by Anne Hampson
'But you did marry me to be revenged on her?'
Ramon nodded his head instantly.
'I have already admitted it.'
'How can you stand there and say these things to me?' she cried, the anguish in her heart more pronounced in her consciousness than the fury that consumed her. 'You knew I—I…' Her voice caught, then broke altogether.
Again he nodded, appearing to care nothing for her sudden distress.
'Yes, I knew you loved me. But you must remember that every secretary I have ever had has fallen in love with me,' he went on contemptuously. 'I didn't give you the slightest encouragement, so if you fell in love with me it's entirely your own fault. Didn't it ever occur to you that I am not a man to fall in love?'
Paula shut her eyes tightly, the pain he had inflicted almost physical, the knot round her heart so tight it seemed the blood had stopped flowing. She swayed, wanting to sit down, but by some miracle she was able to conjure up a degree of strength so that her voice was amazingly steady, considering the pain that was catching her throat.
'You've always regarded me with contempt, then? I'm no different from the others?'
'I believe I have said you are very different from the majority of women I have met—'
'And had affairs with!' she could not resist flinging at him.
'Be careful, Paula,' he advised in a softly dangerous voice. 'Don't push me too far.'
'And don't you put on that superior attitude!' she returned fiercely, a burning vapour of fury suffusing her mind. 'I'm the injured party! I've been used, for your puerile desire for petty revenge!'
'Puerile?' The word inflamed him and he strode round to her side of the desk to tower above her. 'Don't you dare use a word like that to me again!'
'Aren't you puerile?' she ventured, her heart racing at the menacing closeness of him.
Losing control, he shook her, but she kicked out and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch at the contact of her shoe with his shin. He let go of her and she swayed a little, grasping hold of the top of the desk to steady herself.
'I'm getting out of here,' she cried. 'I'll wait in my office for my phone call, and then I'm going out to meet Denis—'
'I think not,' interposed her husband smoulderingly. 'I warned you that you were finished with him, now that you're married.'
She stared at him in amazement.
'Surely you're not intending to adopt this dictatorial husband attitude,' she sneered. 'Any rights you had over me you have just forfeited by your admissions. We're nothing to one another anymore—we never were, were we? I was the fool, but I'm not a fool any longer! I shall do just as I please, and go out with a dozen men if I want!' Even as she spoke she stepped back strategically towards the door. 'If you so much as touch me,' she said on noting his expression, 'I shall scream so loudly that everyone in this office block will come running!'
That seemed to sober him; he returned to his side of the desk and regarded her across it, his dark eyes probing into hers.
'You say you've been with this Denis all the morning? I sent you out to choose a watch.'
'Keep your presents!' she flung at him. 'Give them to Rosa—or any of the other women you have in tow! Was the watch to be a conscience present?' she asked as the thought occurred to her. He made no answer and she flashed, 'You have no conscience, though! You're rotten through and through!'
'All right—' His hand was raised in a gesture of exasperation. 'You've had your say, aired your grievances. And now, let us get down to what's important, what affects us personally, you and me. I've already said I'm not intending to have a divorce; I have said also that you're different from any other woman I have known. You satisfy me in many ways, and I know I satisfy you. We can live amicably—we did so until Rosa came into the picture—'
'You must have known she would. You led her on, and it was only to be expected that she should come to you when you hadn't contacted her. You must have known that she and I would meet.'
An impatient frown crossed his face.
'Can we leave Rosa out of it? I've finished with her and told her so this morning, on the telephone. I'm concerned only with you and me. We can carry on as we did before I went to Haiti. We were reasonably happy, you must agree with me?' he added looking at her steadily.
'It was all a veneer on your part,' she returned bitterly. 'Pretense, that's all. You said you loved me, because you had to or I'd never have married you. And then, afterwards, you had to be nice to me, hadn't you, in order to deceive me? But I felt there was something wrong, because although you were indulgent and affectionate I was conscious of something missing in our—our union…' She faltered to a stop and her teeth clenched together, an automatic action meant to help bring her emotions under control. She was very close to tears, because of the cool dispassionate way he was staring at her, the chill isolation in which she felt herself to be poised. She supposed the years would dissipate her misery, but that was scant consolation to her at this moment in time. 'It was an intangible thing,' she continued presently, 'a nebulous link th-that was m-missing… all the time…' Her voice trailed again, reflectively, and without any awareness of the action she was pressing fingers to her temples, because they were throbbing suddenly with the tremendous effort she was making to hold back the tears. Her eyes moved, to meet his, her long curling lashes glistening, and tipped with gold as a shaft of sunlight filtered the foliage of trees outside the office window. Spiky shadows fell on to her cheeks; she saw her husband's eyes become fixed, noticed again a nerve pulsating in his cheek and wondered at his thoughts. He did not hate her; of that she was sure, but neither did he love her and she knew that, emotionally, he would feel nothing if she went away this moment and he were never to set eyes on her again. Nevertheless, he was by no means indifferent to her. Firstly, she satisfied him in many ways—he had just said so, and one of those ways was that she appealed to him physically, in a different manner from that of any other woman he had ever known. Secondly, he was sorry for her. Yes, there was pity in his eyes, although it was not openly apparent. Anger rose; pity was the last thing she wanted from him! Let him save it for himself because she intended to make him suffer if she could.
'I admit I acted a part,' said Ramon frankly. 'But for all that we were reasonably happy. You have much to gain by marriage to me. You'll never have to work again—I intend to get another secretary,' he added swiftly when she was about to interrupt. 'I shall try a man; it might be the answer. And as for us—well, we can get along all right. After all, love doesn't last, and although you're in love with me at present, it'll soon pass, and then we shall settle down to a pleasant sort of companionship, have a family, and probably remain together all our lives—'
'Stop it!' cried Paula. 'That's no kind of marriage! And do you suppose I want children by a man who doesn't love me?'
'Many women have children by men who don't love them,' he returned casually. 'There's a great deal of pretence in most marriages, Paula. A couple marry believing they're in love; within a year at most the novelty's beginning to wear off, and after another few months they're wondering what they saw in one another.' He paused, a smile of sardonic amusement curving the fine outline of his mouth. 'It's happening all the time, all over the world. Many of these couples stay together, more because marriage becomes a habit—a way of life—than anything else. Habit is hard to break, remember, so they carry on, often going their separate ways but sleeping together. They raise a family, and often when the family is growing up there comes the sudden realisation that they—the parents—are losing their youth. They discuss separation, each picturing a fresh start with a new partner. But then they think of the children, and if they're responsible people, they decide to stay together until the children are off their hands. By that time they probably no longer want the break. The woman especially is afraid, because she's lost her bloom and feels she might be unable to attract another man. The husband has probably fallen into a pleasant routine of nights out with his friends, of golfing hol
idays—' Ramon spread his hands expressively. 'It isn't new, all this,' he said seriously. 'There's no sense in your being an idealist in a world where realism controls everything.' His voice had softened, she noticed, as if he were sorry for her, and her eyes moistened as they stared dumbly into his. She felt the presence in her heart of a great sadness, pressing down until the weight hurt with the intensity of physical pain. She wanted to weep for her own lost dreams. Ramon was so cold-blooded and practical about it all—about life and marriage… and love, which he genuinely believed could never last. His bitterness was so deep that nothing could penetrate it, no woman's love could vanquish it. It was with him forever; he had learned to live with it so that it was a part of him, inseparable from other emotions. She swallowed convulsively, conscious of his dark eyes fixed upon her. She tried to speak but could not trust her voice not to break and instead 'she found herself dwelling on her own ideas of love and marriage. When she found her man he would be her all, her life, and she would serve him until the end. She had married Ramon with hope in her heart, aware of his past but sure her love was strong enough to make him forget everything but the joy of her, the anticipation of a happy life with her by his side, sharing the sunny days, laughing at the rain. Yes, she was an idealist, and now she had been disillusioned because the man she had fallen in love with had no heart, no desires other than those of the flesh. He would always want a woman to mate with, yes, until he was old, but there was little else he would want from her.
But her thoughts went back to what he had been saying. It was true that they had much in common. He had been reasonably happy, while she in her blind innocence had been deliriously happy, this in spite of her faint misgivings and the fact that her husband could have been a little more loving and affectionate. She supposed, looking back now, that in her heart she had been optimistic, cherishing the hope that Ramon would eventually be the adoring husband of her dreams.
'What are you thinking, Paula?' Ramon's voice recalled her and her eyes lifted.
'We ought to separate,' she murmured, watching his reaction carefully.
His eyes chilled; his mouth compressed.
'I do not believe in divorce,' he said abruptly.
'I believed, when Rosa was telling me everything, that you would want to divorce me and marry her—' She broke off on hearing his exclamation of anger.
'Forget Rosa,' he commanded, and now his voice was imperious, dictatorial. 'She meant mischief, obviously, but I have so little interest that I don't even want to know what she did say. I gathered enough when I spoke to her on the phone this morning. She'll not trouble either of us again. I've had my revenge and it was sweet…' His voice trailed on a strange little note and as she watched his expression Paula felt sure there was regret in his eyes. Regret? For hurting her the way he had? Perhaps there was some small degree of softness and compassion in him after all. And if there was… ? Could there be hope for their marriage?
Sadly she shook her head. Pity he might be able to portray, but love had become completely foreign to his nature. And pity was the last thing she would ever want from him.
'I'm going out to dinner with Denis this evening.' She spoke sharply, suddenly desiring only to hit back. If she could not touch any sensitive chord that would inflict pain, then at least she could attack his pride.
A silence followed; she felt the tension in the atmosphere before her husband broke it by saying, 'You're my wife, Paula, and you'll obey me. I forbid you to see this man again. When he phones I shall speak to him.' So quiet the tone but authoritative, matching the implacable look in his eyes. She moistened her lips, nerves leaping. For she was under no illusions about Ramon's innate sense of mastery where his wife was concerned. She was his possession and it would not take much for him to demonstrate the fact.
'I've promised,' she began. 'Besides, I don't owe you anything anymore.'
'We both owe each other loyalty,' he said, and her eyes darted to his in a look of astonishment.
'You can say that? You're speaking of a marriage based on nothing firmer than sand!'
'As far as I am concerned,' he said implacably, 'it's permanent, no matter what you believe to the contrary. Think about it—think well, remembering what I have said. You will never attain perfection so you might as well abandon the idea. Make your decision to stay with me and keep to it. You will benefit in the long run, and if you will use your logic, you'll very soon see the sense of what I'm saying.' He began to move restlessly, his eyes flicking to a document lying on his desk; he was obviously becoming impatient to get back to his work.
'I'm to settle for security? Is that what you're telling me?'
'That, and other things. Physically you're satisfied with me, just as I am with you—'
'Need you be so clinical about it?' she flashed, a wave of crimson staining her cheeks.
He smiled as he stared at her, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
'It's no wonder I find you different,' he said softly and with a little sigh of pleasure. 'I shall never regret marrying you.'
She stared at him in bewildered silence, her lovely eyes darkened by the cloud of tears pressing against the backs of them. She shook her head and murmured presently, 'I wish I could understand you, Ramon…' Mechanically she got up to stand with her back to the filtering sunlight, her ears catching the lazy murmur of insects in the branches of the trees outside the open, netted window; there was a dazed expression on her face, entreaty in her wide-eyed stare, a certain element of helplessness and vulnerability in the pallor of her cheeks, the softly-parted lips. 'What kind of a man are you?'
He came towards her from his side of the desk, his mind no longer on his work.
'Perhaps you will understand me one day.' His voice had a different quality about it, his smile was neither amused nor sardonic. 'And perhaps if I had understood you I might not have used you. I might have found someone else. And yet, as I've just said, I don't regret marrying you.' His hand was extended, its open palm an invitation. Paula stared at it, her lips quivering. And then she found herself obeying the impulse of her heart and putting her hand into it. The contact sent feathery ripples along her spine, and when he drew her to him and tilted her chin she had no desire to resist him. His lips were moistly sensuous on hers, his hand in the small of her back warm and intimate. The fingers of his other hand found sensitive places on her nape, then her ear and the tender curve of her throat. She quivered against him, fully aware that this tacticle stimulation was deliberate, a complement to the subtle persuasion of his words. There was no doubt about his wanting her to stay with him, and, in spite of her deep unhappiness, she could not but feel gratified that she had a certain attraction for him, an appeal which was an absolute safeguard against the danger of any other woman usurping her. Yet it was a scant consolation to a heart craving for his love…
His hand was on her throat, caressing it lightly; his lips were leaving moisture on the lobe of her ear. Before she realised it, her need of him was overshadowing all else and doubts of unhappiness were being pushed into the depths of her consciousness. It was a temporary state, but after all the time was now. She clung to him, lifting her face for his lips to meet hers as she strained her body to meld with the iron-hard maleness of his long and slender frame. That he held her captive sexually she could not deny, and life without his caresses seemed in this moment of longing to be little less empty than life without his love.
'You'll stay with me, my wife.' Not a question but a categorical statement voiced with supreme confidence. How sure of himself he was! The perfect lover whose past experiences had left him in no doubt whatsoever of his superiority over the opposite sex.
Paula did not argue with him; she was swayed by the delicious ecstasy of his nearness, of his arm about her, his mouth close to her temple— the touch of a butterfly wing that felt like the waft of his breath rather than the touch of his lips. Paula's own breath came swiftly as she felt his body pulse with ardour, and she strained against him, yielding to the movements of
his hands as they slid down in sensual and masterful persuasion.
'I love you,' she whispered, but silently, and her eyes filled with tears.
'Tell me you'll stay.' Ramon held her at arms' length to look deeply into her eyes. She saw his sudden frown and realised that he had noticed the tears sparkling on her lashes.
'You've said I'll stay,' she reminded him.
He nodded in a rather absent way.
'But I want you to say it.'
'I'll stay… for a while.'
'For always. We shall start a family at once. It is time I thought of an heir.'
'Have I no say in it?' she did not want to start a family, because even though at this moment she felt she could never leave her husband, there lingered in her mind the undoubted fact that she might not always feel like this.
'You will do what I want.' His voice and manner had changed. Paula's heart grew cold as she locked up into eyes devoid of feeling, and heard his hard, objective tone as he added, 'A man in my position should have a son to follow him. The Hacienda Calzada has been in my family for generations; it should remain so for generations to come.' He was all arrogance, the classical regularity of his features branding him what he was: an aristocrat.
Paula could find nothing to say, and in any case the phone was ringing in the outer office— her office.
'I'll take it,' said Ramon decisively as she began to move.
Her lips tightened.
'It'll probably be Denis,' she began.
'That is my reason for answering,' he said, making for the door with long athletic strides which covered the distance across the room in seconds.
