Lovers Not Friends

by Helen Brooks

  He swung round sharply and walked down the road, pausing only briefly as John called after him, his voice angry, ‘It isn’t what you think, man!’ So John had noticed the crucifying agony in Blade’s eyes that second as he turned away too, Amy thought faintly, as the pain in her heart stopped her breath. What had she done? What had she done?

  ‘Amy, I don’t understand any of this.’ John had remained standing with her, silent and still in the dark night for long minutes, and now he turned to her, his round pleasant face troubled and flushed. ‘Why did you leave him? Why wasn’t it working? Did he hit you, is that it?’

  ‘No.’ Amy shook her head weakly as she leant back against the stone wall bordering a front garden. ‘But I can’t talk about it, John. I had to leave. I can’t go back. That’s it.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘But you sure picked one hell of a guy to tangle with. He’s trouble, Amy, with a capital T. I don’t like him.’

  You don’t understand, she thought blindly as she shut her eyes against the concern and worry in John’s face. You couldn’t even begin to understand him. He’s warm and tender and funny and everything any woman could hope for in a man. Trouble? Maybe. But that came with the package—

  ‘I’ll take you home.’ John’s voice was flat now and as he levered himself back into the car she felt a moment’s deep guilt that she had involved him in all this. He had enough troubles of his own with the painful and exhausting treatment he was undergoing to get back the full use of his legs. That was why he had reacted to Blade’s hostility in the way he had. Normally John was the first one to pour oil on troubled waters; she had never known him to react so violently before.

  She climbed in the passenger seat quietly, the guilt rising again as she took in the specially adapted controls of the car. John hated his helplessness, the vulnerability that the confrontation with Blade had exposed in all its rawness. She should never have come here, never have stayed.

  As she got ready for bed an hour later she stood for long minutes looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the front of the small wardrobe in her room. Heart-shaped face, large violet-blue heavily lashed eyes, small straight nose and a traditional English ‘peaches and cream’ complexion. She couldn’t be less like Sandra if she had tried, she thought painfully. Her sister’s somewhat square face was framed by thick dark hair that hadn’t the smallest natural kink in it and her dark brown eyes made her the very image of their father. But she wouldn’t think of Sandra now. A flood of churning bitterness seared over her heart. If only she hadn’t thought of her at all, given into that crazy impulse to try and heal the rift between them. Because of that she had broken Blade’s heart and killed everything that was good between them. She couldn’t bear this agony, she couldn’t … Her face was still wet with tears as she drifted, hours later, into a troubled, restless sleep populated with changing nightmarish images that weaved and coiled into her mind over and over again.

  She didn’t like Sundays. At least each weekday and especially Saturday she was kept busy at the restaurant from lunchtime until late at night, and with John providing moral support when needed the days didn’t seem too bad. But John always visited his mother some fifty miles away on Sundays and without his friendly presence she had too much time to think.

  She sighed heavily to herself as she lay in bed the Sunday morning after Blade’s re-entry into her life, watching a dancing beam of sunlight on the wall opposite. It had been three days since that devastating confrontation outside the restaurant and she hadn’t seen Blade since, although she knew from John that he was still around. John had made it his business to find out that Blade was renting a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. ‘He’s taken a three-month contract,’ John had said grimly, his mild blue eyes worried and angry. ‘What do you think he’s playing at, Amy?’ She had shrugged slowly, shaking her head. She wished she knew. She really did. But whatever it was it wouldn’t be to her advantage, that much she was sure of.

  She wandered downstairs in time to eat her breakfast with Mrs Cox, a little routine the older woman appreciated being, Amy suspected, quite lonely most of the time, and it was as she was eating the fluffy scrambled eggs on toast that she asked the question that had just occurred to her, the answer to which made her wish she had kept her mouth shut.

  ‘You haven’t seen anything of Blade over the last couple of days, have you?’ she asked the small, stout woman quietly as Mrs Cox refilled the big pottery teapot with hot water.

  ‘Your husband?’ Mrs Cox eyed her carefully. ‘Not since the morning after the night I met him, lass. Why?’

  ‘He came to see you the next morning?’ Amy asked faintly, hoping against hope Mrs Cox would say they had met by accident in the street, shopping, anything …

  ‘Aye, lass.’ Mrs Cox’s eyes were steady and direct on hers. ‘And I must say I’ve never been partial to Americans but that one—’ she nodded to herself as she poured her fifth cup of tea of the morning ‘—he’s all right.’ The rebuke was mild but Amy still felt it like a slap in the face. How could she tell the older woman she agreed completely with her analysis? Blade was all right. He was more than all right.

  ‘What did he want?’ she asked carefully, but Mrs Cox shook her head gently, her gaze unwavering on Amy’s flushed face.

  ‘Now I think that was betwixt me and him, lovey, don’t you?’ she answered steadily. ‘I don’t interfere in no one’s affairs, as you know. You ask him when you see him.’ There was no malice in her landlady’s voice, nor even accusation, but Amy knew better than to pursue the conversation. And she would have respected the other woman’s honesty in other circumstances, but just at the moment it made her want to shake the poor inoffensive soul.

  ‘I might not be seeing him again,’ she answered quietly and it was a second later, as though to prove her wrong, that the front doorbell rang imperiously.

  ‘Is she in, Mrs Cox?’ She heard his voice in the hall and swallowed a piece of toast so quickly it lodged in her throat like a bone. She was gulping tea in an effort to clear it, eyes streaming, when Blade strolled lazily into the small sunlit room.

  ‘Good morning.’ He made no attempt to smile or lighten the situation in any way as his eyes fastened on to hers like lasers, and she saw he was still immersed in the rage and fury that had tightened the big powerful body into a coiled spring and turned the dark face stony.

  ‘I was just saying to Mrs Cox I thought I might not see you again,’ she answered at last when her choking had finished.

  He eyed her for a long moment before replying and Amy shivered as Mrs Cox joined them and his face became bland and pleasant. There was still something flowing beneath that was toxic. ‘Wishful thinking?’ His manner was genial and Mrs Cox clucked amiably as she bustled away to fetch an extra cup from the kitchen, but the coal-black eyes were as hard as iron and Amy knew his comment had been as sharp as barbed wire, the message contained therein for her ears alone.

  ‘I’m taking you out for a drive and a pub lunch,’ he said softly after half a minute had ticked by in total silence. Mrs Cox was a long time in returning with the cup; Amy fancied the elderly woman thought she was being tactful! ‘If you have made other arrangements, cancel them.’

  The hard arrogance brought every defensive instinct she possessed into immediate life and she stiffened slowly, her face hostile. ‘I’m sorry, Blade.’ She tried to make her voice as bland as she could but it was difficult with every nerve and sinew in her body stretched as tight as a drum. ‘I’m afraid I can’t—’

  ‘I apologise, I obviously haven’t made myself clear,’ he said silkily. ‘I wasn’t inviting you, Amy, I was telling you what I expect you to do.’

  ‘Now, just you look here—’

  He cut off her angry response with just a narrowing of his eyes and a slight lifting of his chin, but suddenly the striking animalistic power of the man was intensely fierce and much to her disgust she felt herself shrink back against her chair as though she were a tiny cr
eature confronted with a violent and predatory hunter. He frightened her! The thought amazed and shocked her more than she would have thought possible. But this wasn’t the Blade she had known through their brief courtship and the first heady days of marriage. This man, with his sensual and compelling authority, was dreadfully remote, the saturnine features cold and analytical and the dark eyes that had always been warm and glowing with love terrifyingly unfathomable in their austere blackness.

  ‘Do you like it here?’ As the piercing gaze left her white face and travelled slowly round the small cluttered room, she could see both bewilderment and curiosity flare briefly in the hard face.

  A mental picture of the fabulous home she had shared with him in London flashed briefly into her mind. Parquet floors covered with precious Chinese silk rugs, exquisite antiques arranged beautifully for both comfort and effect, wonderful oil paintings and Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool and overall the delicate, heady perfume of hot-house flowers that were replaced daily by one of the live-in servants long before the rest of the household was awake. It was the profusion of flowers that had impressed her the most when she had first visited his home, she remembered, and after they had married she had protested at the unnecessary renewing of still perfect blooms. His reply was crystal-clear in her mind and something she had returned to time and time again in the last three months.

  ‘It pleases me,’ he had said, taking both her hands in his and kissing the tip of her nose lightly. ‘They should go while they are still perfect, before any blemish mars their beauty and they become painful to look at. I don’t like to watch them die or fade, Amy. Decay revolts me.’

  At the time she had been struck by the darkness in his face and had passed the moment off quickly, seeking only to comfort and soothe, but then weeks later, when she had seen Sandra, his words had returned with such vividness that she had been physically sick.

  ‘Yes, I like it,’ she answered quietly. ‘It’s a far cry from your home but it has its own charm and—’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he answered sharply. ‘I wasn’t comparing in any way, putting the place down. It’s just that you seemed to love London so much, the bright lights, the fast pace—’

  ‘Maybe I’ve grown up,’ she said simply, veiling her eyes as the glittering gaze moved discerningly over her face.

  ‘It was your home too, you know.’ His voice was soft now, and very deep. ‘Just as much as mine.’

  ‘No, it never was.’ She didn’t want to hurt or antagonise, but the palatial house in a quiet, discreet London suburb had never felt like home. ‘It was beautiful and I felt privileged to live there, but there was none of me in it. Everything had been organised, arranged, for years before I came into your life and still continued to be when I joined you, even down to the last bowl of flowers.’

  ‘If you felt like that, why didn’t you say?’ There was a stricken look in his eyes that suddenly made her feel horribly guilty.

  ‘Because it wasn’t important at the time,’ she said quickly, ‘and still isn’t really. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.’ She shook her head distractedly, her soft blonde hair that she had left loose on her shoulders glowing like molten gold. ‘It was a wonderful home, I was very lucky—’

  ‘To hell with your luck!’ There was a ragged note to his voice that brought her head snapping up but his face was unreadable, cold and remote. ‘I didn’t want you to consider yourself lucky, for crying out loud. I thought we loved each other, that we had a marriage—’ He stopped abruptly, turning from her in one violent movement to stride the two paces to the window where he stood with his back to her gazing out into the wilderness of a garden.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, lad—’ Amy had quite forgotten about Mrs Cox, but now as the little woman joined them with the requisite cup and saucer she was immensely glad of the diversion. ‘Jungle, isn’t it?’

  Blade turned quickly, the mask he was so adept at putting in place fixed and smiling. ‘A little overgrown, shall we say?’ he suggested with a quirk of one dark eyebrow.

  ‘Needs must.’ The small Yorkshirewoman was nothing if not colloquial. ‘Since Mr Cox died it’s been enough to cope with the house and the odd guest. I can’t do with setting the garden in order. A body can only do so much.’ She nodded her grey head in confirmation of her words.

  ‘I could spend an hour or two out there, if you like?’ Blade suggested lightly. ‘I enjoy the odd bit of gardening and as long as you keep the coffee coming hot and strong we’ll call it quits.’

  He enjoyed the odd bit of gardening? Amy almost choked on the words. To her knowledge in Blade’s eyes a fork was something you ate with and a spade was a character in a deck of cards. He didn’t even confer with the top gardeners he employed periodically to keep the immaculate grounds surrounding his home in pristine condition.

  ‘That’s if Amy has no objection, of course,’ he continued smoothly, turning a blank face to her as he smiled silkily.

  No objection? She would have liked to be able to spit her objections into his face, but in view of Mrs Cox’s transparent delight at the suggestion all she could do was smile weakly as her eyes spoke volumes.

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ He turned back to Mrs Cox with a nod of his head. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll skip that cup of tea. I’m taking Amy out for the day.’

  ‘That’s grand.’ Blade was obviously the favourite son! ‘You two run along and enjoy yourselves.’

  She held on to her temper just long enough to reach the car and then exploded with impotent rage as she slid into the lush interior, her jean-clad legs and big baggy jumper incongruous against the expensive décor. She had refuted utterly the idea of changing into more appropriate clothes. These were what she had been going to wear for a day at home with maybe a walk in the hills in the afternoon. If he didn’t like it then he could do the other thing, she thought balefully as he slid into the driving seat beside her, looking every inch the wealthy businessman relaxing at the weekend.

  Blade didn’t seem to object. She was aware of his gaze roaming over the thrust of her high small breasts under the knitted cotton of the pale blue jumper, and became aware in that moment that the V neck was low enough to reveal just a hint of cleavage and that the jeans were just a little on the tight side. She moved her head slightly so that a shining veil of soft gold hung between them for a brief moment before rounding on him, her eyes shooting blue sparks.

  ‘What are you trying to do, Blade?’ she asked furiously. ‘Is this all part of my punishment?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ He eyed her coolly, eyes slanted and body relaxed. ‘Could you be a little more specific?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ she hissed angrily. ‘All this friendliness with Mrs Cox and now offering to do her garden! You’re trying to hurt me, aren’t you, discredit me with these people and—’

  ‘Now just hang on a darn minute.’ He caught her arm so tightly that it felt as though she had caught it in a vice, and as he shook her slightly, his face was black with rage. ‘I told you before, you have given up all rights to question my movements in any way. I’m a free agent now, to do exactly as I please. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ She opened her mouth to argue but the logic of his words was indisputable.

  ‘If you feel my presence in this small community might be a little embarrassing to you and your esteemed “friend”, that is nothing to do with me. You insist, as does he, that you are merely friends. Fine. Then I see no reason why there should be any talk of my “discrediting” you. You disagree?’ He was waiting, with a curious watchfulness, for her reaction and she gulped silently, her head spinning.

  ‘I …’ She was floundering for words as her heart thudded wildly. How could she tell him that it wasn’t really the possibility that his presence might embarrass her in any way that was worrying her, but that every minute, every second she was in his company she was terrified she might give herself away, that he would guess she still lo
ved him. As she hesitated she glanced into his face and the dark, enigmatic expression that had lit the masculine features chilled her blood.

  ‘You are clearly at a loss for words. Well, I can understand that.’ There was a hidden threat in the softly drawled words that sent a little shiver trickling down her spine, and as he let go of her arm, settling back into his seat and starting the engine with a turn of the ignition key, his face was closed against her. ‘And as to my helping Mrs Cox, the offer was genuine.’ He negotiated the powerful car smoothly along the narrow lane. ‘I have an excess of spare energy at the moment and I prefer hard work to countless cold showers. Celibacy is not something I’m used to and holds no attraction that I can determine.’

  She flushed violently, her stomach tightening as a sudden mental image of the two of them entwined in the throes of lovemaking flashed briefly into her mind. ‘You could go back to London, to your job, to—other women if that’s what you want.’ Her voice was low and painful and she felt him tense like a steel rod at her side before relaxing after a long minute as the breath hissed out of his mouth angrily.

  ‘I’ll do you a favour and forget you said that,’ he said grimly. ‘When I took you into my life and into my bed it was a lifelong commitment, Amy. I, at least, find it difficult to forget that.’

  She sank back against the soft leather seat, her eyes bruised and enormous. He was making this so hard, impossible—she’d go mad before it was finished.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked dully, after a few miles had passed in painful silence.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ He glanced at her briefly before concentrating on the winding road again. ‘I thought we’d drive a while, take in some local colour before stopping at one of your little English pubs for lunch. Sound OK?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Her voice was flat and she heard him draw the breath into his mouth through his teeth in an irritated sigh. Well, she couldn’t help it! She was bleeding inside, slowly and fatally. She would never have believed mental anguish like this could be bearable.