The Dawn Steals Softly

by Anne Hampson

  She turned only when she heard his voice, calling her from the living room of the house. Her heart seemed to turn a somersault as she attempted to envisage the scene about to be enacted between her husband and herself. Right was on her side, but she was convinced she would emerge from the encounter defeated.

  Ramon was at the door; he smiled on seeing her and asked what she had been doing. It was very noticeable that he made no move to take her in his arms and kiss her. Anger and pain fought within Paula, and in this moment she felt she hated him, that she could have done him a physical injury if it had been at all possible.

  'I was out on the terrace,' she answered dully. 'Er—did everything go well for you?'

  He frowned at her manner.

  'Is something wrong?' He subjected her to a searching, critical glance. 'You're pale. Are you not feeling well?'

  Paula shook her head, her senses already madly alive to his magnetism, the power he had over her emotions.

  'There is something wrong,' he observed. 'What is it?'

  She passed her tongue over lips that had gone dry. How was she to begin? She had tried to rehearse what she would say but words had eluded her. She suspected it was owing to a burning desire for her own revenge, the form of which would not take shape. She would have liked to say nothing, to treat him coldly, even going to the lengths of saying she did not love him, but that would merely provide temporary satisfaction, since it could only be a matter of days at most before Rosa got in touch with him, and he would discover that Paula had met her, then decided to say nothing about her visit. In fact, Rosa could easily phone him tomorrow, at his office.

  Yet the more she dwelt on the idea, the more it appealed as a heaven-sent opportunity. Yes, it would afford her only a temporary satisfaction, but even that would be better than nothing.

  'I don't know why you should think there's anything wrong,' she returned indifferently, touching crimson hibiscus flowers Adela had set in a silver bowl. She felt oddly elated, and knew the cause was the doubtful pleasure of paying Ramon back for what he had done to her.

  He glanced sharply at her, eyes narrowing.

  'You've changed,' he stated. 'I demand to know what has happened while I've been away.'

  She averted her eyes, admitting that it was natural that he should question her like this, when her whole manner towards him had changed. Before he went away she was the loving wife, pliably uninhibited; now she was aloof, smoothly impersonal.

  'Nothing happened,' she replied off-handedly. 'I expect I'm rather tired.' She looked at him through her lashes. 'Can I have a drink, Ramon?'

  'Of course.' Striding over to the cabinet, he poured her a drink, then one for himself. 'There must be something wrong,' he said on handing it to her. He was close, towering above her, an almost merciless quality in the in tenseness of his dark, foreign eyes. Paula's heart jerked, but on the surface she was equally as calm as he.

  'What is this all about?' She frowned at him before taking a drink. 'You're acting very strangely, Ramon.'

  His mouth tightened; there was a cutting edge to his voice as he said, 'It's you who is acting strangely. What's got into you?'

  She made a little exclamation of asperity.

  'Really,' she snapped, 'this is ridiculous! I've said there's nothing wrong. Why must you persist in saying there is?'

  Silence, long and tense. Paula sipped her drink, blandly feigning ignorance of anything unusual in the atmosphere.

  'You don't consider you owe me an explanation?' Ramon's voice was harsh but controlled. Lifting his glass to his lips he regarded her darkly over the rim of it.

  She sent him a blank, bewildered glance.

  'An explanation for what, Ramon? You seem to be making a mountain out of a molehill.'

  She heard him give a little exclamation of anger, saw his lean brown fingers tighten on the stem of his glass and, glancing up, she noticed a nerve working convulsively in his throat. Deliberately she stood up, walked to the open window and stood looking out through the protective insect netting which formed a screen over it. In the garden lights flickered from among the branches of the trees. Moonlight reflected from the window of another room splayed a distorted oblong of silver onto a path carpeted with the misty blue-mauve petals of a jacaranda tree. It was sheer magic out there, a setting for lovers, a place to loiter for kissing and caressing and the exchange of whispered endearments.

  Tears stung her eyes and she found herself battling against the impulse to turn and run to him, to fling her arms around his neck and beg him to assure her in words of love that it was all a mistake, all lies she had heard…

  Just a dream that could never come true. Vividly she recalled her doubts now, doubts so slender they had eluded her efforts to gather them into more tangible form. There had been his brooding manner, that faraway look in his eyes; there was the lack of demonstrative gestures—the real endearments had been very few and far between. The abundance of her own love had carried her; she had been intoxicated to the point where Ramon's passionate lovemaking had blinded her to all else.

  'Paula…' His voice recalled her but she did not turn, for her eyes were misty with unshed tears, and her mouth trembled uncontrollably. How little she knew, when she had answered the advertisement, that she would find herself in such misery as a result of it. Her whole life was affected; she knew she would never be quite the same again, no matter what the healing years might do for her. And it did not help to know it was her own fault. She had plunged headlong into marriage with a man she scarcely knew, impulsively allowing her love to obliterate common-sense and caution. In effect, she had deliberately gambled with fate and with luck, and both had let her down.

  Her heart skipped a beat as her husband came behind her, sliding his hands beneath her arms to fold themselves over her breasts. The male smell that hung about him stung her nostrils as the warmth of his hands burned through the fine material of her dress. She tried to force herself to twist angrily out of his arms, but she quivered to his touch instead, conscious of him with every quivering nerve-cell in her body. Yet by sheer determination she was able to remain stiff and unresponsive, aware that he must be wondering why his touch was failing to affect her, to ignite an ardent response which would impel her to turn and cling to him, lifting her face in eagerness for his kiss. Well, this at least was some small degree of satisfaction to her, knowing of his bewilderment as she continued to remain coolly devoid of emotion while his hands were temptingly caressing her breasts, his fingers tight on the nipples. Up till now he had believed that every woman he favoured with his attentions would be thrown into ecstasy by the caress of his hands, the closeness of his body and its persuasive rhythmic movements.

  'Something is wrong!' he said forcefully at last. 'Just what is it, Paula?' He spoke in Spanish, his voice vibrant with anger. There was no response from Paula—except that her body stiffened more rigidly against his. 'Turn around!' he commanded sharply, but he gave her no time to obey as, gripping her arm, he jerked her body so that she was facing him. She assumed a frowning countenance as she stared up into a face as cold as tempered steel.

  'Don't do that,' she cried. 'You're hurting my arm!'

  His teeth gritted together. Undoubtedly no woman had ever treated him like this before. Triumphant, Paula twisted her lips to produce a mocking sneer, then instantly regretted her impulse as, gripping her other shoulder, he shook her brutally, his face a thundercloud, his dark eyes pools of wrath.

  'And now will you tell me what is wrong?' he demanded, still gripping her shoulder as he towered above her, a terrifying figure. Trembling violently from the punishment she had received, Paula swayed against him, putting out her hands to touch his chest for support. Without warning she was swept into a savage embrace, her head jerked backwards as he took a handful of her hair and cruelly tugged at it. His head was lowered; she twisted her face to escape his lips, then gave a cry of pain and protest as her hair pulled against her scalp. He took her lips in savage, primitive domination, pressed h
is body against hers, determinedly compelling an awareness of the whip-cord strength of his muscles. She was swept into a tidal wave of passion and desire which affected every cell, every nerve in her body. But with a supreme effort she managed to remain inert, determined to punish him, to grind his pride into the dust. He continued persuasions that were by no means gentle, ravaging her mouth, tormenting her body, bruising her with his tremendous strength, but Paula still managed to resist. At last he held her from him, his eyes dark with latent passion, his breathing erratic.

  'If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll beat you,' he threatened ominously at last, and he gave her a little shake to add meaning to his statement. Paula trembled, but she felt she would even endure physical punishment if she could hurt him as well. She was determined to injure his pride in a way that would remain with him forever, that would pay him for the pain and disillusionment she herself was suffering. The fact that it was all her own fault, that it would never have happened if she had relied on her intellect instead of her emotions, made no difference; certainly it did not lessen the enormity of the offence which Ramon had committed. And now, as she stared up into his face, noticing the tightening of the muscles round his mouth, the incised lines of harshness there which seemed to be accentuated by the taut set jaw and the granite-hard gaze, she knew her desire for revenge was equally as fierce and ruthless as any he had felt against the girl who had jilted him. And she looked at him with a sort of chill indifference as the lie left her lips.

  'I had better tell you then, Ramon. The fact is, I'm regretting the impulse that led me to agree to marry you. I don't love you, and never did love you. I—I just thought it would be nice to think I had succeeded where all those others had failed.' She felt the pressure on her arms relax, saw the expression of bewilderment and disbelief slowly gather in his eyes. But her satisfaction was greatly reduced by the way she felt. She was trembling inside, her stomach rioting so that she felt almost physically sick; her legs were jelly, threatening to withdraw their support. What was he thinking, regarding her with an expression that had become inscrutable? When eventually he spoke, his voice was totally devoid of emotion.

  'You expect me to believe you, Paula?' His hands slipped from her shoulders and she rubbed them, seeing in imagination the ugly bruises he must surely have inflicted.

  'You've no alternative,' she answered carelessly. 'It's the truth—'

  'It is not the truth,' he broke in, his fixed gaze all-examining and she wondered if he saw deep pain in her eyes, reflecting what was in her heart. 'I know how a woman in love acts.'

  'A great number of women have been in love with you, I suppose, and so you believe you can say a thing like that with confidence. But not all women are alike. Englishwomen, for in—you have no experience with them. We're very adept at the art of duplicity—'

  'Stop it!' he thundered and she stepped away from him, her heart racing even more madly than before because she had never seen her husband in this kind of mood and it terrified her. He looked, dark and almost evil with the shadows cast by the concealed lights washing the deep, foreign-sculptured lines of his face in sepia dimness. She shivered and her eyes were troubled, but he remained unmoved by any mental torment that was revealed to him by her expression. He has no heart, she thought, no compassion—not even a pang of regret for the way he had used her. 'You're acting a part,' he accused menacingly. 'I want the truth—or else!'

  What was she to do? Her revenge—which could be only short-lived anyway, for it was certain that Rosa would contact him soon and he would then guess why his wife had adopted this attitude—seemed to be too difficult to achieve, simply because Ramon refused to be convinced. He was so sure she loved him, hence his assertion that she was acting a part. If only she could think of a way to force him to accept that she did not love him, then victory would be hers.

  'If you can give me one good reason why I should want to act a part,' she said at last, 'then I'd be very interested.' Moving over to where she had left her drink, she took up the glass, but made no attempt to sip the Martini it contained. The ice tinkled, the only sound other than the shrilling of cicadas in the trees outside the window.

  'Something happened while I was away…' Ramon's temper was under control now, and he was murmuring thoughtfully to himself. 'What could it be?'

  She looked at him across the space dividing them. He was so attractive, now that he had moved from the shadows, and her heart and mind and emotions were difficult to deny. She wanted him so badly. To have his arms about her, his lips moist and tender on her mouth, his virile body taking possession of hers… But that would mean nothing anymore. No, nothing, and if she were practical she would accept that the most sensible course would be to leave him, tonight, after a brief explanation, and return to her own country, for there was nothing left of her marriage but ashes, the burned-out remnants of romance.

  Her lips tightened; she would not leave him yet! No, not until she had at least had some satisfaction, some modicum of revenge however slight.

  'Something did happen while you were away,' she confessed, avoiding his direct stare. 'I discovered that I could not accept your—er—attentions anymore. It's immoral without love— Oh, I know that you have never considered it so,' she added swiftly, 'but men are different, especially a man like you who has never been any good anyway—' She broke off abruptly, catching her breath as if the action could take back words which could only ignite his fury again. Strangely, it did nothing of the kind. He remained cool, aloof, but yet puzzled, and with a look of determination on his face that made her suspect he might carry out his threat to beat her; that he was capable of doing so she did not for one moment doubt—and she also suspected that he could continue inflicting the punishment until she had satisfied his demand for an explanation.

  'So you're not intending to accept my attentions anymore?' Soft the tone, but dangerous. Paula did begin to wonder why she was continuing to hold out against him. 'Well, we shall see about that a little later,' he added significantly and with a twisted smile of arrogance. 'As your husband I shall take what I want, and whenever I like.'

  The colour flooded her face at his way of speaking. She turned from the dry humour of his expression and sat down, sipping her drink and deciding, for the very first time in her life, that she needed something stronger—much stronger! Recalling that Rosa had asked for whisky she said, trying to keep her voice steady, 'Will you pour me a whisky, Ramon, please?'

  Surprise lifted his eyebrows, but almost instantly he was saying, with maddening perception, 'You feel you need it? Well, you aren't getting it. You can have another Martini if you want.'

  She flashed him a glance. 'Thanks for nothing! I shall drink what I like!'

  He shook his head. 'You will drink what I allow you to drink,' he stated implacably.

  'Then you can keep your Martini!' She sprang up to pace the floor very much in the manner of Rosa only twenty-four hours earlier. Her steps were short, agitated, her fists tightly clenched and fixed to her sides. 'I want whisky!' she flared, fully aware that she was losing control and yet unable to do anything about it. 'What has it to do with you what I drink?'

  'As your husband, a great deal,' he returned mildly. 'I'm not having my wife drinking whisky—'

  'Only your mistresses, I suppose!' It was out before she could even think about it. She was striding across the room with her back to him and, taken unawares, she felt herself brutally gripped by the arm and swung around to look up into the burning suffusion of colour that stained her husband's face. He shook her savagely until tears began to roll unchecked down her cheeks. And when at last he ceased, he had to steady her or she would have collapsed at his feet. She clung to the lapels of his linen jacket, crushing the material between frenzied fingers.

  'I hate you,' she seethed, feeling as if every drop of blood in her body had surged to her heart, while her mind was enveloped in a searing vapour of fury that would have found an outlet in physical attack if she had thought there would be any chanc
e of success. 'You're a beast—a vicious animal, and a cowardly one to attack someone weaker than yourself! Oh, God, why did I marry you?'

  He released her and she noticed the strange and unfathomable twitching of a muscle in his throat. He turned, moving towards the open window as if wanting air. Silence reigned in the room, with tension high, sending off sparks, like electricity.

  'It would appear,' said Ramon over his shoulder, 'that what really happened while I was away was that you had time to think, to form your own pictures of my past, and to decide that—although you love me—you've made a mistake in marrying me. You're afraid I shall be unfaithful to you…' His voice trailed and it was natural that Paula should suspect him of secretly confessing that this could happen. But her main trend of thought was that he had unwittingly made things easy for her by forming his own conclusions regarding the dramatic change in her attitude towards him. 'Perhaps you're not entirely to blame for your fears—I have been a rake in the past. But you ought to have thought of it before you consented to marry me,' he added after a pause. 'Now that we are married, you will abide by your decision. I'm your husband, and in my country a husband has rights which his wife observes.' He turned then, and his dark eyes swept over her figure possessively, his gaze becoming fixed eventually on the tender curve of her breasts. 'Do I make myself clear, Paula?'

  Her chin lifted.

  'I hoped I had made myself clear,' she said tersely. 'I'm no longer willing to be your wife—at least, not in that way. It was impulsive of me to marry you, I admit, and it's true what you say about my fearing you will one day be unfaithful, because of your past…' Her voice trailed, faltering to silence as she regretted the lies she was having to tell. It had all been so different; she had felt sure that he would always be faithful to her. If there had been any doubt in her mind to the contrary she would never have married him, no matter how strong her love for him might be. It would have been folly even more regrettable than the one she did commit.