Follow Thy Desire

by Anne Mather

  Mr Raynor shrugged. ‘I thought she looked hot, that’s all.’ His eyes shifted to his daughter’s. ‘Is something wrong, sweetheart?’

  Her father’s gentle enquiry was almost her undoing, but Helen managed to blink back the tears that trembled at the back of her eyes and shake her head vigorously.

  ‘There you are, then,’ said her father, addressing his wife. ‘If Helen says there’s nothing wrong, then that’s good enough for me. What could be wrong anyway? Heavens, she was all right before the Foxes arrived!’

  ‘That’s just my point,’ declared Mrs Raynor irritably. ‘She was all right before—Morgan Fox arrived.’

  ‘Morgan?’ Mr Raynor shook his head. ‘What has Morgan to do with anything?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Helen’s mother heaved a sigh. ‘Helen and Morgan were in here together when we came in.’

  ‘I know that. I sent them in here.’

  ‘I know you did, but what happened in here, that’s what I want to know.’

  ‘What happened?’ Her husband stared at her impatiently. ‘What could happen, Ellen? Good lord, Helen’s going to marry Barry on Saturday. Don’t you trust her?’

  ‘Of course I trust Helen. But Morgan Fox is a totally different proposition.’

  ‘But Morgan is already married!’ exclaimed Mr Raynor, exasperatedly. ‘Helen! For goodness’ sake, tell your mother what you and Morgan were talking about before—Helen!’

  But Helen had left them, running desperately along the hall and up the stairs to her room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Lady of the Camellias, thought Helen bitterly, surveying herself before the long mirror of her wardrobe. Not that the flowers she was carrying were actually camellias, but burgeoning white roses, their stems hidden beneath the binding of white ribbon that circled her bouquet. But they might more suitably have been those blossoms, always associated with grief and tragedy, for not even Marguerite Gauthier, the heroine of Dumas’ famous novel, could have felt more wretched than Helen did at present.

  Time was slipping away, and in less than an hour she was due at the church to make her vows to Barry, to promise to love him and cherish him, and obey him. Yet how could she do that when she no longer knew whether what she felt for him was love or simply associated feelings compounded of liking and affection?

  During the past thirty-six hours, since she had been with Morgan in the study, she had tried to tell her mother how she was feeling, but it was as if, after that confrontation when Morgan and his parents had departed, Mrs Raynor had decided to let well alone. Maybe her father had advised her not to press Helen too hard. Whatever it was, her mother had evaded discussions of a personal nature, using the last-minute arrangements for the wedding as an excuse to keep out of her daughter’s way.

  It was possible that she suspected Helen was having doubts and didn’t want to recognise them. After all, this wedding had already cost more than they could afford, and Helen cringed from the possibility of calling it off. How could she? Even knowing how she felt, how could she throw her parents’ generosity back in their faces? Whatever happened now, the reception would have to be paid for, her dress and the dresses of the bridesmaids had already been paid for. To back out now would be a betrayal of everything they had ever done for her, and why? Because a man she had known less than a week had entered her life and turned it upside down. He didn’t want her: he had said so. He found her physically attractive, but then so had a lot of men before him. If only he had not been the one who had made her feel like a woman, who had taken all her preconceived ideas of love and marriage and stamped them into the ground. Until his advent, she had been happy with Barry, content to accept his lovemaking without expecting any miraculous response from her. But all that was changed now. Now she knew what it should be like—what it could be like—and she knew she would never be satisfied with anything less.

  Yet here she was, only an hour before the wedding, dressed in her lace wedding gown, still allowing circumstances to dictate her life. Downstairs, her aunt and cousins were chattering away to her mother, as the girls put the last-minute touches to their bridesmaids’ dresses, and in her bedroom adjoining, Helen could hear Jennifer humming as she, too, prepared for the big day. Susan would be arriving any minute, already attired in the rose-pink polyester Helen had chosen for her attendants’ dresses, and in the hall, laid out on the table, were their bouquets of pink and white carnations.

  It was like a snowball gathering momentum as it rolled, she thought fatalistically. From the minute Barry had placed his ring on her finger, the train of events had been set in motion which would end abruptly at the altar at eleven o’clock. No, not end, she corrected herself despairingly. After the service was over, there would be a new beginning, that was all, the beginning of her life as Mrs Barry Carson.

  A wave of sudden panic swept over her. She couldn’t go through with it. It was no use telling herself that without Barry she had no future. Better a life of loneliness and isolation than a life governed by the dictates of a man she didn’t love.

  Moisture trickled down her spine as she contemplated going downstairs and announcing that the wedding was off. She couldn’t begin to imagine what her mother would say, what her father would say! Would they think she was capricious and selfish, considering her own feelings above everybody else’s? Would they plead with her not to disgrace them in the the face of so many friends and relations? Would they even begin to understand why she had hesitated so long?

  She paced restlessly across the carpet. Outside, a faint glimmer of sunlight was breaking through lowering clouds, highlighting the hoar-frost that still sparkled on the grass of the lawn. It was going to be a fine day after all, and she shivered as she imagined all the people gathering at the church. What would they think if she didn’t turn up? Traditionally, it was the groom who abandoned his bride, seldom the other way about.

  She turned back into the room. If it had to be done, it was better done at once. Before Barry and his best man left Banklands. For the first time, she contemplated his reactions. She could imagine his anger, and with good reason. She was letting him down, and she deserved his censure and contempt. And yet wasn’t it better to let him down now than at some nebulous future date? Sooner or later he would begin to suspect she didn’t care about him as she should, and there was always the possibility of Morgan coming back into her life. If he brought his daughter to England as he said he intended to…

  Morgan!

  She pressed her hands to her stomach as a wave of misery swept over her. What were his thoughts this morning? How did he feel about the wedding? Or was it of supreme indifference to him as he had maintained? Didn’t he feel even a trace of envy that she was presumably marrying his stepbrother instead of him? But of course not. He was already married. Why did she keep forgetting that?

  With an intense feeling of sickness invading her stomach, she put down her bouquet on the bed and stretched her hand round to unzip her wedding gown. It dropped in folds of lace at her feet, and she stepped out of it carefully, aware that her knees were shaking. Trembling fingers peeled off the sheer tights she wore underneath, and replaced them with the trousers of her lovat green tweed suit, the suit she had laid out in readiness for her departure for Majorca later in the day. There was a scarlet shirt to wear with it, and she buttoned this quickly across her pointed breasts, tucking it into the waistband of the pants. The jacket was jerkin-length, and fitted snugly about her waist, and as a final rejection of her bridal status, she replaced her sandals with suede boots.

  She was studying her reflection with anxious eyes when the door behind her suddenly opened. Helen had been unaware of anyone’s approach, and she swung round guiltily to find Susan Fox standing in the doorway, staring at her.

  ‘Well, well,’ she observed, coming into the room and walking round her critically. ‘That’s a novel wedding gown, I must say. Do you think pink silk really goes with dark green tweed?’

  Helen was in no mood for facetiousness. �
�What are you doing here, Susan?’ she exclaimed through tense lips, realising the girl was not yet attired in her bridesmaids’ dress. ‘I—I don’t have time to chatter now. I’m busy.’

  ‘So it appears.’ Susan made no move to leave her. Instead she bent and lifted the lace bridal gown from where it still lay on the carpet. ‘I must say, you’re very casual with something that cost over seventy pounds.’

  ‘Susan, will you go?’ Helen didn’t mince her words. ‘Please. I—I have things to do.’

  ‘What things?’ Susan frowned. ‘That’s your going away outfit, isn’t it? Oh—’ Her lips formed themselves into an astounded circle. ‘You’re not planning to elope, are you? How romantic! All the guests waiting at the church and the happy couple speeding on their way to Gretna—’

  ‘Susan, I am not planning to elope! I’m not planning anything. I—I just want to be left alone.’

  ‘It’s a bit late to feel like that, isn’t it?’ Susan consulted her watch. ‘In exactly forty-five minutes’ time, you’ll be walking down the aisle at St Giles, with dozens of people just waiting to catch a glimpse of you.’

  ‘I know that, Susan.’ Helen heaved a sigh. ‘But—well, I have some things to do first.’

  ‘What things?’

  Helen shook her head, and as on another occasion, Susan leapt to the right conclusion. ‘You’re thinking of backing out, aren’t you?’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘My God! You really have got cold feet, haven’t you!’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Helen turned abruptly away, but not before Susan had seen the betraying anguish in her face. ‘Oh, Helen!’ she breathed, in a low tone. ‘Helen, for heaven’s sake! You can’t back out now.’

  Helen slanted a look over her shoulder. ‘Why can’t I?’ she countered tremulously, and Susan spread her hands.

  ‘Because—because you can’t. Glory, Barry would have a fit! You should have heard him yesterday when he couldn’t get in touch with you. He rang here half a dozen times, but you were always unavailable.’

  ‘I—I was out most of the day. I had my hair done…’

  ‘Some hair appointment that lasted eight hours!’ remarked Susan acidly, but then she too sighed. ‘Helen, why didn’t you tell him yesterday? Why didn’t you confide your anxieties in him? Surely he’s the person to turn to—the person most involved, besides yourself, of course.’

  ‘I did ring him yesterday evening,’ Helen defended herself, and Susan regarded her disbelievingly.

  ‘You knew Barry had arranged to go out with his friends last night,’ she said. ‘It was seven o’clock when you rang. You must have known he would be out by then.’

  The accusation was justified, Helen knew. She had put off ringing until it was too late, but she hadn’t known how to tell him.

  ‘By the time he came home, he was in no condition to ring you back,’ continued Susan reminiscently. ‘Morgan had to practically carry him out of the car.’

  Helen licked her lips. ‘Morgan—went with them?’ she asked, and Susan nodded.

  ‘Sort of. He went along to drive them all home afterwards. Somebody had to stay sober.’

  ‘I see.’

  Helen bent her head and with a sound of exasperation, Susan pressed her hands together. ‘You’d better get changed. You’re leaving for the church in half an hour’s time.’

  Helen felt cold, but suddenly resolute. ‘I’m not going to church,’ she said quietly. ‘The wedding’s off.’

  ‘Off!’

  Susan stared at her aghast as Helen picked up her handbag and left the room. She made no attempt to follow her as she went determinedly down the stairs, and only as Helen reached the living room door did her steps falter for a moment. Then, not waiting to hear what was going on inside, she opened the door and went into the room.

  Her entry caused no small ripple of consernation. Her cousins, Alison and Linda, were there, prettily attired in their bridesmaids’ dresses while her mother and Aunt Mary were pinning pink carnations to the lapels of their wedding suits. They all stared in surprise at Helen in her tweed pants suit, and Mrs Raynor made a gesture of impatience.

  ‘Helen! Aren’t you dressed yet? You went upstairs over an hour ago. We have to leave in—’

  ‘I’m not leaving, Mum. Not for the church, anyway. That’s what I’ve come down to tell you. I’m not going to marry Barry. I’ve—changed my mind.’

  Mrs Raynor uttered a sound of stunned disbelief and collapsed into the chair behind her. Aunt Mary hurriedly instructed one of the girls to get Aunt Ellen a glass of brandy and then herself turned on Helen.

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?’ she demanded, no trace of sympathy colouring her tones. She gave a short mirthless laugh, ‘You must be out of your mind, coming down here only minutes before you’re due to leave for the church and upsetting your mother like this. For goodness’ sake, this is no time to have second thoughts. Go and get dressed at once, and stop giving your mother a heart attack!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Mary.’ Helen was adamant. ‘I can’t do that. I’m not going to marry Barry.’

  ‘Helen…’

  Her mother’s frail cry was almost her undoing, but she had to stand firm. ‘It’s no good, Mum,’ she cried, shaking her head. ‘I tried to tell you yesterday, but I was too much of a coward to get the words out. I’m sorry—you don’t know how sorry I am. But I can’t marry someone I don’t love, not even for you and Daddy.’

  Mrs Raynor sipped the brandy Alison had given her. ‘But you were so happy…’ she exclaimed. ‘You and Barry. You were so much in love…’

  ‘I thought I loved him,’ said Helen, nodding. ‘But now I know I never did.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Aunt Mary irritably. ‘What’s happened to make you change your mind?’

  ‘It’s that stepbrother of his, isn’t it?’ cried Mrs Raynor, revealing she was not as prostrate as she appeared. ‘I knew it was the other night, but your father persuaded me to leave well alone.’

  ‘What stepbrother?’ Aunt Mary looked puzzled, and her sister explained:

  ‘Barry’s stepbrother, Morgan Fox. You remember—I told you that Mr Fox had been married before. Morgan’s the son of his first marriage, just as Barry was the son of his mother’s late husband.’

  ‘Ah…’ Aunt Mary nodded, and Helen’s mother went on:

  ‘He’s a doctor. Lives in Africa somewhere.’

  ‘Osweba,’ said Helen automatically, then coloured as they both looked at her.

  ‘It is Morgan Fox at the bottom of this, isn’t it?’ demanded her mother bitterly, but Helen hastened to deny it.

  ‘Morgan’s married, you know that!’ she protested, but Aunt Mary only snorted.

  ‘Since when has a set of marriage lines prevented two people from getting into bed together?’ she snapped, and Mrs Raynor began to dab her eyes with her handkerchief.

  ‘Oh, Helen,’ she exclaimed. ‘How could you? How could you?’

  ‘How could I what?’ Helen was indignant. ‘I’ve done nothing. I’m certainly not having an affair with Morgan Fox, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘Then what are you doing?’ cried her mother, as Mr Raynor appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Now what is it?’ he asked, looking round the group with unconcealed impatience. ‘I can hear your voices in the kitchen. What’s going on? Helen, why aren’t you dressed?’

  ‘She’s not getting married, that’s why,’ declared his wife, and burst into tears.

  ‘Not getting married?’ Mr Raynor looked blank, and with reluctance, Helen explained. ‘But, Helen…’ Her father obviously found it difficult to put his feelings into words. ‘Helen, you can’t do this!’

  ‘Oh, Dad, please! I am doing it. Can’t you try to understand? I know it’s mean and selfish, I know I’m letting you both down, but would you rather I married Barry only to end up in the divorce court?’

  ‘But how do you know you don’t love him?’ protested her father, and Mrs Raynor s
niffed:

  ‘Because she thinks she’s in love with somebody else.’

  ‘Somebody else?’ Her father was obviously confused. ‘Who?’

  ‘Ellen thinks it’s Barry’s stepbrother,’ declared Aunt Mary, reprovingly, ‘Whoever he might be. Do you know him?’

  ‘You mean—Morgan? But he’s married—’

  Mr Raynor looked staggered, and something inside Helen snapped. ‘Yes,’ she said then, uncaring what they thought of her, only intent on clearing Morgan’s name. ‘Morgan is the reason why I’ve changed my mind. But not because he’s asked me to marry him. As you keep pointing out, he is already married. But since I’ve got to know him, I’ve realised that—that what I felt for Barry was only—only affection. Not love!’

  ‘Love!’ sneered Aunt Mary, and her mother shook her her head in despair.

  ‘Barry’s a fine young man,’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s got a good job and he thinks the world of you! How can you throw him over because you’re infatuated with a man who doesn’t even care about you?’

  Helen could feel tears pricking her own eyes now. ‘Do you think I don’t realise what I’m doing? Wouldn’t it have been easier for me to marry Barry? I mean, I know Barry is all the things you say, and he’ll make some girl a marvellous husband. But not me!’

  ‘Well, I think you’re overwrought,’ said her father flatly. ‘I think this whole thing has been too much for you. Planning the wedding, getting the flat—all the people you’ve invited. What you really need is a holiday, love, away from all this. When you get to Majorca—’

  ‘When I get to—Dad! I’m not going to Majorca! Can’t you accept that? I’m not going! I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided—you can have the money I’ve saved towards the house Barry and I were going to buy. That should pay for the reception. I realise I can’t repay you for all the time and trouble I’ve caused, or the disappointment you must be feeling, but I can’t go through with it feeling as I do, I just can’t!’