Tame a Proud Heart

by Jeneth Murrey

  'I shan't seduce you.' In this present mood he was unreadable. 'You can have my bed—you ought to get used to sleeping in it. I shall make do with the divan in the lounge.'

  'But—' she broke in, only to be silenced as he interrupted her interruption.

  'I want to process those colour shots of you and you can make yourself useful in the kitchen. You're going to be the wife of a hardworking photographer, so you might as well start getting used to that as well. Now, come and dance, they've started the music.'

  Roz could hear the stereo blasting out and became strangely shy. 'Won't they wonder where we've been?' she asked hesitantly.

  Charles shrugged. 'Does it matter? They'll probably think we've been canoodling in the garden, so I'd better kiss you to make it look authentic.'

  He was going to kiss her whether she liked it or not, so there wasn't much point in making a fuss. Besides, Roz found herself in need of some reassurance; Charles was making everything sound very coldblooded. There wasn't much reassurance about the kiss, it was far too demanding, but he made it perfectly plain that he wanted her and she found herself responding with far more enthusiasm than she had ever displayed before.

  His hand slid down the curve of her spine, wandered around her hip and pulled her against him. She followed his lead shamelessly, but when he raised his head eventually to whisper, 'Starved, aren't we?' she blushed hotly. She wanted to giggle, but a giggle was more likely to end in tears.

  'Definitely rumpled!' He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction as he adjusted the neckline of her dress. 'Fix your hair, my sweet; you look as though you've been pulled through a hedge. And keep your chin up—the worst hasn't happened yet, I'm reserving that for Wednesday night.'

  'And making it sound like an execution!' She raised her head and tried out a gay, uncaring smile. 'How's that?'

  He looked at her critically. 'It wouldn't fool me,' he told her sardonically, 'but it'll give the others the right impression.'

  Roz glanced down at her ring where it sparkled fierily through the milkiness. 'Does Eve know we're going tomorrow?'

  'Mmm, I told her earlier today while we were having a chat.'

  'You talk to her a lot,' she raised an eyebrow. 'You tell Eve earlier in the day, but for me you wait till the last moment!'

  'Jealous?'

  'Yes, I am,' she wanted to shout at him, but she did no such thing. He was kind to Eve, he talked to her, joked with her, but all Roz received was an occasional hot look which started her burning inside. She wanted tenderness and caring, not the look which implied that all he wanted was to get her into bed with as little delay as possible.

  The rest of the evening passed in a haze of unhappiness and doubt which she covered with a carefully charming smile, but, once in bed, she added up the successes of the evening and found there was only one. Nobody had been worshipping Stephen! He'd had competition and from the quarter where he'd least expected it, from his own wife, and Eve had won hands down. The post-grad girl had offered him adoration, but he'd been so jealous of the attention paid to Eve that he'd shown the girl he didn't want her, not on her knees or even flat on her back! Roz sighed before she turned over to sleep. She was becoming very coarse, and that was all Charles' fault.

  After a very early bath, Roz dressed herself elegantly for town and carefully folded a few things into an overnight case. This morning there was no limp, much-washed cotton dress or scuffed two-year-old sandals, neither was it the time for a flannel skirt, silk shirt and a pair of lace-up shoes. This morning was the thin black suit with an old cameo pinned to the lapel, a creamy silk blouse with a hint of lace about the neck, fine tights, high heeled black patent pumps and her hair drawn smoothly back into a chignon.

  When she had made her bed and straightened up the small clutter in the room, she tumbled the contents of a drawer to find the handbag which went with the shoes, pushed her cheque book into it with her purse and a hankie, picked up the overnight case and went out and along the passage. From below, she could hear voices; Eve's high and clear as she chatted gaily and the deeper tones of Charles as he answered, together with Gilly's yells of frustrated fury about something. She was nearly at the stairhead when a dressing-gowned Stephen caught at her arm, halting her progress.

  'Oh, good morning,' she said brightly. 'Sleep well?' It was only something to say; she couldn't have cared if he'd walked the house all night.

  'Mmm.' Stephen's eyes slid to the overnight case.

  'Off to town early? Where are you staying, at a hotel?'

  'No.' He had stopped so Roz had to stop as well. She put down the case with a thump and straightened to face him. 'I'm staying at Charles's place.'

  'I don't like the sound of that!'

  'Oh,' her eyes twinkled, 'aren't you being a teeny bit old-fashioned, or are you having a morning after the night before? It was a lovely party.'

  'Not bad,' Stephen said grudgingly.

  'And Eve,' Roz enthused, her eyes sparkling wickedly. 'Didn't she look marvellous? The rest of us hardly got a look in.'

  'And I didn't like that either.' His face was tight with displeasure. His gilded self-satisfaction was tarnished and wearing thin so that the small ugliness was showing through. 'The way she was practically flirting with those young fellows and Charles right under the noses of a couple of University wives! It could cause a lot of gossip.'

  'Never mind,' she comforted him sweetly, honey dripping from her tongue, and then she lashed out with the sting. 'It'll only take the place of the other gossip, won't it? I mean the lot I heard about you and your post-grad girl. From what I can gather, everyone's laying bets as to whether she'll go with you on your American tour. Oh,' as she saw his face darken, 'don't blame me, I haven't been spying, nor did I have to dig for the information. It was handed to me on a plate over the bar of a local pub, if you must know, and it was in a loud voice and accompanied by the usual wink and nudge.' She allowed her contempt to show through. 'Really, Stephen, you should be ashamed of yourself! You're a married man, a father of three children, and that girl's nearly young enough to be your daughter.' At this point she became angry. 'And you have the nerve to object to my staying at Charles' place!'

  'I don't care for the fellow, Roz.' Stephen was giving himself time to make a recovery. 'I don't think he's good enough for you. Apart from the tales he tells, we know nothing about him.'

  'But you aren't marrying him,' she retorted. 'I am, on Wednesday.' And as she said it, she realised it was true. Come hell or high water, she was marrying Charles. Not because she'd been pushed into a corner and it was an easy way out for her, but because it was what she wanted to do. The difficulties, his secretary and anything else she found, she'd worry about those when she had to. Somewhere along the line a lot of her pride had dropped away and all that was left was an overmastering desire to belong to Charles. Maybe it wouldn't make for an easy life, maybe it wouldn't be a particularly happy one, but it was the one she wanted.

  'When are you coming back?' Stephen interrupted her euphoric thoughts.

  'Tomorrow.' She was blithe now. 'Charles and I—'

  'Don't bring him back here,' he interrupted. 'Leave him in London or put him up in a hotel.' His sea-blue eyes glittered spitefully. 'I don't want him in my house!'

  Roz's nostrils thinned with temper, she opened her mouth and let loose. 'Your house, Stephen?' She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. 'But it's not your house, is it? It's Eve's and mine.' It was an unforgivable thing to say, but she didn't care. It was time somebody told him a few home truths. 'Charles is here at Eve's invitation and I don't object. So he stays until Wednesday—and,' once started, she thought she might as well go on and let him have the rest of the broadside, 'I hope I don't have to listen to any more scandal about you and that student, so I'll give you a piece of advice. If you want somebody with you on this American tour, take Eve. She'll wow them, or is that what you're afraid of?'

  'Eve can't come,' he protested. 'The children—'

  '…Will
love it, all except Jasper, and he won't mind where he is as long as the bottles and clean nappies keep coming. Yes, I think that's a very good idea.' She stilled his objections with a wave of her hand. 'You take your family, dear brother-in-law, or I might be tempted to start a little scandal myself, always making sure that it got to where it could do the most damage.' She looked him straight in the eye. 'Now I've said my little piece, shall we go down for breakfast?'

  His hand on her arm still held her back. 'Aren't you carrying things a bit far, Roz? In my position…'

  She looked down at his restraining hand and then back at his face until he released her and stepped back. 'I'm tempted, dear brother-in-law, let's put it that way. But if you start playing fair and square with my sister, I expect I'll be able to withstand the temptation. Ah, I can smell toast and that gorgeous marmalade Eve makes!' and, without another word or even a glance at him, she went gaily down the stairs. At the bottom she paused, remembering, and called back, 'Bring my case down, Stephen, there's a dear.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The big Cadillac crunched down the gravelled drive and Roz looked about her with pleasure. It mightn't be a very nice-looking house, but the gardens were pleasant, especially at this time of the year. The lawn was smooth and green, the borders were a blaze of colour, and Eve's carefully shaped and tended willows wept in a pale, greeny-yellow shower. She breathed a deep sigh of content before she turned in her seat and looked at the driver.

  'Stephen told me not to bring you back,' she announced. 'He thinks you're bad for me, so you're persona non grata as far as he's concerned. A bad smell or something nasty in the sewers!'

  'I've corrupted you?' Charles gave her a smile as he swung the car out on to the road and accelerated.

  'Not me exactly.' She shook her head. 'But you might corrupt Eve. Last night she had all the limelight, and it hurt him. He's not used to being on the fringes.'

  'So?' He spared her a glance full of mockery. 'What happens now? Do I stay at the pub in the village or should I travel down early on Wednesday morning?'

  Suddenly her bright feeling vanished and she was full of doubts. 'Please yourself, but you're quite welcome at the house. Stephen will behave himself, I've given him his come-uppance and I think now he'll probably take Eve and the kids with him to the States.'

  'And you, Roz—are you going to be there on Wednesday, or are you still fighting it?'

  'Not fighting any more,' she denied, and then, as a vision of Margery Smith swam before her closed eyes, 'I've thought about it and I think it's the best way. I'm only sorry about the past. I wish it was possible to take it for a walk in the woods, kill it and bury it in an unmarked grave so that it could be forgotten. But it isn't possible, so we'll just have to live with it.' She leaned forward to twiddle the knobs of the radio without result and swore softly as she punched a row of switches with passionate fingers. 'Isn't there a working radio in this mobile palace?'

  Charles switched off the de-mister, the rear window heater, the fog lamps and the hazard warning flashers before he guided her fingers to the correct switch. 'That one! It's the aerial. Now try.' And he went back into silence which lasted until he pulled up in the mews.

  Roz meanwhile listened to the radio with half an ear while she mused and fretted. This morning the sun had shone to sweep away her indecision, and now she was a mass of 'ifs' and 'buts' again and it wasn't anything to do with her. There were cold waves of distaste emanating from Charles, she could feel them, and the car was full of them. But it was ridiculous! It must be her imagination working overtime. She had made up her mind, Wednesday would be her wedding day; she was just suffering from an attack of nerves.

  They would be married, and what came after was up to them. Charles seemed to know what he wanted, he had been all for it, so she would have a willing husband if nothing else.

  'No secretary?' She made a joke of it as he fitted the key in the lock of his front door.

  'No need.' He didn't smile and he stood well away from her as though he was making sure they didn't touch. 'I'm officially on holiday.' He glanced at his watch. 'You go into the kitchen and start on some lunch while I get these films going. I won't be long, and when I come down we'll have a drink.'

  Half an hour later she stood beside him, her jacket removed and the skirt and creamy blouse covered by a bright coloured, plasticised pinny. There was a slight frown on her face because she couldn't understand the change in his behaviour towards her. It was as if, since last night—no, since this morning, he'd become a different person. The cat was back and determinedly walking by itself.

  He made no move to touch her, and, although she wanted to ask what was wrong, she couldn't. There was a barrier between them and she didn't think he'd hear her through it. She downed the sherry he had poured for her in one gulp and announced surlily that lunch would be ready in fifteen minutes.

  Charles merely nodded and went back to his darkroom, his tanks and dishes, and Roz was cross about it. Let him be frozen if he liked! He was evidently in an odd mood, but, looking back to their departure from Sussex, she couldn't pinpoint anything she'd said to account for it. She was vicious about shaking the chips free of oil. She wasn't going to put herself out to get him into a better temper!

  But she couldn't leave it there, some demon driving her put words in her mouth so that over lunch she speared a couple of golden chips on her fork, added a cube of medium rare steak and looked up at him with angry eyes.

  'You've gone back to being "I am" again,' and, at his look of polite query, she snorted down her small straight nose. 'Kipling, the cat who walked by himself! What's it like in your wild, wet woods?'

  'Lonely.' He was brief, and since Roz could think of nothing else to say, she stuffed her chips and steak into her mouth and chewed stolidly.

  Roz spent the afternoon alone in the lounge, curled up on the divan and trying to concentrate on a book, but it wasn't sufficiently interesting to hold her attention and her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, to be woken at about five o'clock by Charles.

  'Tea?' He proffered a cup.

  'Thanks.' She was morose and stupid with sleep. With a grunt, she hoisted herself into a sitting position and demanded to know if they were going out to dinner.

  'Too busy.' Charles wasn't just withdrawn, he had all the shutters firmly closed on her. 'We'll have something here. There's plenty of food in the freezer.'

  'Omelettes, then.' She became determinedly cheerful even when he wrinkled his nose. 'With cheese and mushrooms; after all, you had steak for lunch.

  Besides, I can do an omelette just when you're ready for it, I shan't have to call you in the middle of anything crucial.'

  'That's reasonable.' His eyes glittered under half closed lids. 'But then you generally are reasonable, aren't you, Roz? You don't act on impulse, do you? Sometimes I think I fool myself when I think there might be more to you than a beautiful face and body and a practical little brain.'

  'Have it your way,' she shrugged, and turned away so that he shouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

  Except for a break for dinner at eight o'clock, Charles stayed in his darkroom all evening until half past ten when he came downstairs, wiping his hands on a towel which he left draped over the newel post. Roz gave him a dark look and removed it.

  'Reasonable and fussy.' The beginnings of a smile glimmered about his eyes and she drew a breath of relief. Whatever it was that had upset him, he was getting over it. Perhaps he was moody by nature, but she looked back over five years and decided against it. He'd never shown any sign of moodiness before.

  'A drink and bed,' he announced. 'I can finish that lot by lunch time tomorrow. Oh, by the way,' he took her hand, opened it and slapped a key into her palm, 'your bedroom door. Making assurance doubly sure!'

  Roz looked at the key and back at him, saying nothing. She would put the key in the lock but she wasn't going to turn it; that wouldn't be any good and she knew it. If she heard him at the door, if he knocked or even tried the handle
, she would be out of bed at the speed of light. She would open the door, haul him inside, and if he wouldn't make love to her she would make love to him. That was how far she'd sunk, and she wondered what had happened to her lofty morals and her pride.

  'Thanks.' Her face was expressionless although her voice was a bit ragged. 'I'll go now. You can get your own drink, I don't want one. See you in the morning.'

  Sleep didn't come easily. It hadn't anything to do with the state of her mind nor with the undefinable ache which possessed every bit of her body. It was, she assured herself, because she had dozed all afternoon and had sat watching dreary TV all evening. She should have gone for a walk; it would have blown the cobwebs away. The thought of cobwebs upset her further. Suppose Charles called the whole thing off? A few days ago she would have jumped over the moon with joy at the thought, but now all she could see was a future where, like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations, she'd remain an old maid and live surrounded by cobwebs.

  Therefore, starting right now, she would smile, be her usual composed self; turn away wrath with a soft answer; spin her own web and wait in the middle of it like one of those cannibal spiders, and if Charles stumbled in among her sticky strands she would eat him alive. With this thought in mind, she turned over on her side, bit the pillow in a spasm of sheer frustration and went to sleep.

  So at eight o'clock, she entered the kitchen with a smile on her lips and a pleasant 'good morning'.

  Charles was making tea with concentration. She watched him as he warmed the pot and carefully measured in the spoonful.

  'You do it properly.' Her smile widened. 'I've got into bad habits since I broke my teapot. I make it in a mug, one tea-bag and boiling water. Shall I start on some toast?'

  'You're both looking and sounding better this morning.' His glance at her was quizzical.

  'So I should.' She didn't mention the half-hour she'd spent in the bathroom in front of the mirror while she'd carefully covered up all evidence of strain. 'Yesterday was very restful, I feel better for it, and this morning I'm going shopping.' She glanced at him from under her lashes. 'I'm rather an expensive person—money slips through my fingers. Shall you mind that?'