Separate Bedrooms

by Anne Weale

  She had only to accept him and not only would she keep the beloved finca and all its sentimental treasures, but Cal would take her to England, away from Tia Angela and free to do as she pleased without criticism or interference.

  Had he fallen passionately in love with her, she would have felt it was wrong to marry him knowing she could never feel more than an affectionate liking for him. But as he seemed to take rather a prosaic view of marriage, she need have no scruples on that score.

  Her mother came into the room. ‘Did you enjoy your drive with Senor Barnard, querida?’ she enquired.

  Her eyes, with the dark-gold irises and long curling lashes which made their relationship instantly recognisable in spite of their other differences, held a twinkling curiosity which made Antonia realise that Dona Elena had guessed Cal’s reason for wanting her daughter to drive with him.

  ‘He’s asked me to marry him, Mama.’

  ‘I hoped he would! He’s very nice and most eligible. I’ve always felt that you would be happiest with an English husband. You’re so much like your papa, with almost nothing of me in you. I shall miss you very much, but no doubt you’ll spend a good deal of time here.’

  ‘You seem to take it for granted that I shall accept him?’

  ‘Naturally. It would be madness not to. He has everything to recommend him. Great charm ... great wealth ... and still young. I’m sure Papa would have approved of him. But if I were you I should keep him guessing for a time.’

  ‘You don’t think I should tell him about Paco?’

  ‘For what purpose? The past has no place in the future. Senor Barnard won’t tell you about the women in his past.’

  Antonia gave Cal her answer the following afternoon when they were walking on the beach at Moraira, a small fishing port with a ruined fort and a crescent beach where a few winter tourists were sunning themselves.

  She said, ‘I’ve thought over what you asked me yesterday. I’m not in love with you, but I like you very much and I think, as you yourself said, that’s a better basis for a marriage.’

  ‘Then may I put this on your finger?’ He took from his pocket a small leather box and, opening it, showed her a diamond ring which flashed and glittered in the early March sunlight.

  ‘It’s beautiful. Is it an heirloom?’

  ‘We have no heirlooms in my family. We can change it if you prefer another stone. An emerald, perhaps?’

  ‘No, I like this’—as he slipped it on to her finger. ‘You were very sure I’d say yes.’

  ‘Not sure at all. How could I be? I had only to look at you to want you, but my looks are not my strong suit’—touching his broken nose with a rueful grin.

  He kissed her hand, first on the back, then on the palm. ‘I’ll do my best to make you happy, Antonia.’

  ‘And I you,’ she promised gravely.

  That evening when, after dinner, her uncle and mother tactfully left them alone together, she expected him to repeat the kiss in the car the day before. Even in Spain a good deal of licence was allowed to couples who were officially novios, and in England, from what she had heard, engaged couples appeared to make love without restraint.

  However, rather to her surprise and puzzlement, Cal did not seize the chance to kiss her, but said, ‘You asked me earlier if your engagement ring was an heirloom, and I told you it wasn’t. I think I should make it clear that my background is very different from yours. My grandfather was a miner. My father invented a gadget which made him a great deal of money and paid for my education. He lives in a bungalow in Brighton with a woman called Maisie Lee who used to be a barmaid in London—my mother died years ago—because that is what suits him. I live in a service flat in London because, up to now, that’s what’s suited me. There’s no house like this waiting for you in England. We shall have to find somewhere to live, and I shall leave it to you to choose the furnishings.’

  Far from being daunted by this prospect, Antonia felt there was nothing she would like better.

  ‘I have one sister, Laura, who also has a flat in London,’ Cal went in. ‘She’s twenty-five, with a broken marriage behind her. She’s the antithesis of you, and I shouldn’t think you’ll get on with each other, but you won’t have to see much of her.’

  ‘What do you mean—the antithesis of me?’

  ‘She also had the benefit of an expensive education, but you’d never know it. She swears, smokes and drinks too much. If she fancies a man, she thinks nothing of hopping into bed with him. I’d like to think you would be a good influence on her, but I think it’s more likely she’ll go out of her way to shock and antagonise you.’

  ‘Will your father approve of our marriage, and the fact that I’m partly Spanish?’

  ‘He’ll adore you on sight,’ he assured her. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll find him a rough diamond, to say the least of it. Laura is ashamed of her humble origins. I’m not. In general, other people’s opinions are a matter of indifference to me. The only opinions I value are those of people whose criteria have nothing to do with a man’s antecedents but depend on his own innate qualities.’

  It was not the first time that day he had reminded her of her father, and she found their alikeness reassuring. Before she retired to bed that night, he kissed her as he had in the car. His restraint did not disappoint her. The longer he postponed more intimate caresses, the better she would like it. At the back of her mind she had an uneasy feeling that Cal was not a man of a naturally ascetic temperament. Indeed there was something about his lower lip which suggested he might be a man of strong sensuality, but she preferred not to dwell on that side of their future relationship.

  There were several occasions during their eight-week engagement when she caught him studying her with a disturbing glint in his steady blue eyes, but although he had more than one opportunity to hold her close and give-some rein to his feelings, he continued to behave with great restraint.

  Thirty-six hours before their wedding they went to Valencia airport to meet his father and sister. The aircraft was late arriving and while they were waiting for it, a couple came to sit near them who had no inhibitions about exchanging lingering kisses in public. Antonia avoided looking at them, but once or twice she could not help flicking a glance at them, and feeling astonished that they did not mind attracting attention by their behaviour.

  ‘Are they embarrassing you? Shall we move?’ Cal asked quietly.

  ‘I think it’s a strange way to behave in public, but it doesn’t bother me to that extent,’ she answered, in an undertone. On impulse, she added, ‘Do I seem very prudish to you?’

  ‘Not prudish. If I thought you were that, I shouldn’t want to marry you. But I’m sure there’s fire under the snow, and a certain degree of primness can be more exciting than a total absence of inhibitions,’ he remarked, with a sardonic glance at the girl on the other bench. ‘At least before marriage.’

  Although they had talked of other important marital matters such as Cal’s lack of any religious beliefs but his willingness to be married in a church, this was the nearest they had come to discussing sex.

  ‘Is there fire under the snow, Antonia?’ he asked softly, his tone of voice more caressing than it had ever been before.

  She felt her colour rising. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered.

  ‘No, how should you?’ he replied. ‘Anyway, there are very few cold women, only unskilful lovers.’

  At this point the imminent arrival of his father’s flight was announced over the tannoy, and Cal said, ‘Just as well. I suspect that, even at this stage, your formidable aunt wouldn’t approve of my talking to you in this vein.’

  Her future father-in-law was a burly man, not as tall as his son, with thick iron-grey hair, shrewd eyes and a north country accent.

  ‘By golly, you’ve picked the best-looking girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, my lad,’ he remarked, when Antonia had offered him her cheeks as befitted the close relationship there would soon be between them.

  In spite of Cal’s some
what off-putting description of his sister, Antonia liked the look of Laura, possibly because she admired the way she dressed and did her hair. At least they were en rapport on that level, which seemed a promising beginning.

  Later when Antonia had shown Laura to her bedroom, and was leaving her to bath and change for the family dinner party which was taking place later, the older girl said abruptly, ‘You look even younger than you are. I hope you’ll be able to cope with Cal. He won’t be an easy man to manage.’

  ‘I don’t want to manage him—only to please him,’ said Antonia.

  Laura had Cal’s mannerism of tilting one eyebrow. She said dryly, ‘If you’re too docile, you’ll bore him. He’s a difficult character.’

  ‘Is he? You know him better than I do, but he doesn’t seem difficult.’

  Laura said cynically, ‘Unlike stags, homo sapiens is at his tamest in the rutting season. I didn’t have problems with my ex-husband for the first six months.’

  The next day, the eve of her wedding, was a busy one for Antonia. She still had some letters of thanks to write for the scores of presents they had received from relations, friends, retired servants, and people who had business connections with her uncles. The house was full of guests from other parts of Spain and, as neither Sam Barnard nor Laura had a word of Spanish, it was more than ordinarily important to make them feel at home in spite of the unintelligible conversations going on around them.

  Cal’s wedding present to her was a pair of diamond ear-rings. Like all her friends, she had had her ears pierced soon after birth and, on her Saint’s Day, as important in Spain as a birthday, had been given many pretty ear-rings, but none as beautiful or costly as those which, in a shagreen case, with the name of a famous London jeweller stamped on the satin lining, were on her breakfast tray on the morning of what should have been among the happiest days of her life.

  They glimmered through the misty folds of her mother’s antique lace veil when she went downstairs in her tight-waisted white silk dress with its billowing skirts and close-fitting sleeves, ruffled at the wrists to match the ruffle round the low-cut neckline.

  They travelled to England on a scheduled flight of the Spanish national airline, Iberia.

  As soon as the aircraft took off, Cal said, ‘If I were you, darling, I’d try to have a nap. I’m going to read.’ He produced a paperback.

  Antonia closed her eyes, feeling far too strung up to sleep. To her surprise, the next thing she knew was that he was leaning towards her, saying, ‘Time to wake up, dormilona. We’re coming in to land.’

  Not only was it not raining, but the sun was shining as they drove from the airport to central London and she had her first glimpse of her father’s country and her new homeland.

  Cal’s luggage consisted of two matching grips, but she had a great deal of baggage which, when they reached their hotel, was brought up to their suite by several liveried porters. The suite consisted of a lobby leading into a sitting-room spacious enough for a party with at least twelve guests; an equally spacious bedroom dominated by a wide bed on a dais, and two bathrooms, one with a masculine decor, the other very feminine.

  ‘I think the sooner your digestion adapts to English mealtimes the better,’ said Cal, while she was unpacking her most essential suitcase, and he was hanging up his suits. ‘Anyway, as we didn’t eat on the plane and you had very little earlier, I should think you’re fairly peckish, aren’t you?’

  Although it was only seven o’clock, far too early to think about dining in Spain, Antonia found that, as it happened, she was hungry. They ate in the hotel restaurant and, being unfamiliar with English food and not well acquainted with French dishes, she asked him to choose her meal for her.

  His choice of pork fillet stuffed with almonds, honey and apple for their main course proved to be delicious. Deliberately, she drank more wine than usual in the hope that it would give her Dutch courage. Curiously, Cal seemed to drink rather less wine than usual.

  Her pudding and his cheese was followed by coffee and a dish of pretty petits fours which she nibbled while he talked unhurriedly of the many places he wanted to show her.

  She found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. Try as she would, she could think of nothing but the big double bed in the suite on the top floor, and of what, very soon, he was going to do to her in it.

  However, to her surprise, as they left the restaurant, he said,

  It’s not yet nine o’clock. Shall we stretch our legs for half an hour?’

  ‘Yes ... if you like,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘I’ll go up and get your coat. It’s not a cold night, but you may find it a little chilly.’

  While she waited for him to rejoin her, Antonia wondered why he had suggested a walk. She had no desire to go to bed early, but it seemed odd for him to want to postpone going upstairs. She felt sure a Spanish bridegroom would have begun making love to her as soon as the luggage-porters had departed.

  Cal returned with the mink coat which had been Tio Joaquin’s wedding present, and held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  ‘Will you be warm enough?’ she asked, for his suit was a light one, without a waistcoat.

  ‘Yes, it has to be very cold for me to need a coat.’

  Outside the hotel entrance, which faced some gardens with railings round them, they turned right and, at the corner of the block, right again.

  ‘This is Sloane Street where you’ll probably do a good deal of your shopping,’ he told her.

  Suddenly he took her left hand and began to walk arm in arm with her, his strong square-tipped fingers interlaced with hers. His hand was as warm as if it were midsummer, and she felt his vitality like an almost tangible force.

  He showed no sign of impatience when she paused to look in shop windows. Indeed several times he pointed out things he thought would suit her, or asked which ones she preferred.

  They sauntered along Knightsbridge to the huge ginger edifice which was Harrods which they circled, looking at every window display, before turning down Beauchamp Place where the clothes and shoes in several of the boutiques were so much to Antonia’s taste that she made mental notes of the names on the fascia boards.

  Without being aware of it, she had relaxed for the first time that day, and it was only when they turned a corner by some traffic lights and she saw, on the other side of the road, the railed gardens and knew they were nearing their hotel that it struck her that Cal had proposed the walk for that purpose.

  She looked up at him, and he looked down at her and smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. Suddenly he seemed less of a stranger, and more of a friend who was doing his best to make things easy for her.

  But when they were back in the hotel, going up in the lift to their suite, and she thought of what lay ahead, her tension revived and redoubled.

  He unlocked their door, and stood aside to let her pass. ‘I’m going to have a shower. How about you?’

  She nodded. Her throat was tight with nervousness and she wasn’t sure that she could speak without betraying the fact to him.

  In the bedroom she took off her coat and hung it in the wardrobe. Then she took her night things from a drawer in the dressing-table. She glanced at Cal in the mirror. He had taken off his coat and was in the act of removing his tie. His hands were steady, his expression calm. He caught her eye and quickly she averted her gaze and hurried into her bathroom.

  While she ran her bath and undressed, she wondered how many women he had slept with before, and how often he would expect to make love to her. Perhaps, at first, every night. She looked at her naked body, reflected from every angle by the mirrored walls of the bathroom, and the thought that it was no longer her body but also his, to touch and caress whenever he chose, sent a violent shudder through her.

  Cal was already in the bedroom when she returned to it. He was sitting in a chair wearing only a white terry bathrobe and red leather mules. No pyjamas. His legs and feet were sunburned, and rather less hairy than mos
t men’s legs.

  Antonia went to the dressing-table, sat down, and took up her brush. It was difficult to behave naturally when she knew he was watching her. As she pulled out the pins which held her chignon, it seemed more like days than hours since she had sat in her room in Valencia with her Spanish hairdresser coiling her thick fair tresses into a style to set off her beautiful wedding veil.

  ‘Let me do that for you.’

  Cal took the brush from her hand and, standing behind her, began to brush her long hair. After a while he tossed the brush aside, and sat down beside her on the dressing-stool.

  ‘Don’t be frightened of me, Antonia.’ With a hand which was gentle but firm, he turned her face up to his and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  Her lips trembled under his and she closed her eyes. Even if she could not respond, at least she could yield to him. But passive submission was harder than she had imagined. After several gentle kisses, his mouth became more insistent, coaxing her lips to open while his fingers were busy unfastening the ties of her peignoir and pushing it off her shoulders, leaving her slim body veiled by the filmy white chiffon of her nightgown.

  Suddenly—and she felt the effort of will with which he did it—he stopped kissing her, and sat back. He was breathing much faster than normal, and his eyes had a strange, fierce light she had never seen in them before. He took hold of one of her wrists and put her hand inside his bathrobe, pressing it hard against his chest, making her feel his heart pounding.

  He said huskily, ‘That’s what you do to me, Antonia.’

  Her heart was thudding too, but not for the same reason. She shrank from the look he gave her, knowing how little of her was concealed by the gossamer folds of the nightdress.

  ‘How lovely you are!’

  If she had loved him, the tone of his voice would have thrilled her. But she didn’t love him, and his passion alarmed and repelled her. It had been different when Paco had looked at her with hot, hungry eyes.

  She saw Cal notice the bows on the shoulders of her nightgown, and her breath caught in her throat, for she guessed what he was going to do next.