Follow Thy Desire

by Anne Mather

  He inclined his head politely, and she had no choice but to walk to the door. However, as she reached it, she turned again.

  ‘Morgan…’

  ‘Yes?’ The wariness was back in his tone.

  ‘A-Andrea and I are getting along very well together.’

  He relaxed slightly. ‘Good.’

  ‘I wondered…’ She caught her lower lip doubtfully between her teeth. ‘I wondered how long—that is—do you still intend to send her back to England?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a clipped definitive.

  Helen expelled an unsteady breath. ‘I don’t think she’ll want to go.’

  ‘You’ll persuade her.’

  ‘Me?’ Helen was astounded.

  ‘Yes, you.’ He took a couple of steps towards her. ‘You don’t want to stay here indefinitely, do you? I’m sure you’re becoming bored already by our simple life.’ He ignored her indignant protest, and went on: ‘If you can convince her how much happier she’ll be with all the advantages of western civilisation, I think eventually she’ll want to go back with you.’

  ‘But why?’

  Too late, Helen realised she had overstepped the bounds of polite conversation, and Morgan’s next words reinforced that belief. ‘Whatever I decide for Andrea is no concern of yours!’ he commented coldly. ‘At the risk of repeating myself yet again, I must point out that you are here to do a job of work, not offer opinions!’

  Helen’s lips tightened. ‘You love humiliating me, don’t you, Morgan?’ She pressed a hand to her stomach where the meal she had just consumed was churning sickeningly. ‘You enjoy making me feel small.’ And when he still didn’t respond, she added: ‘I don’t think you care about anyone or anything!’

  ‘That’s another opinion, is it?’ he demanded harshly. ‘What makes you think you have the right to criticise me? A little tramp like you!’

  It was as if he had slapped her again. Helen’s face mirrored the pain he had deliberately inflicted. But when, blinded by tears, she groped for the door handle, it was flesh and bones she found, long hard fingers that gripped hers so tightly she winced.

  ‘Oh, God, Helen,’ Morgan said in a strained, tormented voice, holding both her hands in his. ‘It’s no good, I can’t go on like this. Helen! Helen, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  She looked up at him through the blurring mist of tears. ‘Morgan?’ she breathed, half questioningly, but his face was descending to hers and the probing warmth of his mouth was more potent than any words. With a groan of satisfaction, he gathered her close against him, and all the torment of the past weeks was forgotten in the passionate urgency of his desire.

  ‘You—you’ve been so horrible to me,’ she choked, when he released her mouth to bury his face in her silky curtain of her hair, and she felt his assenting nod. ‘Why did you pretend you didn’t care about me? Why did you get so angry when I tried to talk to you about it?’

  ‘Women!’ he groaned with resignation, drawing back to rest his forehead against hers. ‘Why do they always want to talk at the most inopportune moments?’

  Helen moistened her upper lip, an unknowingly provocative gesture. ‘It’s not unreasonable, is it? After—after the way you’ve behaved?’

  She was half afraid her words would instigate further antagonism between them, but they had to be said. She couldn’t pretend these past weeks had never happened. She had a slimmer figure to prove it, and it wasn’t fair that he should think he could change his mind without explanation.

  Now he sighed and said: ‘Put it down to my uncertain temper.’ His lean mouth was cynical. ‘I’m a selfish swine, as you’ve said.’

  ‘No.’ Helen’s eyes were troubled. ‘No, it’s not just that. Morgan, I want to know the truth. How do you really feel about me? Did you really bring me out here just to be a companion for Andrea, or—or was there something more?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘That’s a crazy question, and you know it,’ he muttered, and to her dismay, he released her.

  ‘Why?’ she persisted, trembling a little. ‘Why is it crazy? Don’t I have a right to ask?’

  Morgan thrust frustrated fingers through his hair. The dark blue silk shirt clung to the muscular contours of his chest, and his action stretched the buttons to their limit. Dark corded pants exposed the powerful length of his legs, but Helen’s eyes focussed somewhere between his waist and his shoulders as she waited for the axe to fall.

  ‘All right,’ he said at last, and the words seemed to be torn from him. ‘All right. You do have the right to ask, and God knows, I want to tell you. Of course, you attract me. You always did. Lord, you know that.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ His eyes glittered with impatience, but whether with her or himself she didn’t know. ‘You know what you can do to me. That’s why I’ve tried to hold you off.’

  ‘But why?’ she breathed, hardly daring to take this in. ‘Why hold me off? You—you know I love you—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I wish you didn’t,’ he said with cold finality, dashing her hopes once more.

  ‘I see,’ she whispered, but her efforts to appear calm seemed to infuriate him.

  ‘No,’ he contradicted roughly. ‘No, you don’t see at all. Oh, Helen, it’s impossible for me to explain—’ He broke off, pressing his balled fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘God, I wish this had never happened! If I’d not been so concerned about Andrea, if I’d never gone to England…’ He shook his head. ‘If we’d never met…’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  The tremor in her voice seemed to torture him, and almost against his will, she felt, his hands reached for her again. He hauled her close against him, moulding her body to his, making her overwhelmingly aware of just how deeply she did disturb him.

  ‘You see,’ he said, unbuttoning the neckline of her simple cotton tunic to caress her bare shoulders with his lips, his breathing hoarse and shallow. ‘I want you. I need you. I lie awake nights imagining how it would be if you were in the bed beside me, and wake in the mornings sick to my stomach because you’re not.’ He bent his head lower to kiss the soft curve of her breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue and flooding her body with sensual warmth. ‘I want to make love to you,’ he breathed, ‘I want to possess every part of you, and I want you to possess me…’

  His words ceased abruptly as his mouth sought hers, forcing her lips apart and taking its own possession. It was a shattering experience; an intoxicating, drugging lethargy made her limbs curiously weak, and when his legs parted to draw her nearer, she surrendered utterly to the sensuous demands of his body.

  ‘Not here,’ he managed to say at last, drawing back to look down into her bemused face with eyes glazed with emotion. ‘Let’s go to my room. We’ll be more comfortable there, and besides, I can’t see enough of you like this.’

  Helen’s lips parted softly. ‘Nor me you,’ she confided, and a faintly mocking smile crossed his face.

  ‘At least I don’t have to teach you what it’s all about, do I?’ he remarked dryly. ‘The sight of a man’s naked body holds no fears for you.’

  ‘I—why—Morgan—’

  A sudden knocking at the door interrupted her incoherent efforts to try and explain that he was suffering a misapprehension about her. With misgivings, she remembered her stupid boast that she was an emancipated woman, that his ideas were old-fashioned, that he would not be the first with her. Was it possible that Morgan was only giving in now because he thought she was experienced? Because he expected her to have taken all the necessary precautions to avoid the possible complications?

  The knocking at the door was suddenly a respite, an opportunity to consider and to think. But right now, with her emotions aroused and vulnerable, it was difficult to feel anything but dry-mouthed disbelief.

  ‘God!’

  Morgan’s oath was followed by a reluctant drawing away from her, and as he thrust his shirt back into his pants and endeavoured to conceal the ph
ysical evidence of his feelings, Helen hastily drew her tunic back on to her shoulders. She turned away to fumble the buttons back into their holes as Morgan opened the door, and the sound of Kori’s voice was almost a relief. She had been so afraid it might be Andrea.

  ‘You there, Massa sir,’ he said, and Helen guessed he would be looking past Morgan, trying to see if she was with him. ‘Boy here from village. Say someone bitten by mamba.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Morgan brushed a weary hand across his forehead. ‘What village? Where’s the boy? Did you get his name?’

  Helen turned as Kori was nodding vigorously. ‘His name Masawa, Massa sir. He come from—’

  ‘Gabura. Yes, I know.’ Morgan’s mind was clearing. ‘A mamba, you say.’ He glanced helplessly at Helen. ‘The most venomous snake in Osweba.’

  ‘Is it?’ Helen was still very shaken, and the brooding tenderness that crossed Morgan’s face at that moment didn’t help. ‘I—will you have to go?’

  Morgan’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes, I’ll have to go,’ he agreed. Then he turned to Kori again. ‘Get me some ice from the freezer and put it into a flask, and then find me a length of that leather you use to tie your sandals.’

  ‘Yes, Massa.’

  Kori hurried away, and Morgan turned once more to Helen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how long this will take. I may not be back before morning.’

  Helen nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’ His tone was ironic. ‘I wish I did.’ Then he went past her into the laboratory.

  Helen followed him doubtfully. ‘Will—will whoever it is die?’ she asked, and he gave her an old-fashioned look.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ he replied shortly, and she felt rather foolish.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…’ She glanced round helplessly. ‘Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to—to come with you?’

  He shook his head, unlocking a glass cabinet and taking out a bottle. He studied the label for a moment and then put it into his bag along with a hypodermic syringe and supply of dressings. Helen watched him for several seconds, then, half relieved by his reply, she asked:

  ‘What will happen? I mean, does venom usually induce unconsciousness?’

  ‘Not in this case. Spasms, convulsions, vomiting; sometimes even paralysis. It depends how serious the bite is.’

  ‘But it is lethal?’

  ‘It can be. Not all snakebites are deadly, of course. It depends on the snake. Unfortunately the mamba is probably the most dangerous.’ He closed his bag and it locked, automatically. ‘Its venom attacks the central nervous system, you see. What we call neurotoxic. Some venoms affect only the area around the incision. They cause poisoning, and left unattended, gangrene will set in, but ultimately they’re less likely to be fatal.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Helen couldn’t prevent a shiver of horror. Then a thought occurred to her. ‘You won’t—that is—the snake won’t still be around, will it?’

  ‘With any luck, they’ll have killed it,’ commented Morgan flatly. ‘If not, rest assured, it will be long gone. It’s wary of finding its way into the stewpot.’

  ‘They wouldn’t!’ Helen stared at him aghast.

  ‘They might,’ he retorted wryly.

  Helen refused to think about this. Instead she said: ‘Be careful, won’t you?’

  He came towards her carrying his bag in one hand, lifting a leather jerkin off a wall hook with the other, pushing his arm into the sleeve. ‘Do I detect a note of concern?’ he asked mockingly, and her lips compressed.

  ‘You know you do.’

  His eyes darkened for a moment with remembered emotion. Then they dropped down the length of her body before returning to her face again, turning her skin to crimson. ‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ he said, coming close to look down at her. ‘Get Andrea to pack some things and we’ll go down to the coast for the weekend. We’ll leave in the morning, as soon as I get back. I could do with the break—we all could.’

  Helen trembled slightly. ‘A-all right.’ Time enough to worry about the sleeping arrangements after he had gone. ‘Drive carefully.’

  ‘I will,’ he assured her softly, and dropping a searching kiss on her mouth, he left her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HELEN slept badly. When she did manage to fall into a fitful doze she was plagued by terrible dreams of hooded snakes rearing their ugly heads, and when she awakened she was soaked with sweat, her heart hammering like a drum. Her ears were alert to every rustle around the villa, and once she was awake she lay for ages listening to the night sounds with a disturbing prickle along her spine. She shed her nightgown in search of coolness, and then lay worrying that Kori might come in in the morning and find her naked. She kept imagining she could hear the station wagon returning, and with nerves stretched to fever pitch, she wound the sheet closely about her, shivering with fearful anticipation.

  She still did not know what she would do if Morgan came. Could she turn him away when she loved him so desperately? Could she deny him the one thing she had encouraged him to take? And what would he think of her if she did? Would he believe her if she confessed she had lied about her relationship with Barry, or would he think she was teasing him again and take her without the saving grace of tenderness?

  She didn’t know what to do—what to think. Until that moment in the surgery when he had taunted her about knowing what it was all about, she had been prepared to give him her body unreservedly, but what would he think of her when he discovered she was still a virgin? Would he be pleased or angry? Anxious or accusing?—blaming her for deliberately deceiving him. Whatever his feelings, whatever lash he was flaying himself with, it seemed obvious that marriage did not figure in his plans for the future, and knowing her as he did, he might suspect she was hoping to trap him into a relationship he did not want.

  Of course, she could deny this, but what if she became pregnant? He was a doctor. He would know immediately if anything was wrong. And how could she acquire the necessary immunity here when she had no means of obtaining the drug or indeed any knowledge of what drug she ought to take?

  It was an impossible situation and that, combined with her anxiety for Morgan’s safety, did not make for relaxation. Instead, dawn found her wrapped in her thin cotton dressing gown, seated at the window, waiting for the sun to gild the rushes that grew tall and straight at the water’s edge.

  If only her problems were as simple as Andrea’s, Helen thought, remembering with a pang that today was the girl’s birthday. She had been so excited at the prospect of a trip to the coast, but her information that Morgan owned a two-bed roomed shack at the beach had only added to Helen’s uncertainty. Two bedrooms! One for Andrea? She shook her head helplessly. What was she going to do?

  For the first time since leaving England she wondered whether she had done the right thing. Not about walking out on Barry—that had been inevitable from the minute she laid eyes on Morgan—but for coming out here with him, for allowing such an ambiguous situation to develop. Her parents would be horrified, she knew, if they suspected what she was contemplating, but wasn’t her love for Morgan the most important thing after all?

  Thinking of her parents reminded her that apart from a card from Nairobi she hadn’t written to them since arriving in Africa. She hoped they weren’t worrying about her, and then decided that so long as Morgan was in touch with his father, they would know she was all right. The elder Mr Fox was bound to have kept in touch with the Raynors. He was that kind of man.

  The unmistakable sound of an engine suddenly filled the air and panicked a handful of wild geese into reckless flight. It brought Helen to her feet, too, and hardly considering the scarcity of her attire, she left her room to hurry along the passage to the hall. The door was locked, but Morgan had a key, and she was standing there, hands clasped tremulously, when he came in.

  He looked exhausted but triumphant, and when he saw her, his lips twisted in lazy appraisal. ‘That’s what I like to see,’ he mocked.
‘My woman waiting for me when I get back.’

  His woman! Not his wife!

  Helen forced a smile. ‘The man?’

  ‘It was a woman, actually. And she’ll live. I got there in time.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Helen was fervent.

  Morgan sighed and dropped his bag on to the floor. Then he looked steadily at her. ‘Did you tell Andrea?’

  ‘Wh-what about?’

  ‘Going to the coast. What else?’

  ‘Oh! Oh, yes.’ Helen wrapped her gown more closer about her, and then realising how revealing that was, loosened it again. ‘Yes. Yes, I told her. She was very excited.’

  ‘Good.’ Morgan’s eyes had narrowed during this display, and with an almost offhand gesture, he said: ‘I need some tea. Hot and strong and sweet. Then I’ll get a couple of hours’ rest before we leave.’

  ‘I’ll make it.’

  Before he had time to protest, Helen had darted ahead of him into the kitchen, and when he came in to slouch wearily against the table, she had filled the kettle and was setting it on the hob. Clattering cups and saucers, she wondered if she looked as nervous as she felt, and then decided that she probably did. There was a certain cynicism in his glance, as if he knew what she was thinking, and relief vied with an aching longing to offer to go to bed with him.

  By the time the kettle boiled, he had washed his hands and face at the sink, sluicing his neck under the tap. Then he seated himself at the table, and stretched his legs to rest on its rim.

  ‘Would you—do you want anything to eat?’ she asked, steadying her hand as she poured milk into the cups, but Morgan shook his head.

  ‘Only tea,’ he essayed dryly. ‘And bed. In that order.’

  She nodded, spilling some of the milk on to the draining board, and with an exclamation, he swung his feet to the floor and came round to her. His hands at her waist were hard and compelling, and she didn’t want to resist when he drew her back against him.

  ‘Relax!’ he ordered huskily, rubbing his beard-roughened jaw against the side of her cheek. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not a complete fool. I’ve had time to think, too, remember?’ He gave a short laugh which had little of humour in it. ‘Do you think I haven’t guessed that you must have been lying to me? No woman who’s as experienced as you claimed to be could act like a startled doe every time I came near her. It’s all right’—this as she started to protest—‘I forgive you. Fortunately, no harm has been done. You ought to be grateful to that mamba. It saved you from a fate worse than death.’