'Time will remedy the deficits for us, Madame Wife.' He held open the door for her with a flourish. 'In the meantime let us eat, drink, and do our damndest to be merry.'
Verity felt a great deal better in the crowded, low-ceilinged bar. It was very full, obviously a popular place to eat, judging by the amount of people prepared to wait for a table in the dining room.
'Shouldn't we go in?' asked Verity.
Ben shook his head and accepted a menu from a pretty waitress as they sipped gin and tonics standing at the bar.
'Mrs Dalton, the landlady, knows this is a special occasion for us.'
Verity wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. 'I hope they don't play the Wedding March as we go in to dinner.'
Ben's eyebrows rose. 'You don't want people to know we're married?'
Verity shrugged. 'Married, yes. It's the newly-wed bit that's always so embarrassing, somehow.'
He finished his drink. 'Have another. Perhaps the gin will help with the embarrassment.'
Verity agreed so promptly there was a pronounced twist to Ben's wide mouth as he turned away to order.
'It's a very interesting menu for a country pub,' she commented, when he handed her the glass.
'Perhaps this might be a good moment to confess that I ordered the meal in advance, too,' he said with a grin.
'How organised of you.' Verity raised her glass in toast. 'Here's to your choice, I'm sure I'll enjoy it.'
Not long afterwards they were hurried off to the dining-room by the waitress with the news that their first course would arrive in five minutes exactly. A bottle of champagne stood ready in a silver bucket as they took their places in the atmospheric, raftered dining-room, where every table but their own was occupied. A few curious glances were directed at them as the landlady herself bore a tray to their table and served them in person with individual salmon soufflé mousses masked with lobster and prawn sauce.
'Sorry to rush you,' she said briskly, 'but you must eat it at once before it spoils. Enjoy your meal.'
They thanked her and obeyed her instructions, hardly saying a word as they quickly despatched the delicious feather-light concoction and washed it down with champagne.
'You were dead right,' said Verity with a sigh as she finished. 'Mrs Dalton's cooking is out of this world. Perhaps she might pass on a few tips.' To her relief the warmth and the food and the wine actually were mitigating the effects of Gussie's bombshell a little. She smiled a little, thinking that any respectably sensitive female would have been entirely without appetite under the circumstances, instead of eating like a horse.
'Why the Mona Lisa smile?' asked Ben softly, leaning towards her to refill her glass.
'A private joke.' She opened her eyes fully as they met his. 'Perhaps if I drink enough champagne I might even tell you about it later, but in the meantime what are we eating next?'
'Wait and see,' he said teasingly. 'And if champagne is what you want there's another one on ice for us. I kept to the theme of celebration for choice of the wine.'
Verity smiled in approval, her eyes widening as the next course arrived. This was more substantial fare in the shape of thick slices of fillet steak sandwiched together with ham, onions and mushrooms, then wrapped in perfect puff pastry and baked to golden perfection.
'Boeuf en croute,' announced Ben.
Verity was too busy eating even to comment for a while.
'I hope you haven't ordered a dessert,' she said at last. 'Even I am beyond eating another bite.'
'Then have some champagne, and in a little while we'll have coffee.' Ben leaned back in his chair, his eyes on Verity's face as she laid down her knife and fork with a sigh. She drank thirstily and held out her glass for more champagne.
'I don't think I should be knocking this back as if it were lemonade,' she said doubtfully, 'but I feel extraordinarily thirsty.'
'It's hot in here. And as long as you don't sing lewd songs as you go upstairs no one will mind.' Ben grinned as she frowned at him suspiciously.
'Are you trying to get me drunk?' she demanded.
Ben shook his head. 'Not drunk. Less tense, perhaps. Earlier on you were wound up like a watch spring.'
She nodded. 'I know. I'm a little better now.'
'Why, Verity?' Ben leaned towards her, his face urgent. 'Are you nervous of me, for God's sake? I could understand it if—well, we had never had our experience at the cottage. But under the circumstances, I don't quite see what you have to fear. In fact, if you want I'll sleep on the sofa in the little sitting-room up there until you get more used to the idea of having me around.'
Verity's eyes widened in surprise. 'Would you really? How very forbearing. That's not precisely what's bothering me, though—I hope I wouldn't be so wet.' She hesitated, her eyes falling. 'Shall we say I had a little shock this afternoon, and am only now beginning to recover.'
'Tell me what happened—' Ben broke off as the coffee arrived. 'Brandy, Verity? Liqueur?'
'No thanks. I'll stick to the champagne, I think.' Verity drank her coffee while Ben had a quick word with the waitress, then held out her glass.
'I thought we might go up to our little sitting-room and finish off our drinks in peace up there,' he said smoothly. 'It's very full here tonight, and I gather they'd like our table if we've finished.'
'Of course.' The last thing Verity wanted was peace and privacy, but there seemed no way to object, so she got up obediently, allowing Ben to drape her jacket over her shoulders as they made their way through the bar to the stairs.
'I'll just hang up my jacket,' said Verity, when they reached their rooms. She lingered in the bedroom, combing her hair unnecessarily while Ben replenished the fire and the promised champagne arrived.
'You do intend to get me drunk,' said Verity as she sat in the armchair beside the blaze.
'I want you to tell me what happened this afternoon,' said Ben inexorably, 'and if champagne is the only way to get you to talk, then champagne it is.'
Not sure if she liked the sound of that Verity accepted the glass he gave her as if it were a potion he was administering.
'You won't like it,' she said, her eyes troubled.
'How can you know until you tell me?' he countered, and sat down opposite on the small sofa, his eyes fixed on her face.
'I know!' Verity drank a little of the champagne and stretched out in the chair, her eyes on the flickering logs. 'You see, Ben, if I were a heroine in a Victorian melodrama I would nurture this dreadful secret in my bosom to the grave. Unfortunately I am definitely not heroine material.'
'I don't agree,' he said quietly.
'Don't you? How sweet.' Verity sighed. 'Well, Ben, if you must know the truth, when you left me at the bedroom door to change after the wedding, who should be waiting for me but Augusta Middleton herself. In person.'
Ben's face stilled.
'I might have known—'
'She is really not at all pleased that you've married me, you know.' Verity was surprised to find how easy it was to tell him once she'd made a start, wondering if champagne was a form of truth drug. 'In fact she's hopping mad.'
Ben jumped to his feet, and stood looking down into the fire.
'I can't really see that our marriage is actually anything to do with Gussie,' he said harshly, his face averted.
'Perhaps it might be a good idea to tell her that. As far as she's concerned your marriage to me is purely a marvellous cover for your extra-curricular activities with her.' Verity stiffened as Ben swung round to stare at her with a look of blazing distaste.
'My what?' He pounced, pulling her to her feet and shaking her slightly. 'Explain.'
Abruptly Verity was as hotly angry as he. 'That's what the lady said! She was very explicit. She told me you didn't love me—I was aware of that, of course— and that you would always love her, would presumably carry on (I use the term deliberately) as you'd always done.' She winced as Ben's fingers cut into her arms through the thin sleeves.
'And you believed every
word,' he said through his teeth, his eyes like black ice. Verity looked back at him squarely, her head thrown back in defiance.
'She was so convincing, Ben. Especially the Parthian shot she let fly as an exit line.' A shudder of distaste ran through her body. 'She's pregnant, she told me, and Peter's on cloud nine. Unfortunately for him, Gussie's inference was that the child was more likely to be yours. Could it be yours, Ben—could it?'
She held her breath as she watched the ice in his eyes melt to white-hot fury for an instant before they abruptly went blank, Ben's whole face immediately closed and withdrawn as the familiar shutters came down on his emotions. His hands dropped from hers and his body relaxed deliberately as he turned away. He leaned an elbow on the chimneypiece and resumed his inspection of the flames. When he finally spoke his voice was so conversational and matter-of-fact he could have been discussing the weather.
'If you consider a question like that necessary, Verity, what earthly point is there in any denial of mine? As far as you're concerned I seem to be tried and convicted in advance, so I shan't trouble myself with useless refutations.' He strolled over to the tray and took the bottle of champagne from its nest of ice, filling first her glass then his own. 'A toast, my trusting wife. To connubial bliss!'
Verity sat down in silence, sipping from her glass in sudden, cold sobriety. Her tension mounted as she watched Ben polish off the entire contents of the bottle in swift, quiet succession as she refused any more for herself. She felt shattered, and would have traded her immortal soul to take back her words. It was rapidly becoming obvious that Gussie's venom should have been put aside, ignored, never allowing her the triumph of engineering this disastrous start to the Dysarts' married life. So much for hindsight, she thought bitterly, looking across at Ben. He was lounging back on the sofa in apparent relaxation, his jacket and tie removed, the empty champagne flute suspended from one lax hand as it swung over the arm. Suddenly the silence seemed insupportable.
'Well?' she blurted. 'What do we do now?'
A thoroughly disquieting smile spread slowly over Ben's face as he replaced his glass on the tray with painstaking care.
'Do? For a lady of your intelligence that seems an excessively silly question.' With, maddening deliberation he rose slowly to his feet and took the glass from her unwilling hand, finishing off the rest of her champagne before putting the glass on the tray. 'You obviously didn't want that—pity to waste vintage champagne. Now, what were we talking about?' He eyed her with a look of disquieting speculation. 'Ah yes, you were asking me what we should do next. What do you suggest? Perhaps you fancy Match of the Day, or one of those ancient black-and-white films they unearth for Saturday nights?'
Verity stared at him in stony silence. Ben gave a tigerish little smile and pounced suddenly, yanking her out of the chair.
'We are going to do what any other, normal, right-minded newly-weds would do at such a juncture, my beautiful bride. I shall now remove these elegant clothes and teach you that love—or what passes for it between you and me—is by no means all hearts and flowers; not by a long way. Pity really. Our wedding night would have been so much more romantic with a little trust and understanding, but never mind, we'll just have to do the best we can without it.' And his lips came down on hers, prising them apart in a cynical parody of his previous kisses.
There seemed little point in resisting. The arms holding Verity were vice-like in their grip, allowing her no movement of any kind, so she remained quiet in his grasp, letting him do what he wanted. He raised his head, looking down reflectively at her mutinous face.
'No response, Verity?'
'Only to remind you of your suggestion to sleep out here tonight,' she said calmly.
He smiled with hateful indulgence. 'Ah, but that was before I realised you knew the extent of my villainy, dear heart. Now you know what a blackguard I am what point is there in my trying to rise above it?'
Without warning he picked her up and strolled unhurriedly into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Verity remained impassive in his arms, knowing only too well there was no dignity or benefit in struggling. Her athleticism was no match for someone trained in armed combat, and she knew it. She lay flaccid and limp like a rag doll as Ben laid her on the bed and removed her clothes with a swift competence that was almost insultingly impersonal. Head averted she let him get on with it, shutting her eyes tightly, yet unable to control the little gasp of shock as he came down beside her, her eyes flying open to see his grin at her involuntary reaction to the contact of their naked bodies.
'Are those your tactics, my darling?' he asked caressingly. 'Just to lie there and think of England?'
Her eyes flashed at him like an angry cat for an instant before her lids dropped and she turned her head away, the endearment adding fuel to her fury.
'Not England,' she said sweetly, 'just Gussie.'
She had precious little breath to say anything for some time after that as he proceeded to render her helpless with pitiless expertise to the point where nothing existed but the terrible, beautiful sensations he was inducing with a concentrated violence that was almost detached. Without opening her eyes she knew he was watching her writhe and twist, his satisfaction complete as she moaned and pleaded, helpless in the grip of this purely physical cataclysm that engulfed her, the only sound he made the strangled sound in his throat as he finally became a victim of the same irresistible force. Then without a word Ben left her and went from the room. Verity put out an unsteady hand and switched off the light before sliding out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom in the dark, unable to face even her own reflection. She stayed there for several minutes, wishing she could lock herself in, but eventually she went back to the bedroom, fumbling in the chest for the sleek, satin nightdress bought in such naive anticipation for the occasion. She slid it over her head and climbed wearily into the bed, almost jumping out of her skin as two hard hands came out and pulled her against a warm, bare body.
'A waste of time, putting this on,' said Ben in her ear.
'I thought you'd gone to sleep in the other room,' she snapped, trying to wriggle away.
'Wishful thinking. I merely went to damp down the fire for the night. The fire in there I mean.' His voice roughened and he caught her hand to hold it against him. 'Not this one.'
Verity's face flamed in the darkness and she twisted away.
'Please, Ben. Don't. We'll both regret this—'
'I won't, I assure you.' At his husky little laugh she renewed her efforts to escape, but without much success, as her movements quite obviously gave him a great deal of unintended pleasure. Breathless, Verity struggled hard for some time, but it was a losing battle. She was fighting two opponents, Ben and her own body, and after a while she was forced to admit defeat. Far into the night he continued his demonstration of just how easy it was for the body to make love with a passionate intensity quite divorced from any feelings of the heart where he was concerned. For Verity, lying dry-eyed and wakeful in the darkness, it was very different. Her own heart, indifferent to Gussie and her revelations, was deeply and irrevocably involved, its commitment more, not less complete following Ben's prolonged, relentless possession. It was not a thought that brought her comfort.
CHAPTER TEN
Verity clutched her cup in both hands, glad of the warmth as she sipped the steaming coffee. The morning was cold, and she shivered as she stared out into the bare, December garden. Very little of it was visible. An eerie, chill fog hid the river and was beginning a tentative advance towards the house, tentacles snaking out to loop the branches of the willows and writhe upwards over the lawn. Turning her back on it Verity tightened the sash of her velvet robe and went to fetch the mail and the morning paper. There were only a few circulars, addressed to Ben, and she left them beside a bowl of rust-red chrysanthemums on the hall table, catching sight of her pale reflection in the oval mirror above it, wraith-like against the vivid red of her robe and the flowers. Positively gothic, she thought, noting with di
staste the dark shadows under her eyes before glancing up to see Ben coming downstairs dressed in a heavy tweed suit, his sheepskin jacket over one arm.
'Good morning,' she said coolly, and went back to the kitchen.
Ben followed her, frowning. 'It wasn't necessary for you to get up too.'
'I need to drive over to Temple Priors early today— with you and your father away there's a lot to see to.' She looked at his shuttered face in polite enquiry. 'I thought you might like a cooked breakfast before the journey.'
He shook his head. 'No thanks. Just coffee.'
Verity poured it, black and sugarless, and handed the cup to him.
'Perhaps if you cut down your consumption of Scotch at night you might find the thought of breakfast easier to contemplate,' she said dispassionately.
Ben scowled, looking at his watch as he swallowed the coffee hastily.
'If I drank less I'd sleep less, so give me leave to organise my own nocturnal arrangements.'
Verity shrugged indifferently. 'Of course. How long will you be in Scotland?'
'No idea. Up to Dad really—as long as it takes to buy this bull he wants, I suppose. I'll ring you.' Ben tugged on his coat and picked up his hold-all as a horn tooted faintly outside, the sound muffled by the fog. 'There he is. I'd better be on my way.' He hesitated, turning round to face Verity as she followed him to the door. 'Take care in this fog—why don't you stay up at the house with Mother?'
'She did ask me, but I'd rather sleep here.'
'Unwilling to leave your precious house for even a night?' Ben raised an eyebrow. 'You treat it like a lover.'
'I wouldn't know,' said Verity levelly. 'I've never had a lover.'
'And I thought you had. Just once, anyway.' Verity ignored this. 'Goodbye, Ben—take care.' To her surprise he bent and kissed her swiftly, then went through the door, swallowed up in the fog before he reached the bridge at the bottom of the garden. Verity shut the door thoughtfully, and went upstairs to dress, putting on heavy wool trousers and flannel shirt, a thick rollneck sweater on top to keep out the cold. Unlike Ben she was hungry as usual, and grilled herself some bacon and tomatoes, sitting down to eat them in comfort, the morning paper propped up against the percolator. Usually she liked to watch the bluetits and the nuthatches feeding from the wire container of nuts in the garden, but none of the birds seemed to know it was morning.
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