A Bewitching Compulsion

by Susan Napier

  'But you're not.'

  'W…what?'

  That had been the first shock. That David had rung Virginia and told her of a change of plan. To fully appreciate the family atmosphere of the school, Clare would be spending the night there.

  'But…I…'

  'It's all arranged, so you may as well save your breath,' David told her with a hard-edged satisfaction that struck an oddly discordant note. 'Virginia's on my side on this one; she'd make your life hell if you tried to stay there now. She wants the school to grab every chance it can get to convince you of its merits.'

  'I could book in at a hotel,' Clare said loftily, knowing that he was right.

  'Then make sure it's a double room, because where you go, I go.'

  His presumption was galling. 'If you think I'm going to Auckland for any reason other than to look at the school—'

  'You mean like a little sexual fling? I wouldn't dream of it. The chaste Widow Malcolm? Unthinkable! Don't worry, Clare, your priceless virtue will be safe at the school. No late-night visitors allowed in the staff bedrooms. We have to set a good example for the children; you know how embarrassingly honest they can be. You'll be quite safe. Lonely, maybe, but safe…'

  Clare was bewildered by his sarcasm. All right, so she had jumped to the conclusion he wanted her to stay at his house and was offended by it; there was no need for him to sneer at her prudery. Clare turned away from him to look out the window at the rolling green countryside gliding below. She shouldn't feel betrayed. She had known all along what he wanted. Still, to hear it put in such crude terms, as a 'fling', was like a knife in her wary heart. She wished she could order the pilot to turn around and take her back, but she couldn't act so selfishly. For Tim's sake she had to go through with this, and do her best to judge the school with an unbiased eye.

  The rest of the short, interminable flight was passed in silence. Several times Clare felt David looking at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. He could damned well apologise if he expected her to be civil. Just because she loved him didn't mean that he could walk all over her!

  The helicopter had special permission to land in the huge, park-like grounds of the school, and Clare was for once relieved at the sight of a bunch of strangers waiting to welcome them. David was the essence of politeness as he introduced her to several of the teaching and household staff, relaxing into a warmth of smiles as he answered the shouted questions of the excited children as they inspected the impressive helicopter. David introduced them, too, all by name without having to fumble for an identity even once, and Clare was amused at the enthusiastic offers to show her around. David brushed them off with a casual authority, and then selected three of the older children who could be spared from the festival rehearsal. One of them, a teenage boy, had a gravity that reminded her of Tim, but the other two, a girl and a boy, were completely unawed by the task of escorting their beloved maestro and his guest. They were vocal guides, and Clare was soon overwhelmed by their eager friendliness, and their pride in 'their' school. She was shown a lavish array of equipment, and informed that there were only six to eight children in each class. Several timetables ran simultaneously throughout the day to cater to the different age levels, so that both music-rooms and school-rooms were constantly in use by one class or another. Studying them, Clare had to agree that they were marvellously efficient. Timetables were considered by staff and pupils alike as both sacrosanct and an in-joke. Clare hadn't really believed David's grandiose claims that the school was like an enlarged family, but after joining the children for lunch in the big dining-room—a simple, wholesome meal of vegetable soup, salad, brown bread, fruit and cheese—and wandering around the rest of the school and grounds she had to admit that she hadn't found a single thing to criticise. The children seemed immensely at ease with themselves and each other, and full of a loyal camaraderie that didn't even resent forfeiting a free weekend at home in favour of representing the school at the festival.

  When David excused himself to attend to some business with the musical director, Clare had a short meeting with the principal and was then shown to a small, attractive room near the kitchen by Brenda Sutcliffe, the matron.

  She was very chatty and informative, and apologised for the smallness of the room. 'But we have quite a few parents here this weekend, so we just have to make do.'

  'If it's a problem, I could go and stay with my mother- in-law—' Clare began.

  'Oh, no, it's no problem,' Brenda said warmly. A short, motherly-looking woman in her mid-fifties, she was obviously used to soothing both parents and children. 'At a pinch we can always avail ourselves of the extra rooms at David's, but I try and avoid that if I can. The poor man gets little enough privacy as it is. He really is marvellously tolerant… with children, anyway.' .A small, conspiratorial smile. 'It's the adults he tends to get testy with.'

  'I know the feeling,' said Clare drily.

  'Oh, he'll be on his best behaviour with you,' Brenda reassured her innocently. 'He always is when he has his eye on someone special.'

  Clare nearly blushed, then she realised that Brenda was talking about Tim. Of course David wouldn't have been so blatant as to say he had his eye on the mother for reasons other than his precious school!

  'Well, I'll leave you to unpack. The bathroom is just down the hall to your left. Because of the concert we're just having a snack at five-thirty, our usual dinner-time in winter, and the proper meal when they come back; but I'll make sure you and David have something more substantial. From my very meagre experience, these society parties don't usually feed you more than prissy bites until the wee hours.'

  'Society party?' Clare looked at Brenda blankly.

  'Oh, dear, is it supposed to be a surprise? David didn't tell me not to mention it.' Brenda sighed. 'For a man who lives such a highly organised life, he can be annoyingly forgetful sometimes. He said that you and he would be going on from the concert to a private party at the Regent. Some sort of posh fund-raiser for the youth arm of the NZSO.'

  If David had forgotten to mention it, Clare was sure the omission was deliberate, another attempt at manipulation.

  'Well, he didn't say anything to me, so naturally I didn't bring anything suitable to wear. I couldn't possibly go.'

  'Oh, but you have to! Everyone's expecting David to be there—'

  'David, yes, but not me,' said Clare firmly.

  Or she thought she had been firm. An hour later she was in the boutique of a friend of one of the visiting parents, trying on a selection of very exclusive and expensive dresses—offered at a generous 'family' discount—the shock of David's reaction to her refusal ringing in her ears.

  When she had finally run the elusive Russian to earth in a conference with his principal and his music director, he had told her calmly that it was fine; if she didn't go, he wouldn't either.

  The two men with him had looked at Clare with renewed interest, as she floundered in her embarrassment.

  'David, don't be ridiculous. You can't not go just because I don't have a dress. Take someone else.'

  'I don't want to take anyone else. And if a dress is your only problem, that's easily solved.'

  Clare's mouth tightened into a little knot of annoyance, and David's eyelids drooped. 'Or perhaps you're trying to let me down lightly. Perhaps you have another date for the night?'

  She would have liked to have claimed one, but those narrowed dark eyes warned her not to lie. She sensed that David would have no qualms about dragging the details from her in front of his interested staff.

  'I… I'm just not very good at parties,' she said truthfully.

  'I can take or leave them myself. Which shall we do to this one?' And as she hesitated he added silkily, 'You must know by now, Clare—I can be twice as stubborn as ever you can…'

  Hence the black dress, defiantly demure with its high-necked, cross-over bodice and long, slim skirt. Demure, that was, until she moved and the dramatic slit up one side revealed a breathtaking amount of thigh. Even the self-
absorbed accountant couldn't help his gaze wandering down every time Clare shifted her weight, and she did so now, just to break the monotony. After six years of faithful wedded bliss and two of celibacy, in the space of a single evening she had apparently become a mindless sex object!

  An arm slid around her waist, and then the accountant's eyes jerked guiltily up as Clare was drawn briefly back against a hard body.

  'Sorry to break this up, but I have some people I want you to meet, darling,' David's voice shafted past her ear, sounding anything but apologetic. The young man actually took a step back at the stony, black-Russian stare. 'Excuse us, won't you?' It was a command, not a request, and Clare found herself marched unceremoniously away.

  'How dare you ?' she stuttered.

  'Ten seconds later and you would have been swimming in drool. Couldn't you find someone more mature to cosy up in corners with?'

  Clare gaped at his rigid profile, but before she could voice her outrage she was forced to smile stiffly at a new set of introductions. So furious was she with the cavalier way that David was behaving that she had trouble keeping up with the polite conversation that followed. When she was asked whether she knew many people in Auckland, after explaining that she was visiting from Rotorua, she murmured that she had lost touch with most of her old friends, but that most of her late husband's family were Aucklanders.

  'What about Julian? You've kept in touch with him, haven't you?' David interjected, irritated by her cold-shouldered vagueness in front of his friends. 'Or perhaps he's family, though I'm sure the 'uncle' is only an honorary title.'

  'Uncle Julian?' At least he had her attention now. Clare was staring at him in horror. Surely he wasn't going to embarrass her in such sophisticated company.

  David's smile was not reassuring. 'Tim told me all about him. I'm surprised you didn't bring him along tonight. I'm sure he must be fascinating company…'

  Clare would never have believed that David could be so small-minded. She was blushing brilliantly at the speculation she sensed around her, cringing inside at what they would all think if David kept up his taunting. If they had thought she was a dumb blonde before, they would consider her a real case of arrested mental development if he told them.. ? Suddenly her hideous embarrassment was swamped by anger. This really was the last straw!

  'Well, I must admit, after an evening in your company, I realise I infinitely prefer his. At least he's always there when I need him, which happens to be right now. If you'll all excuse me?' she said with a glacial dignity that awed those of the group with personal experience of the Russian temperament now openly smouldering. 'I have a pressing engagement elsewhere.'

  Aware that she was making something of a spectacle of herself, but too angry to care, Clare sailed across the room, closely followed by a furious Deverenko.

  He caught her in the cavernous foyer of the hotel, where staff, who were trained to discreetly ignore public displays of the personal problems of the rich and famous, pretended not to notice.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Back to the school.' There were no taxis at the front, and the uniformed doorman was so busy being discreet that she had to tap him on the shoulder to request him to do his job.

  'If you can bear to wait a few minutes for me to get my coat, I'll come with you,' said David tautly.

  Sure the pun was an intentional sneer, Clare rounded on him. 'No, thanks, I've had enough of your company for one night. I don't know what the matter is with you, but I don't have to put up with your attacks of temperament! I came up to Auckland, I came here tonight, because you insisted. You're the one who walked off and left me in a crowd of strangers. What did you expect me to do, twiddle my thumbs and wait for you to notice me again? In Rotorua you couldn't wait to get me on that helicopter, and yet ever since we took off you've treated me as if I've committed some sin—'

  'And we all know how impossible that is—'

  'There you go again. If you have something on your mind, say it! Don't hide behind snide remarks and hints.' Clare's voice echoed against the glass wall facing the street, and she consciously tried to lower it.

  David had no such reservations. He turned to face her, eyes smoking as he demanded, 'Why didn't you want to come with me tonight?'

  'I told you,' said Clare tightly. 'I don't enjoy big parties.'

  'Perhaps if you made an effort you might surprise yourself. After all, you manage to socialise quite easily with all the strangers who flit through Moonlight. But you didn't want to enjoy yourself tonight, did you? You were just aching for an excuse to walk out.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' hissed Clare furiously, although in a way he was right. She hadn't made any special effort to join in. Instead she had al-lowed herself to be overwhelmed by her own sense of inadequacy.

  'Oh, no? I bet you made a phone call this evening, before the concert.'

  'Well, yes, I—' She had called Virginia, and promised to drop in and see her before they went back to Rotorua.

  'And was Julian pleased to hear from you?'

  'Julian?'

  'Why the secrecy? Could it be that the sweet, ever-faithful madonna is feeling a little guilty about her affair! I can accept that your sex drive didn't die with your husband, Clare, but wasn't it rather tacky to fall into bed with someone else even before he was gone? Tim said you and Uncle Julian were sleeping together while his father was in hospital…'

  Clare felt the blood drain from her face. For a moment she thought she was going to faint. 'W… what exactly did Tim tell you?' she croaked, white-lipped.

  David was equally pale, under the olive complexion, the fury seeming to have drained out of him now he had tapped the raging conflictions that had been festering inside him during the last twelve hours: jealousy, disillusionment, frustration, contempt and sheer male pique… none of them had quite banished the hope and fierce desire. Dammit! If he'd known he had a flesh and blood rival, he might have handled everything differently…

  'Ironic, really,' he said. 'We had a pre-breakfast chat this morning in which I was trying, in a roundabout way, to reassure him about your going away. We discussed loneliness and the different ways that people coped with it. We agreed that music was a good focus for negative as well as positive feelings. And we went deeper into the subject of personal loss, and Tim said that when his father got sick and went into hospital that you used to cry at nights until you started sleeping with Uncle Julian. You often sleep with Uncle Julian when you get lonely, he said. You tell him your troubles and he keeps you warm the way that Lee used to. No wonder Tim is so frank about sex! But why make it a big secret? Don't you realise that you must be confusing the hell out of him? After telling me that, he clammed up and made me promise not to tell anyone. Why is it so important that nobody knows? After all, your husband has been gone two years now. What's stopping you getting together openly? Is it because the illicit freedom of an affair gives you a kick? Or is Julian married? Is that it, Clare? Are you having an affair with a married man?'

  'No. But I almost had one with an idiot! You sanctimonious—' Words failed her. She ought to have put him straight right there and then, but the thought of all that he had put her through that day because of a simple misunderstanding that could have been cleared up with a few words enraged her. That he could think she was so… so underhanded and lacking in morals—

  She simmered all the way back to the school, alone in the back seat of the cab, savouring the expression of blank outrage David had been wearing when she had slipped past him and slammed the car door in his face, after sweetly informing him that she was going to spend the night with Julian.

  And to think of all the tossing and turning she had done the last few nights, worrying about whether she should forget her doubts and scruples this weekend and succumb to the temptation that would inevitably arise! And, from the dog-in-the-manger way he had acted, he had obviously hoped for the same, even though he thought she was in the middle of a secret adulterous affair with another man. In his
sophisticated world, such a ménage a trois might be commonplace, but not in hers.

  The black dress was replaced by a bewitching yellow silk teddy and matching robe—which she blushed to admit she had packed in anticipation of David's admiration—and Clare ruthlessly scrubbed off her make-up in the bathroom along the hall before slamming back to her lonely room. The trouble was, she didn't feel in the least like sleep. She wanted to have a good rage or a good cry, and couldn't decide which would be more beneficial. She wished she was back at Moonlight, in familiar surroundings. She ached for the lost innocence of loving only Lee. After a great deal of pacing and muttering, she sighed and smiled wryly at the comforting hump in the bed.

  'At least I've still got you, Uncle Julian. Looks like it's just going to be the two of us.'

  At first the knock on the door was so tentative that she hardly heard it. She hesitated, and decided it couldn't be David. David, particularly in the mood in which she had left him, would never be tentative. She knew that some of the staff and parents were still up and about because she had heard chatter and the clink of crockery in the kitchen.

  It was David.

  'What do you want?'

  He smiled as tentatively as he had knocked, and Clare had a very clear image of hastily donned sheep's clothing. 'I had no right to say those things. I lost my temper. I'm glad you decided to come back here.'

  The hint of satisfaction in the soft words stiffened Clare's spine. 'It's late and I'm tired. You can do your grovelling in the morning.' She tried to close the door, but it wasn't a sheep's hoof that slammed against it. Clare looked from the strong, flat hand to the dark Slavonic face.

  'Clare, please. My mother always used to warn me against letting the sun go down on an argument.'

  'It's nearly midnight, the sun went down hours ago,' Clare pointed out tartly.

  'If you let me in, I'll explain—'

  Clare thought of the lump in the bed behind her, and tightened her hand nervously on the doorhandle. 'In the morning.' Unfortunately her voice wavered and she could feel a blush sneaking up her throat. David's eyes sharpened. He tried to look beyond Her into the room, and she made the mistake of trying to narrow the gap in the door to prevent him. The sheepskin slid to the floor and the wolf, or rather the bear, showed its savage teeth.