'This is a nice surprise. I was going to call round later on and see how you were getting along. I thought you might like to come and have a meal with us this evening. Mother would love to meet you.'
He looked so hopeful that Gemma's resolution almost failed her. Was she being idiotic in running away? Wouldn't it be far more sensible to stay and find a job here and start a relationship with Derek that would, she was sure now, lead to a good, ordinary, happy future?
'Gemma?' He touched her arm and his eyes were pleading. It was almost as if he knew this was a crisis moment.
She shook her head slowly and sadly. 'I'm awfully sorry, Derek, but I can't. I've decided to leave England—I'm going to Italy, to be with my sister. She's just got married and she wants me to go out there.'
'For good?' His face was suddenly white.
'I don't know,' she said.
There was an awkward silence, then Derek cleared his throat. 'I may as well come clean, my dear. I know we haven't seen very much of each other, but I'd hoped we might perhaps make a go of it together. I—I've never met a girl like you, Gemma. I've never thought much about love before, but since that first moment—' He broke off, flushing painfully. 'You wouldn't consider staying if—if we could—'
She shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Derek. I'm really sorry, I like you so much.'
For one awful moment she thought he was going to cry. Then he grinned crookedly. 'Oh well—I tried.'
There was the sound of steps on the wooden stairs. One of the workmen forgotten his lunch, Gemma thought absently. She moved a little away from Derek, turning towards the place where the door used to be. Then she froze, as if an icy wave had suddenly washed over her.
'Harn!' She didn't know whether she had spoken his name aloud or not.
He picked his way across the gaping floor and she couldn't take her eyes off him. He looked fantastic, she thought stupidly, she had never fully realised how handsome he was, with his dark hair and his wide shoulders under their perfectly-fitting grey tailoring. And his eyes—she caught her breath as they met her own.
'Hullo, Gemma,' he said casually, a little playfully. 'Looking for a job?'
'Not really,' she mumbled idiotically. Was he going to ignore all that had happened between them yesterday? 'I—Mrs Brown said you were in Japan.'
'I shall be, very soon, but at the moment I'm here,' with that ironic twist of his mouth.
He glanced around, nodding to Derek. 'You're getting on, I see. Nice work. No snags?
'Not of any importance,' Derek said rather stiffly, and then there was a silence.
Gemma could have screamed. If she could have run out of the room and down the stairs without tripping over the holes in the floor, she would have done so. As it was she remained rooted to the spot. The ice had settled round her now, freezing her body, her mind. She could think of nothing but that Harn was standing beside her. In a minute or two he would be gone again, but for now all she could do was stand there like a tongue-tied schoolgirl.
She was aware that Derek had spoken, but she hadn't taken in his words. All she heard was Harn saying, 'No, as a matter of fact I wanted to speak to Gemma.'
'Oh.' Derek lingered a moment, looking at the two of them. Then he said in an embarrassed voice, 'Oh. Oh, I see. Well, I'll be getting along, then, if there isn't anything—'
Harn said crisply, 'No, there isn't anything.'
Derek raised his shoulders as if to fend off a blow. Then without another word he made his way across the room and down the stairs.
Gemma fixed her gaze on where the window ought to be and watched the flapping polythene. She swallowed with difficulty. 'You wanted to speak to me?' she said. 'Is it about the salary I should pay back? I've been asking Mrs Brown about it.'
'I know,' came Harn's voice behind her. 'She told me.'
She waited, not moving.
'Gemma,' he said, very low, 'turn round.'
As if she were under hypnosis she turned, keeping her eyes lowered.
'Look at me.'
She raised her eyes and was blinded by what she thought she saw in his.
'Are you going to marry that oaf Underhill?'
That brought her to her senses—partly, at least. 'Derek's not an oaf,' she said, with sudden heat. 'He's a nice man and a very good friend.'
'Are you going to marry that nice man Underhill?' Harn said patiently, and she shook her head.
'He hasn't asked me.'
'No? That was very shortsighted of him. Because now he's lost his chance.'
He was talking in riddles again. 'What on earth do you mean?' spluttered Gemma. 'It's no concern of yours who I marry or don't marry.'
'Oh, but it is,' said Harn. 'It's very much my concern.' He glanced around him. 'I want to talk to you, Gemma, but not here, where we could fall through into the shop below at any moment. Come on, let's go to some civilised spot.' He sounded at his most masterful. It was odd, therefore, that Gemma got the impression that he was expecting her to refuse.
She rallied her defences. She said, 'I'm not sure that I want to. I left London to get away from you.'
He smiled rather grimly. 'I know you did. And I've come here to find you, so that makes us quits. You see, I need you.'
Did he want her back as a secretary? Had he come all this way to persuade her because May Wright was such a disaster?
She was in no state to work that out. She shrugged and picked her way across the gaping holes in the floor and down the stairs. In the shop Ted was still deep in consultation with his customers. 'I'll be back, Ted,' Harn called across to him, and led the way out to his car.
He drove as fast as he dared out of the town and turned the car's nose towards the open country and the Cotswolds. 'I'd take you back to my flat,' he said. 'Only you might misunderstand that.' He flicked her a glance full of meaning from under his dark lashes. 'There's a nice quiet little pub I know on the way to Moreton-in-Marsh. We can get a ploughman's lunch there.'
He said no more until they were installed side by side on a red velvet banquette in a low-ceilinged smoke-room, all blackened beams and polished oak and horse-brasses on the walls.
'Cosy, isn't it?' said Harn, leaning back and quaffing his beer.
Gemma had to say something. She said, 'I thought you didn't like old things and old places.' She twisted the stem of her sherry glass round and round. She still found it impossible to meet his eyes.
'Anyone can have a change of mind,' he said. And added quietly, 'And a change of heart.'
The smoke-room was empty except for a couple of farmers sitting at the bar and exchanging quips with the barmaid. Harn put down his glass and took Gemma's hand. 'I brought you here,' he said, 'because here in public I can't very well do the thing I'm longing to do.'
She glanced up at him then, her eyes wide. 'Which is,' he went on, 'to take you in my arms and hug the life out of you.' His voice dropped a couple of tones. 'Oh, Gemma, if you know what I'd been through since you walked out of the office yesterday with your pretty nose in the air!' He put out a finger and touched the tip of her nose very gently. 'It seemed that I'd made a hopeless mess of everything and you'd gone off with that oaf— correction—with that very nice young man Derek Underhill. I whisked you away to London to get you away from him in the first place, and then, just as I was plucking up my courage to tell you I was in love with you, there he was again, holding your hand, putting his skinny arm round you. I had murder in my heart yesterday when I walked into that waiting room and found the two of you!'
Here it was, then—the danger was out in the open for her to see. She could have this man if she wanted—for how long? A week—a month? And then? She would be discarded, along with the rest.
'Gemma, say something, please! Say you're a little bit in love with me. The other night I thought you were—you were so warm and soft in my arms and you responded to me, I'll swear you did. If Brenda hadn't telephoned—well—'
She nodded. 'Yes, I know. That was why I was running away.'
'Fr
om me?'
'Of course from you.' She laughed shakily. 'Any girl would be wise to run away from you. You're a dangerous man, I told you once before that you were sexy—have you forgotten?'
'I treasure that as a valued memory.' He spoke lightly, but she heard the strain in his voice as he went on, 'I tried it on you, but I had all these reservations. You were so young, I kept telling myself. But you went to my head from the first moment I saw you—you and your blue diamond eyes and that dimple in your cheek. I wanted you quite desperately, but I felt as guilty as hell for trying to get you. And I've always believed that marriage wasn't for me. I saw what happened to my parents, they were hopelessly mismatched. It seemed too much of a risk.'
Suddenly bitter, she said, 'You could get any girl you wanted without marrying them, couldn't you? That's the trouble. As I think I told you, I don't want to join the queue. Neither do I want to start an affair with another girl's fiancé.'
'What?' he shouted. Then, with a glance around, more quietly, 'What are you talking about?'
'Aren't you going to marry Yvonne?'
A look of horror crossed his face. 'Good God, no! Never in this world. And she knew it.'
'She came to your flat yesterday morning before I left. She brandished a whopping big emerald ring at me. She was—particularly offensive.' Gemma touched her cheek, recalling that nasty little scene. 'It was then that I decided I'd had enough of your girl-friends and it was time to get out.'
He nodded slowly. 'Yes—yes, I think I understand.' He was silent for a time. Gemma glanced up at his face and his expression was unreadable. 'What do I have to say to convince you that none of the others mattered? That you're different—different from any girl I've known before? All right, so there've been other girls; you wouldn't expect me to live like a monk in one of your sister's ancient monasteries, would you? Although—' a flicker of amusement passed over his face '—from what I've read they weren't above a few tricks either.'
Suddenly he ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. 'Oh God,' he groaned, 'I'm making a mess of this. You see, my darling Gemma, I'm crazy about you, you've got right under my skin. I think about you all the time, you get between me and my work. I want you, I need you with me.'
Gemma looked out through the window at the little garden outside. The summer flowers were coming into bloom—poppies and delphiniums and big white daisies. She was terribly aware of the man sitting so close beside her. It was taking every bit of courage she could muster not to melt against him, to feel his arm go round her. Then he would take her back to his flat and—it would all begin. It's madness, she thought, but I love him, I want him, I can't hold out against him. I don't care about all the others, I don't care what happens afterwards.
He leaned nearer and said softly, 'Cross my heart, I've never told any girl that I loved her, but I'm telling you now, Gemma. I love you, my darling. I never expected to hear myself say that, but it's quite easy, after all, when it's true. When you mean it with all your heart.' He leaned towards her and his mouth was close to her ear. 'I love you, love you, love you.'
Her senses swam at his nearness. She only had to turn her head a fraction and their lips would meet and nobody in the room would take a scrap of notice. But he was lying when he said he had never told any other girl that he loved her. What about that letter? What about his voice saying, 'Love me? I adore you.' Oh no, this certainly wasn't the first time he'd said it.
She made one last, desperate attempt. 'I can't— can't start anything now,' she said. 'I'm going abroad.'
He drew away from her a little. 'Where— abroad?' he rapped out, in his old dictatorial manner. 'What for?'
'To Italy. My sister—Beth—has just got married and I'm going to Naples to join her there.'
'Oh, a visit, is that all?' His expression relaxed. 'Well then, no problem. We'll get married too, straight away, and go out there together. Naples would be a grand place for a honeymoon. What do you say?'
Gemma went very still and it seemed as if her heart stopped beating. Her eyes turned on his face in utter astonishment. 'Marry you?' she gasped.
'Of course. What do you think I've been talking about for the last ten minutes?'
Gemma swallowed and gulped, and couldn't say a word.
'Did you think I was suggesting some temporary arrangement?' he asked, and she nodded dumbly.
Harn groaned, and glanced round the smoke-room. A party of six—three men and three women—had just come in and were settling at the next table. 'Oh lord, this a ridiculous place to choose to propose to a girl! Why was I so scrupulous and high-principled?' He took her hand and the touch sent her senses throbbing wildly. 'Let's go back to my flat and then I can ask you properly. Will you?' His cheek brushed her cheek, and the hard roughness of his skin and the clean, astringent smell of his hair, and the deep sound of his voice made her catch her breath painfully.
'Yes,' she whispered. 'Oh, yes!'
Their hotel room had a balcony that looked down over the incredible beauty of the Bay of Naples. The sun was setting as Gemma stood leaning on the stone balustrade, her eyes dreamy, her whole body filled with a pulsating joy that had taken it over from the moment, three days ago, when she had stood beside Harn in the almost-empty Wren church in a London side street, and promised to love and cherish him as long as she lived. It must have been the quietest wedding ever. Impossible to contact Beth, who had no telephone number, while Harn's mother and stepfather were in America, visiting his only other relative, a married elder sister.
They had flown out to Italy straight away and booked in at this hotel, high up on the rocky coast of Sorrento, on the tip of the bay of Naples, and Gemma was still trying to make herself believe that she wouldn't wake up and find it had all been a dream.
'Miracles do happen,' she said aloud now, with a deep, satisfying sigh. 'Come and look, darling.'
Behind her in the bedroom her husband was lying stretched out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, in an attitude of pleasurable inertia. 'Harn!' she called again, and he grunted and swung his long legs off the bed. He padded up behind her on bare feet and encircled her waist from behind, flicking up her hair and burying his mouth in the hollow at the back of her neck.
She grasped his two hands and pulled them even closer around her, thrilling to their strength and warmth through the gauzy material of the white wrapper she was wearing. 'Isn't it out of this world?' Her eyes rested blissfully on the scene below and before her: the hanging gardens and tumbling terraces entwined with scarlet and white blossoms, the lemon trees that filled the warm evening air with their heady perfume; the pink and orange palaces of Naples itself rising above the harbour, beyond the point where their hotel stood. And on the horizon, their outlines mysterious against the sunset flame of purple and gold, the islands—Capri, Ischia, Procida. Tomorrow they would visit Capri, the next day Pompeii. Long sunlit blissful days, six of them left before they must move on to fly to Japan, and Harn's business appointments there.
'It's too good to be true,' she murmured, her head against Harn's bare chest. She rubbed her cheek against the dark, springing hair there. 'And yet it is true, that's the extraordinary part. Isn't life amazing? Just when you think it's folded up on you, it can open again, like a flower?'
'Um—' He pulled her closer against him, his hands moving up to cup her breasts. 'I don't feel very philosophical just now. Come to bed.'
She gave a little gasp. Just the thought was like a warm tide rising inside her, flowing through every artery and vein. But she demurred, still gazing out across the bay. 'Have you forgotten that Beth and Ian are coming to have dinner here with us?' and added, because it was true and still delightful to her, 'Isn't it splendid that Beth's so pleased with our marriage and that we can all be friends?'
Beth's eyes had widened with shock when Gemma and Harn had presented themselves at the studio flat on their first evening in Naples, and confronted her with their news. She had been at first dumbfounded, then wary, but later, when she was convinced
of her sister's happiness, and when Harn's tactful and charming approach had had time to break down her defences, she had become again the warm, outgoing Beth that Gemma loved and had kissed them both and welcomed Harn to the family.
'He's super when he's not in the office, isn't he?' she had said wryly to Gemma as they made coffee, leaving Harn and Ian talking about—of all things—football, in the studio. 'I can't get over it yet, but I'm so glad for you, Gemma love. And Ian likes him, I can tell.' That clinched the matter with Beth.
Gemma said now, 'I'm so glad you got on with Ian. Did you think his pictures were good?'
'Um?' Harn murmured, and she knew he wasn't listening. He was rubbing his cheek against her hair while his hands moved over her, awakening sensations that seemed to get more overwhelming with every fresh time they made love.
She forgot all about Beth then, and as Harn's breathing became quicker and more urgent she twisted round in his arms, pressing herself softly against the length of his body with an artless acknowledgement of her need that never failed to delight him. With a groan he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed while he slowly turned back the flimsy wrapper.
'God, but you're lovely,' he murmured huskily, 'every last bit of you.' His mouth closed her eyes and trailed down over her cheek to her breast. She shuddered, moving against him with rising excitement, and her mouth found his mouth urgently, little inarticulate cries rising in her throat as their two bodies twined desperately together, skin against skin, rising at last to a fulfilment of shared ecstasy.
Afterwards, they lay quietly in each other's arms while the sun went down over the bay, and Gemma thought, 'It took this to show me that I'm not a young girl any longer, I'm a woman, I'm Harn's wife.' The thought was still new and amazing and she gloried in it. She chuckled softly, relishing the confidence it gave her.
Beside her, Harn murmured, 'What's funny?'
Because she was sure of him now, not afraid of his anger, she said, 'Do you remember that first day I came to work for you and you left a letter dictated on the tape—a love letter?'
Dangerous Male Page 15
