
‘You’ve done well,’ said Slade, surveying the scene, ‘to achieve so much in such a short time.’
‘Praise indeed,’ she retorted, ‘from you, since you’re usually so reluctant to part with it.’
‘Little minx,’ he muttered. His mask has slipped a fraction, she thought happily. ‘Turn around to face me,’ he ordered. ‘You’re beautiful. From head to toe you’re bewitching. You do me credit. Is that praise enough for you?’
She glowed. ‘Tell me more,’ she said, laughing.
‘Other men’s eyes will tell you the rest,’ he replied.
Rosalind thought disappointedly, His mask has come down again.
‘Here they come,’ he said as Patrick, at the door, greeted the first arrival. ‘Smile and you’ll have them falling at your feet.’ He spoke mockingly under his breath.
She whispered at the last moment, ‘Shall I do a Nedra?’
‘Don’t you dare!’ was his last comment as Patrick brought their first guest to them.
John Welson was late and Slade had moved from the door to mingle. Rosalind, however, lingered near it and when John appeared, he saw her at once.
A finger went to his lips and he crept in like a fugitive. He was tall, thin and smiling. Rosalind ran to greet him and his easy familiarity which in the past she had known so well was like the warmth of a room after battling against a blizzard. ‘John!’ she exclaimed, catching his hand, ‘you’re a friend in a roomful of strangers. Come in, how are you?’
