Perhaps Love

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Why do I feel so deflated now? she asked herself as she sipped her second glass of champagne. She looked around the table. Heath was obviously restored to normal and so was Veronica. Even Brent had lost that curious look of discomfort and was conversing quite normally. If you could call the level of conversation that was being bantered around normal.

  ‘… but if you take an out-and-out socialist and suddenly endow him with a substantial inheritance nine times out of ten what do you end up with? A rabid capitalist!’ One earnest, bespectacled man was saying passionately.

  Sasha closed her eyes and thought, I’m bored! I’m bored with all this theoretical talk where everything that has a name is pounded to death and back again. And again and again.

  She turned away, but found that on the other-side of her an incredibly bitchy intra-industry gossip session was raging, so she turned wearily back to her filet mignon and thought gloomily, it must be me. But don’t any of them have cats or dogs or horses? Or children? Or even gardens or pot plants? Or do they spend their whole life solving these problems?

  She pushed her plate away decisively and looked around rather hopelessly for a powder room.

  .. Sasha?’ she heard George say.

  ‘What was that?’ she queried vaguely, her eyes still scanning dark corners for a sign of a petticoated lady or a parasol.

  ‘I said,’ George remarked patiently, ‘don’t you agree?’

  Sasha sighed and brought her eyes back to rest on George. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you were saying,’ she admitted.

  Veronica said with an indulgent little smile, ‘I think we might be going a bit too deep for Sasha.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Sasha heard herself say swiftly as a tiny collective gasp went round the table, ‘I don’t think you go deep enough. You were discussing poverty just now, weren’t you? As if it was some faintly distressing disease that you were inoculated against. And you spoke of interest rates and unemployment and inflation and how the government should do this or do that, but did you ever think of actually coming to grips with it yourself? Instead of all this talk and suggestion about what other people should do? In fact, do you ever do anything but sit around and look beautiful and expound these high-flown theories?’

  ‘I suppose you do?’ Veronica said lazily into the sudden silence.

  Sasha looked briefly uncomfortable, and it was Heath who answered for her.

  ‘As matter of fact she does,’ he said, looking steadily at Veronica. ‘She works in a Salvation Army orphanage whenever she has some free time.’

  Veronica laughed—a cold tinkling little laugh. ‘Next thing you’ll be converted, pet! Do you play a tambourine?’

  ‘No,’ said Sasha evenly before Heath could intervene. ‘But can I tell you something, Veronica? Do you remember that telethon you took part in to raise money for that spastic children’s home? The one where you exposed yourself so gorgeously and almost indecently on the front lawn in an evening gown? Well, I saw some of those children watching you as if you were a … fairy queen. But did you go near any of them? No. And I heard what you said as soon as all the photography was over. You said, for God’s sake get me out of here, someone. You managed to turn a charitable drive to raise funds into an advertising session for Veronica Gardiner. Now I might not be as bright as you, Veronica,’ she went on contemptuously, ‘but it honestly seems to me that the world survives on example, not talk. So you may philosophise as much as you like, but so far as I’m concerned, you don’t have a clue what life is really all about.’

  There was a horrid little silence, during which Sasha was the object of all eyes, and if looks could have killed, Veronica’s look would have done just that. But what she would have said no one ever knew, because at that moment two waiters entered bearing aloft a huge white birthday cake with two large candles and dozens of sparklers.

  ‘How dare you, Sasha!’ Veronica snapped angrily. ‘You’re nothing but a jumped-up little schoolgirl anyway,’ she added contemptuously.

  Sasha sat down and then half rose again. ‘Perhaps I’d better go,’ she mumbled uncomfortably.

  ‘I think we’ll both go,’ said Heath, and she looked at him fearfully.

  ‘I can get a t-taxi,’ she stammered.

  ‘Not at all, my dear Sasha,’ he said, and yanked her unceremoniously to her feet. ‘We’ll both go in style. And don’t you dare burst into tears,’ he muttered warningly out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘Why should I do that?’ she whispered as she was forcibly extricated from the table, but she was horrified to see as she glanced around that most people were looking at her as if she was Attila the Hun personified.

  ‘Because then they’ll think you’ve had too much to drink,’ he said very quietly. ‘Brent,’ he added in a normal voice, ‘come and see me soon. Goodnight, all! Enjoy the rest of the party,’ he called over his shoulder, and swept her from the room.

  ‘My purse!’ Sasha panted as the double doors closed behind them. ‘I left it there!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ll buy you another one.’

  ‘But it was my mother’s!’ she protested.

  He stopped abruptly and then leant his shoulders back against the passage wall and started to laugh silently.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked crossly.

  ‘You,’ he said, straightening up at last. ‘Blossom, I’ve got no intention of going back in there and I don’t think you’d enjoy it either. But I promise you, I’ll make sure you get it back tomorrow.’ He looked at her consideringly but with a faint lingering grin. Then he held out his arm to her and said gravely, ‘Come, Napoleon. I believe he was on the small side, but he too packed a powerful punch.’

  She looked at him doubtfully. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To talk.’

  The spot he chose to talk was back at the flat.

  Even the weather’s conspired against us, Sasha

  thought miserably as she stood in the middle of the elegant lounge. I’m sure he was going to take me to some romantic moonlit spot on the harbour, but when it started to thunder and rain .. . She caught her thoughts with a tinge of incredulity. You’ve gone crazy, Sasha, she chided herself. And don’t bet that he’s not deeply angry either, because with Heath you can never tell.

  He came into the room behind her and tossed his car keys on to the table. ‘A drink?’ he said casually as he crossed to the cedar cocktail cabinet.

  She twisted her fingers together. ‘No. No thank you.’

  ‘Coffee, then,’ he said. ‘Mrs Morris left some percolating, I see.’

  She nodded, unable to bring herself to meet his eyes. They had hardly talked on the way home. She would have liked to attribute this to the fact that he had had to concentrate on his driving in the heavy downpour. But there was a tautness about him she could feel.

  She sighed inaudibly and sank down into a chair. He brought her cup of coffee over and placed it beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ she burst out, suddenly unable to suppress her agitation any longer. ‘I’m truly sorry. I was unforgivable.’

  ‘Were you?’ he queried standing straight and tall beside her chair so that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

  ‘Yes, I was,’ she said disconsolately. She winced as she recalled some of the things she’d said. ‘I was so pompous, and I must have sounded unbelievably self-righteous. If I’d been listening, I’d have labelled myself a real prig.’

  She waited tensely for his reply, but none came. He simply stared down at her musingly.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I also had more to drink than usual,’ she said gruffly.

  ‘And were feeling more than a little humiliated at the hands of our dear Veronica,’ he said evenly. ‘Not to mention my own unfortunate remarks earlier.’

  She shrugged. ‘That too. I don’t mean what you said. I got over that hours ago. Besides, you did offer to elope with me,’ she said with a glimmer of a smile. ‘But Veronica … I guess sh
e did spur me on. Although I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I mean, I know why she did it. She was trying to warn me off. Perhaps in the heat of the moment she just didn’t realise I’m no threat to her as far as you’re concerned.’ She finished uncertainly as a sudden look of pain and bitterness crossed his face.

  Then it was gone and he removed her coffee cup from her fingers and drew her to her feet so that they were standing only inches apart.

  ‘Sasha,’ he said quietly, ‘you sounded as if you really meant all those things you said. And knowing you, I’m sure you did. Don’t apologise, because you were magnificent.’

  Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened, causing him to smile wryly, and his hands came up to cup her shoulders. ‘Do you know,’ he said gently, ‘I’ve been trying to think of a suitable way to salute your .. . coming of age. Would you mind if I gave you a congratulatory kiss, Miss Derwent?’ he said gravely.

  Sasha shut her mouth with a click.

  ‘Does that mean yes or no?’ he asked with a smile tugging at the corners of his dips.

  She cleared her throat and reached up automatically for her glasses, but of course they weren’t there. ‘Yes,’ she said in a slightly cracked voice. ‘Provided you’re not just feeling sorry for me.’

  He grinned and the tiny sparks of devilry in his eyes took her breath away. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever feel sorry for you again, Napoleon,’ he said, but instead of angering her his words seemed to caress her mind almost.

  And she lifted her face mutely and felt her heart race as he rested his lips on her own. They stood like that for a long moment.

  Then somehow Sasha seemed to unfreeze her paralysed muscles and do the craziest thing. A tiny detached corner of her mind observed the process and immediately flashed bright red warning signals, but maybe because it had been a crazy day all round, she ignored these signals and with a temerity she had never believed she was capable of, brought her hands up to slide them under his jacket.

  And then she froze again.

  You shouldn’t be doing this, Sasha, something deep inside her warned. You’re playing with fire.

  But the fire was well and truly lit, she found, and the fact that Heath’s hands had, possibly out of sheer surprise, moved gently on her shoulders, didn’t help put it out.

  She trembled and found that the elegant room swirled before her eyes. So she closed them and whispered, ‘Could you kiss me properly, please?’

  She felt his taut diaphragm move beneath her hands and knew immediately that he was laughing at her. Well, I’ve been laughed at once too often today, she thought fiercely. Let him laugh at this!

  She moved her hands downwards about his waist and slowly round and then up his back across the thin silk of his shirt. She did it lingeringly feeling every rippling muscle and the ridge of his scars, and at the same time she moved into his arms.

  ‘I would really like to be kissed,’ she murmured. ‘Not saluted. After all, I shall be nineteen in a few weeks,’ she added rebelliously as he didn’t stir.

  ‘I know that,’ he said very quietly against the corner of her mouth. ‘But it’s …’ He hesitated.

  ‘Is it such a penance?’ she whispered back.

  He didn’t answer, yet she felt his hands tighten and he moved his head. But it wasn’t her lips he sought, only the slender column of her neck to trail a line of butterfly kisses down it.

  ‘Kiss me, please, Heath,’ she whispered deep in her throat. ‘Don’t torment me like this.’

  But despite her plea, she found she was still unwittingly wary and untutored as his lips at last found her own.

  ‘Relax,’ he murmured. ‘Let me do the work until .you catch on.’

  Sasha did as she was bid, and soon she was kissing him back as if she had been born knowing how to do it.

  ‘Oh, Heath,’ she stammered when she felt that if he let her go, she would fall, ‘don’t stop, please!’

  He laughed silently. ‘You’re a fast learner, Sasha. Come.’

  ‘Where?’ she asked, and opened her eyes as he picked her up and moved a few short steps to a wide settee.

  ‘Just here,’ he said reassuringly, and sat her down in his lap. He reached out and flicked off the lone lamp that illuminated the room.

  She stared across at the wide windows, uncurtained to capture the fabulous view. A bright pale moon rode high above the silver edged clouds.

  ‘The storm’s gone,’ she said wonderingly as she turned to snuggle closer to him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sasha, I think we should stop and examine this before we get in too far.’ His voice was deep and had a quality to it she couldn’t identify.

  ‘What’s to examine?’ she asked after a moment with a catch in her voice, and dropped her hand which had been tenderly exploring the strong lines of his throat.

  Heath didn’t speak for a long moment, and she suddenly felt as if she wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment and humiliation.

  She sat up and said in a tight little voice, ‘Of course. I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.’ She tried to laugh lightly, but it didn’t come off. So she attempted to scramble up off his lap, but he held her back until she lay in his arms panting with frustration and a deeper misery she didn’t dare name.

  ‘Lie still,’ he said quietly, and dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead.

  She felt the tears well. ‘I’m … I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured disjointedly. She tried to smile up at him in the reflected moonlight. ‘But I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow, I promise,’ she added. ‘No more fatuous speeches. No more …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Sasha,’ he said, his eyes resting on her trembling lips, ‘don’t reproach yourself, sweetheart. It’s all very natural to feel this way sometimes. But at the same time it’s a very big step for you, and one that you might never have contemplated making if you hadn’t had a rather traumatic day.’

  ‘But not for you?’ she queried huskily, then bit her hp. ‘I mean …’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he interrupted, and smoothed her hair from her forehead. ‘It’s not that, but it’s not exactly the first time for me.’

  Sasha moved in his arms and couldn’t deny she revelled in the feel of it. ‘Do you want me to be honest?’ she asked shyly, then grimaced. ‘Don’t answer that. I’m sure you don’t. I’ve been quite honest enough for one night.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said seriously.

  ‘I … no, I can’t,’ she conceded abruptly, suddenly equally serious. ‘So you’d better let me go to bed.’ And found that the mere mention of the word left her feeling hot and cold.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Heath intently and without the slightest sign of effort, easily resisted all her attempts to leave his lap.

  ‘How can I?’ she said brokenly at last. ‘I’ve already made such a fool of myself.’

  ‘Not with me you haven’t. You could never do that,

  Sasha. Listen, when two people get this close there’s only one way to be, and that’s totally honest. If I didn’t believe that I wouldn’t have stopped just now.’

  ‘And I think you’re also just a little amused,’ she said tearfully.

  It was a curious expression that crossed his face then in the pale moonlight. A mixture of pain and weariness, she thought. And she believed him despite herself when he said very quietly, ‘I was never more serious in my life, Blossom.’

  ‘All right!’ she said desperately. ‘What can I say? From the first moment I laid eyes on you I thought—I mean, I wondered . .. Oh, how can I say it!’ she finished miserably.

  ‘I know that,’ he said very quietly, and stilled her sudden urgent movement with his hands. ‘And that’s another thing that’s perfectly natural. It happens all the time when you’re at that age. I can remember when I was sixteen I fell violently in love, so I thought, and I told myself it was the real thing. But it wasn’t,’ he said gently.

  Oh God! she thought, he knew. All the time he knew! And she wrenched herself out of his arms and
with a few backward, stumbling steps and aided by a large footrest that stopped her from falling, she moved out of his reach.

  Heath stood up in one swift, fluid movement. ‘Sasha,’ he said sombrely.

  She stared up at him, stricken. Then she whispered, ‘Please, just let me go now.’ And she turned towards the doorway with jerky, uncoordinated movements and tripped over a large Chinese vase.

  Oh no! she thought despairingly. Thank heavens for the carpet. And why aren’t I wearing my glasses!

  She restored the vase and stumbled for the doorway. But just as she reached it a hand fell on her shoulder.

  ‘Sasha.’

  ‘G-goodnight,’ she said breathlessly without turning.

  ‘No, it’s not goodnight.’ The overhead light flicked on and she found she was trapped like some moth on a curtain by the unexpected radiance and his hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him.

  ‘Please, Heath,’ she whispered, ‘don’t do this to me.’

  ‘But I must,’ he said as he turned her fully around and put a hand beneath her chin. ‘Look at me, Sasha,’ he said authoritatively.

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Yes, you can. You must,’ he added compellingly as he studied her downcast lids, ‘because we’ve been such good friends up until now. And because I admire you so much.’

  Her eyelashes swept upwards involuntarily then. ‘But not enough to … to want to love me?’ she whispered.

  His fingers moved beneath her chin. ‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘There’s so much I love about you. I love you when you’re … when you haven’t got your glasses or your lenses on and you trip over things. I love you when you make speeches and out of your heart, hit on the problem that’s been plaguing me for ages. I love the way you handle my mother—and me, for that matter.’

  Sasha stared up into the dark blue of his eyes and felt her heart beat like a tom-tom. ‘You said,’ her voice was shaky, ‘this morning you said I’d be better off with an older man to teach me about … about…’

  ‘Sasha,’ he said, looking unbelievably grim, ‘I don’t, in any one day of my life, think I’ve said more things that I regret having said. Or done. But for what it’s worth, what I meant was, I don’t think Mike Gibson loves you, so much as he loves himself, and that you would just be an .. . addition to his crown of self-admiration. And you rate far more than that, which a more mature, not necessarily older person would see. But I’m not that person.’