Crescendo

by Charlotte Lamb

  Her eyes moved down the long, bare back and she remembered the night they had made love up­stairs, the feel of that smooth skin under her hands. She ached to touch it now. Her hands curled into his hair and she shut her eyes, then opened them again quickly before he noticed.

  'You can't surely have been walking all this time!' she exclaimed, taking away the towel to in­spect his ruffled, drying hair.

  'I drove for hours,' Gideon muttered. 'When I did get back here, I couldn't come in, I still had to think, so I went for a long walk across the cliffs, past Spanish Headland, on for miles. The storm broke before I got back here.'

  What had he been thinking about? But she knew that. What conclusions had he come to? She brushed the tangled dark strands back from his forehead, then caught his eye and wished she hadn't given in to the temptation of touching him. There was a dangerous gleam in those eyes. Gideon's instincts were too quick. He could sense what was happening inside her, as an animal might, his blood informing him of what his senses intuitively picked up from her.

  Marina drew away, her face cold. 'You should change out of those wet clothes.'

  'I was going to,' he agreed, rising, and coming far too close in the movement, his eyes just above her own and watching her closely.

  She should not have come down here. She would not have seen the sleek physical beauty his every movement displayed for her. Gideon was an attrac­tive male animal and she was Jar too responsive to his attraction.

  'I need a hot drink,' he said. 'I'm frozen.'

  She looked at him through lowered lashes, her small face obstinate. 'I'll get you one, but go and change out of those wet clothes'.'

  He smiled at her and her heart turned over. He went out and she picked up his wet shirt and sweater and held them tightly in her hands, looking at them. The smell of rain and sea-mist hung over them mingled with the faint astringent fragrance of Gideon's body.

  Marina put on the kettle and got out cups. Gideon came back in a clean sweater and trousers. She could see that he had combed down his hair. It no longer stood in those ruffled peaks but lay smooth and partially damp across his head. The rain and wind had given a glowing colour to his skin, but the dark eyes were sombre under their black brows.

  'Have you eaten?' she asked with her back to him.

  'I'm not hungry.' He moved quietly until he stood just behind her. 'I'm sorry I woke you.'

  'You didn't,' she shrugged without turning round. 'The storm woke me. Is it very rough at sea?'

  'Waves like mountains,' he told her. 'I saw them breaking over the jetty, higher than houses.'

  'We don't often get seas like that. I wouldn't like to be out at sea tonight.'

  'No,' he agreed, so close that she could hear his breathing and the faint sounds of his tiniest move­ments, the rasp of his hands as he pushed them into his pockets, the rustle of his collar against his throat as he turned his head.

  The kettle boiled and she made the tea, her actions deft and quick, the automatic movements which the hands can perform while the brain is ab­sorbed in other things. Gideon watched her and she knew what he was feeling. She was deeply aware of what was going on inside him because it was a re­sponse to what was happening inside her.

  They were talking like polite strangers, but un­derneath that their bodies were vibrating with the powerful tug of physical attraction and she could not stop the process.

  'You must eat something,' she told him briskly. 'I'll make you a ham sandwich.' He watched her as she deftly cut the bread and buttered it, laid the ham inside. She pushed the plate of sandwiches across to Gideon.

  He sat at the kitchen table and looked at the food. 'I'm really not hungry,' he muttered.

  'Eat it.' She poured the tea and gave him a cup. Reluctantly he began to eat one of the sandwiches.

  He fiddled with the edge of the plate, studying the pretty band of roses with apparent fascination. 'What are you going to do, Marina?'

  She sat down and sipped her tea without answer­ing and Gideon lifted his black head to look at her.

  She met his eyes. 'Grandie and I were discussing that today. I think I'll go back to college for my final year.'

  Gideon looked back at the food and pushed the plate away. 'I see,' he muttered.

  She had never seen him so muted, the inner light of his powerful personality completely doused. His mouth was set in lines of wry acceptance. She could not see his eyes, they were hidden by their lids, but the lashes flickered constantly.

  He picked up his cup and the sound of it jarring against the saucer told her that his hand was shak­ing. He held it between both hands and sipped the tea, still not looking at her.

  Pain pulsed inside her. She did not want to re­spond to the silent appeal he was making, she did not want to be aware of his pain. Gideon had no right to feel it.

  'You were right,' he said suddenly, his voice husky. 'I've been blindly selfish all along. I'd never seen it all from your angle. I'd only ever seen it from mine.'

  'You don't need to tell me that,' she said bitterly.

  'No.' His head bowed lower. 'You despise me, and I deserve it. I accept that I've been selfish.' He lifted his head abruptly and the dark eyes looked straight into hers. 'But that day you came to the flat and saw me with Diana, I wasn't kissing her, Marina. She was kissing me, and if you'd come in a moment later you wouldn't have seen what you did. I didn't want her to kiss me. Hell, I was indifferent to her. I hadn't seen her since the night I saw you and that boy together—I swear that on my honour.'

  'Your honour?' She laughed and he winced.

  'I don't deserve that,' he emphasised. 'I wouldn't lie to you. You've got to believe me.'

  She studied him and she knew she did believe him. Diana's angry passion when they met the other day had told her that Gideon had dismissed the other woman from his life with cold finality. She felt pity for Diana. Gideon had been ruthless with her. Once he had made up his mind, he had cut her from his life without looking back. Diana had never meant a thing to him.

  He saw the realisation in her face and hurriedly went on, 'I was working on those damned papers in the flat because I was desperate to get down here to you. My God, Marina, I was aching to see you. The last thing on my mind was Diana. She just walked in and took me by surprise. She'd heard I was in town alone.' He grimaced, breaking off, a dark colour invading his cheeks. 'Diana thought...'

  'I can guess what she thought,' Marina said drily.

  Diana had come because she hoped that Gideon would have grown tired of his marriage and might be prepared to resume his relationship with her. Past experience of his brief romances would have given her grounds for hoping. Poor Davina, Marina thought; it was painful to love without a hope of re­turn, and she was sure Diana loved him.

  'Have you ever realised what you've done to her?' she asked him bitterly. 'She has feelings too, you know.'

  His face was set and dark. 'She almost lost me the one thing I've ever cared about,' he said through his teeth. 'She just wouldn't accept that I didn't want her and because of that you almost died.' He stopped speaking, his throat moving in a convulsive swallow. 'I thought for a while you might die. I'd have killed her if I'd seen her!'

  There was a silence. She could hear him breath­ing, the rough sound abrasive. The wind roared past the window and the latch clattered. Marina jumped, her nerves stretched to the point where every little noise could pierce her brain.

  'It's only the wind,' Gideon said gently.

  She drank some of her tea but it had grown cold and tasted flat and vile. Gideon watched her, his dark eyes intent. 'I thought until my head ached,' he said. 'Diana was a red herring, wasn't she? It wasn't Diana who split us up, it was me. I ruined what we could have had. If I hadn't been so obsessed with protecting myself I'd have realised what I was doing to you.'

  She looked back at him, her breathing stilled, see­ing a change in his face, a look almost of humility which seemed odd on that hard, powerful mask of his.

  'Did you love me?' h
e asked huskily.

  She didn't reply, just stared at him.

  'You did, didn't you?' He smiled oddly, wry self- contempt in the movement of his mouth. 'And I never stopped to think, to ask myself what was going on inside your head. I was too busy struggling with my own feelings to ask how you felt. I was so afraid of losing myself that I lost you.'

  In the silence she heard the clock ticking and the wind lashing across the sea, the slow sift of the ash inside the stove.

  'I suppose I knew you had to find me attractive,' Gideon muttered. 'You wouldn't have slept with me otherwise. But I wouldn't let myself ask you if you loved me because by asking that I would have ad­mitted the whole question of love, and that was the one thing I didn't dare to do.' He put out his hand .and caught hers, took it to his lips, staring at her. 'Do you still love me, Marina?'

  'How can I?' she asked flatly. 'You've told me too much about yourself that makes you unlovable.' His hand tightened on her fingers in a wince. She went on quietly, 'You may love me now, or think you do, but in a year, two, you may decide you've stopped loving me, and then I would be another Diana to be kicked out of your life.'

  'No,' he said. 'No. I've never cared for anyone but you. I wouldn't do that to you. I may have fought against loving you, but I've given in, Marina. I'll love you to the end of my life.'

  'How can I believe that?' she asked angrily.

  'You must,' he muttered.

  She pulled her hand from his grip and stood up. Gideon got up, too, catching her arm.

  'Don't go. Listen to me.'

  'Why should I?'

  Their eyes met and quarrelled violently, a dark pleading in his, a cold rejection in hers. Gideon moved closer and Marina glanced away from the magnetic pull of his lean body, the physical attrac­tion she knew very well she could still feel throb­bing away inside herself. It was a vital part of love, but it was only a part. There had to be a lot more than that if love was to survive. How did she know that Gideon felt any more than an urgent desire for her?

  'I tried to start again,' he told her huskily. 'When I came down here this time it was because I was go­ing mad not seeing you. Grandie had asked me to stay away, but I couldn't.'

  Her eyes angrily told him how selfish that had been and his grew hard with an admission of his realisation of it.

  'But when I saw that you didn't remember me, I thought it would give me the chance to make things happen as they should have happened in the begin­ning. If I'd admitted I'd fallen in love with you right from the start, I'd have come down here to court you, to make you fall in love with me. I'd have married you and none of this would have happened.

  I tried to reshape our lives. I wanted to love you and let you see it. I wanted to teach you to love me.'

  And he had succeeded, of course. She had fallen in love with him all over again. The moment she saw him she had felt that tug of deep attraction. Her mind might not have known him, but her body had, and it had moved like a sleepwalker into his arms, wildly responsive to every touch, every kiss.

  She looked away, her skin flushing deeply, and Gideon stared at her fixedly, piercing the defences she was trying to erect against the probe of his stare.

  'Think about it, darling,' he whispered, watching her.

  She lifted her head, her eyes flashing. "I can tell you now what I think. I think it would have been better for me if I'd never laid eyes on you. I think _ you've given me as much pain as any one human being can stand, and I don't want to see you again. I think that you should get out of my life and stay out!'

  He had gone white again, the black eyes fixed and hard. His mouth was held steady, but she saw the muscle jerking betrayingly beside the stiff lines of it.

  She was already subsiding from her angry excite­ment, her body trembling. 'Go away,' she muttered, not looking at him.

  She felt him watching her. He laughed harshly. 'I might as well burn my last boat,' he said oddly, and before she had had time to. work out what he meant, he had caught her into his arms and his mouth was covering hers, the hungry burning de­mand of his kiss destroying all her defences, sending

  a wave of violent passion pouring through her.

  His arms locked round her and the kiss deepened, draining her whole body until she lay limply against him, feeling the urgent pressure of his body grow­ing as he sensed her weakness.

  He lifted his head at last and looked down at her flushed face with a gleam in the dark eyes. 'Good­night, my darling.'

  She couldn't believe it as he turned and walked away. He knew what had just happened inside her. He had felt it, all the helpless, hungry response she had not been able to control. But he was going.

  She stood there, listening to his footsteps on the stairs, trying to make sense of it. If he had wished Gideon could have pressed her to the ultimate sur­render. She had put up no resistance and he had been completely aware of it. Why had he gone?

  She tied her wrap tightly around her, her neck bent in a defensive weakness. Gideon was a strategist; he had done this deliberately. She went around the room, tidying it for the night, then went up to her room and climbed into bed. Sleep evaded her for a long time and when she did finally fall into an uneasy doze it was dawn, the sky pale and wind- fretted.

  She slept until late in the morning. Grandie did not disturb her. When she eventually struggled downstairs he looked at her quickly.

  'How do you feel?'

  'Fine,' she said too brightly.

  He nodded. 'What would you like for breakfast?'

  'I'll get myself some toast,' she told him, moving to cut the bread. Casually she asked: 'Gideon up?'

  'He's gone,' said Grandie, and her hand shook. The bread knife slipped and she gave a faint cry. Grandie came hurrying over in distress and stared at the dark red blood seeping from the cut.

  He can't do this to me, Marina thought in a sick anguish. I hate him! How could he go like that? He didn't even say goodbye.

  Grandie held her hand under the cold tap, watch­ing her white face. 'Does it hurt much?'

  It hurt like hell, but she smiled and said: 'No,' because the pain she was feeling had nothing to do with her cut hand.

  She knew, of course. She had known last night as her whole body shook in response to his hands and mouth. She wanted him. Whatever he had done, might do, to her, she wanted him. And Gideon had known. She had seen the look in those dark eyes and had been aware that she had betrayed herself finally and for ever. Gideon knew how she felt. Yet he had gone away.

  I hate him, she thought. I hate him!

  CHAPTER TEN

  LATER she walked along the cliffs, watching the con­flict in the skies, the wind driving the clouds across the horizon, the sea tossing and turning like an un­easy sleeper, with points of light glittering across its troubled surface as the sun slid in and out of the windblown clouds.

  For all his brilliance as a musician, Gideon had been stunted in his emotional growth in childhood; unable to co-ordinate the demands of body and heart, like an autistic child which never makes the right connections and is isolated from those around him by his own self-obsessed internal life. Children are imprinted with the lessons of life from their earliest years. They learn from their parents how to give and receive love. It is the necessary lesson which they must learn if they are to do more than exist in an emotional vacuum inhabited only by themselves.

  Gideon's body had learnt to desire the pleasure women could give, but his heart and mind had re­jected them because of his mother's stifling possessiveness. He had grown up seeing life from that narrow angle, the obsessive camera eye which only focused on a limited objective—his own desire.

  When he met Marina his first instinct had been

  to reach out and take her, as he always reached out for what he wanted. She saw now that in checking that involuntary right at the start Gideon had been beginning to learn to love. The change had begun in him even then, but he hadn't known it, and he had hidden it from her because he was confused and frightened by the str
ange new feelings inside him.

  Staring across the tossing sea, she admitted to her­self that Gideon loved her and that the measure of his ability to love was reflected in the very strength and duration of his fight against it. She had seen for herself how his feelings for her had invaded his music, given to the barren brilliance of his clever­ness a deep and profound emotion which changed it completely.

  But he had gone. Why? Why after wringing that yielding passion out of her, despite all her angry protests, had he walked out like that?

  She turned to walk back to the cottage, shivering, and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the tall, lean figure in grey pants and a rollneck blue sweater.

  He looked into her eyes and smiled. 'Windy, isn't it?'

  She couldn't find the voice to answer him, staring at him. He had come back. The wind whipped through his dark hair, sending it flying in rough peaks.

  He ran his hand through it to rake it down. 'What's your name?'

  For a moment she could only stare, bewildered and uncomprehending, then her face flooded with colour and her voice said huskily, 'Marina.'

  He moved closer, staring down at her. 'Marina,' he murmured. 'Child of the sea. It suits you. Has anyone ever told you that your hair is like moon­light?'

  She looked away, her lashes flickering on her cheek. 'I've been warned never to talk to strangers.'

  'That's easily remedied,' he told her softly. 'My x name is Gideon.'

  'I'm too old for games,' she said in faintly sad pro­test.

  'This is far too serious to be called a game.' He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. 'Love always is, Marina.'