Duel of Desire

by Charlotte Lamb

  She turned, making her mouth smile formally. 'Just coming!'

  Alex saw what she had been looking at, and came slowly into the room, staring at it too.

  'I've never seen that before,' he said in surprise. He lifted it and stood it perched on top of the stack of others, inspecting it with a frown. 'Mother's never had the knack of portraits,' he said, dismissively.

  Deborah said nothing, wondering if he resented that betraying look about the eyes and mouth which had struck her so much in the picture.

  He glanced at her, his eyes defensive. 'Not very good, is it?'

  It's brilliant,' she said gently.

  His cheeks flushed and he turned away. 'Even if you aren't hungry, I am,' he said. 'After breakfast we'll see what damage the floods have done. I'll have to take a look at the poor damned chickens. I left their run open so that they could take cover if the water rose…' His voice broke off and they stared at each other.

  'You knew,' she said, understanding in a flash.

  Alex hesitated, then gave a grimace. 'It occurred to me last night when I saw how high the river was, but I saw no point in lightening the life out of you, and there was a possibility the rain might stop before the water came over the banks.'

  She was not sure whether to believe him or not. He might have brought her here deliberately, hoping they would be marooned alone, but surely if he had planned this he would not have been so hostile to her? Had he planned a seduction he would have had a perfect opportunity last night, yet he had been irritable rather than charming, and nothing in his behaviour had indicated that he was other than furious with the situation in which they were trapped. Had he brought her here before their bitter quarrel after dinner at Ricky's villa she might have suspected his motives, but he had been too genuinely angry with her, too savage and hostile, for her to believe he had meant this to happen.

  He watched the struggle in her eyes, and said unpleasantly, 'I assure you, you're the last woman in the world I would have wanted to be stuck here with, Miss Portman.' His mouth twisted cynically 'Any other woman might have made the experience pleasurable, but spending so long cooped up with you is purgatory. If I'd wanted to be marooned here with a woman I'd have picked someone who would know how to help the time pass amusingly.' As she passed him she asked sarcastically. 'Someone like Sammy Starr, for instance? She doesn't seem to mind if you use her as a toy for your idle moments. I would have thought a girl with her looks and talent had more self-respect.'

  Alex followed her into the bedroom 'Sammy would find all this great fun,' he said deliberately. 'She's very adaptable.'

  'The word describes her perfectly,' she said. 'I would hate to hear it used about me.'

  'You never will,' he assured her. 'You're as adaptable as granite.'

  'Where's the paraffin?' she asked, prickling with irritation at this description of herself. 'Can you get this stove working?'

  'Give it here,' he said, taking it from her hand. As he moved the silver medallion Sammy had given him swung into view, and she caught it, staring at it with dislike.

  Alex looked down at her, eyes narrowing, and her mouth curled. 'She should have had it inscribed,' she said bitingly. 'For services rendered.'

  His eyes glinted. 'You've never Eked Sammy, have you? With any other woman I'd suspect jealousy.'

  Her eyes darkened, but she kept them lowered. 'I admire her as a singer. She's a great entertainer.' Her lashes flickered up in bitter sarcasm. 'In every sense of the word.'

  He looked amused. 'Is it possible you're hiring feline, Miss Portman? That cool manner is slipping. But you're right, Sammy is very entertaining — in every sense of the word.'

  Her hand tightened on the medallion. Without stopping to consider the consequences she jerked on it and the chain snapped. She flung it across the room, her face bitter.

  Alex stiffened, watching her, and she heard him draw a sharp breath. 'Well, well,' he said huskily.

  Deborah swallowed, horrified by what she had done. 'I'm sorry,' she said quickly, 'I didn't mean to do that.' She turned away, fumblingly picking up some eggs. 'Could you do the stove right away? I'll get some water in a saucepan. Will the water in the bathroom be safe to use?'

  She was horribly afraid that he would pursue the matter, but for some reason he calmly said, 'Yes, I think so, as you'll boil it.'

  She walked into the bathroom and leaned her hot face against the wall. For a moment she had lost her self-control, jealous of that constant reminder of Sammy Starr, and she bitterly wished she had kept her head. It was far too easy for her to forget that she had, at all costs, to stop Alex from discovering she loved him. Beneath his angry hostility that physical awareness still prickled between them, making it hard for her to keep him at a distance. This morning, lying warmly in his arms, she had wanted desperately to surrender to him. It would have been so fatally easy, so exquisitely satisfactory. She had deliberately picked a quarrel with him to stop herself from doing what she wanted to do, and then she had spoiled it by a stupid gesture of jealous anger. He was too shrewd, too experienced, to fail to put two and two together. Her only hope was that he thought cynically that although she secretly wanted to go to bed with him she refused to admit the fact, either to him or herself, and her jealousy of Sammy was purely based on envy because Sammy did not suffer from the same iron will power. Even a belief that she was envious of Sammy's easy attitude to sex was preferable to the idea that Alex might begin to suspect she was actually in love with him. If he knew she loved him she would suffer agonies of humiliation.

  7

  When they had eaten their boiled eggs and drunk a bottle of Vichy water which Alex had produced from a corner of his mother's studio, they stared out of the window at the astonishing blue of the sky. The weather had veered round. All traces of the storm had gone except for the glinting water which still stood almost knee deep in the garden and across the road. The spring sun shone down over the orchards, filtering through the blossom-laden branches. Some of the branches had lost their blossom. White petals, speckled brown by rain and wind, floated on top of the flood, like drifting snow. Against the blue of the sky the blossom had a fresh bridal sweetness which caught at the heart. Deborah remembered the fragility of the trees last night, flung helplessly to and from by the lashing wind. This morning they stood in calm serenity with the sky drifting overhead in halcyon gentleness, as if it had never darkened into storm and passion.

  'How long do you think it will be before the water recedes?' she asked Alex.

  'I've no idea,' he shrugged. 'Perhaps we should send out a dove.'

  She laughed. 'Could we wade to the village?'

  'I don't fancy the idea,' he said. 'We've no Wellingtons and I've no wish to swim.' He sneezed violently, his forehead flushed.

  'That cold is getting worse,' she said, looking at him with worried blue eyes. 'I think you should go back to bed.'

  'Well, I'm not going,' he snapped. 'Although I wouldn't refuse a whisky and hot lemon.'

  Taking him seriously, she said, 'There's no whisky,' her brow creased.

  He grinned, his eyes teasing her. 'No lemons, either. So I'll just have to go without. I'm good at that.' His tone brought a sudden wary look into her blue eyes.

  She turned away from the window. 'Well, I think I'll tidy up your mother's studio. She can't enjoy working in that mess.'

  'Don't make it too tidy. Deb,' he said quickly. 'Mother might resent it. She works best in a clutter.'

  'Like Judith,' she said indulgently.

  He raised an eyebrow. 'Oh?'

  'Judith is chronically untidy,' she said affectionately. 'She can't help it. She sheds objects like a dog shedding hairs. I have to follow her around clearing up after her.'

  'I bet she enjoys that,' he said satirically.

  She said defensively, 'She and I get on very well. We dovetail. Judith has five thumbs on every hand, so I do all the housework and the cooking, but she's such a super friend that we rarely quarrel about anything. She's funny and clever a
nd entertaining…' Her words halted as the word reminded her of what had happened earlier, and she felt her face colour.

  'Entertaining,' Alex repeated sardonically. 'Obviously I must get to know her better.'

  'You know very well what I mean,' she said angrily.

  'I never know what you mean, Deb,' he said flatly.

  She turned away. 'I'll get on with the studio.'

  'Why don't we just sit by the fire and talk?' he asked. 'There's no need for you to rush about doing domestic work. If my mother wanted her studio to look like a show place she'd get someone in to do it, but I tell you she likes clutter.'

  'I'm not used to sitting around doing nothing,' she protested, appalled at the prospect. 'There are no books to read, no radio…nothing.'

  Alex's jaw tightened. 'We can talk,' he said, watching her. 'Why are you afraid to talk to me, Deb?'

  'Stop thinking of yourself as the irresistible object,' she snapped. 'I'm not afraid to talk to you.'

  He pulled the bedroom chair near the fire. 'Sit down, then,' he invited.

  'You sit there,' she said. 'I'll sit on a pillow.' She took one from the bed and sat on it, her arms linked around her raised knees, staring at the flickering fire. After a moment Alex sat down in the chair, crossing his legs, his eyes fixed on her profile. Sunlight haloed her head, giving her a glittering aureole. Her lids drooped, her face thoughtful.

  'Tell me about your childhood,' he said quietly.

  She sighed. 'Nothing to tell. I never knew my parents. Until I was old enough to go to a boarding school I lived with my uncle and a nurse. I barely remember the years before I went to school, except that they were dull. Nothing ever happened. Just little things… like when it snowed very heavily one winter and I made a giant snowball and rolled it down the hill near our house. It started to go slowly, but it got faster and faster until I fell over and it rolled out of sight. I ran away because I was frightened. I remember a few things like that. Otherwise those years are blank.' She looked at him defensively, feeling an odd reluctance to talk to him about herself. 'How about you? What do you remember of your childhood?'

  His silvery eyes were fixed on her face thoughtfully as she turned, but he said after a pause, 'Too many things, I'm afraid. We lived in London and my first memory is of picking willowherb on a bomb site. I must have been about three. I fell over and cut my cheekbone, and there was such a bad gash that Mother took me to a hospital to have some stitches put in it. She held my hand while they did it and I remember screaming because it hurt. They gave me an injection to prevent tetanus, I suppose.' His hand flicked at his right cheek. 'I still have a scar there.'

  Deborah stared, seeing nothing. 'It must be invisible, then. I've never noticed one.'

  'Here,' he said, his fingers feeling along his cheekbone. 'Do you see it? I can feel it.' He bent down until their faces were level, his eyes expressionless. Taking her right hand, he ran it over his cheekbone. She felt the tiny sickle-shaped scar for a moment, but she was chiefly aware of the pleasure the tiny contact gave her. Her fingertips ached to go on exploring the hard bones of his face, to trace and discover every atom of his features.

  'Feel it?' he asked, watching her face.

  'Yes,' she said huskily, trembling with the effort of appearing unmoved.

  'You have very capable fingers,' he commented, still holding her hand against his face. 'Cool and clever fingers. What else do you do besides cook and do housework? With hands like these you ought to be good at art.'

  Deborah moistened her lips. 'I was good at it at school,' she said nervously, wishing he would release her hand, yet not daring to make a point of it in case she precipitated something worse.

  'Do you paint?' As if absently Alex moved her hand downward along his cheekbones, rubbing her palm against his skin, sending prickles of awareness along her nervous system. He had been unable to shave, of course, and the stubble on his face was rough against her.

  'Not now,' she said. 'Shall I make the fire up? It seems to be in need of some more wood.' The excuse to have both hands free sounded perfectly natural, she thought.

  He glanced at the fire, without releasing her hand. 'It's fine,' he said softly, sounding satirical. 'What about hobbies? Do you do embroidery, make clothes?'

  'I went to pottery classes for a year,' she said. 'I enjoyed it and I made some pretty things for the flat, but if I'd wanted to go any further with it I would have had to spend more than one evening a week at it, and I couldn't spare the time.'

  'What do you do with your spare time, anyway?' he asked.

  'Robin and I go to the theatre,' she said. 'Among other things.'

  His eyes chilled. 'Ah, yes, Robin,' he said, as if he had forgotten him. Deliberately he handed her back her hand as if it were an unwanted parcel. 'So you go to the theatre? What does Robin's taste run to? Bawdy comedies or musicals?'

  Deborah flushed indignantly. 'No,' she objected. She clasped her hands around her knees again. 'His taste is pretty catholic. We see most of the successful plays.'

  'For successful read fashionable,' he retorted. 'Nothing indigestible. Avantegarde if it gets good reviews, and the occasional foreign film which everyone goes to see.'

  'Don't snipe at Robin,' she said tautly. 'You don't really know him.'

  'I know he's conventional, small-minded, ambitious, lacks any sort of originality or spark.' His tone was biting. 'He'll make a splendid husband for you, Deb. If he's unfaithful to you he'll do it so discreetly you'll never know, and he'll never make you lose your head, and that's important, isn't it? Those feet of yours have to be firmly set on the ground in case you lose your balance. You haven't got the nerve to venture out of the safe harbour Robin offers you and try the open sea. You might get shipwrecked, and that would never do.' The silvery eyes probed her flushed, averted face. She stared into the fire, her eyes angry.

  'You're trying to talk about a subject we both know is taboo,' she said fiercely. 'If we're going to talk, let's talk about something safe.'

  'Safe!' The word was bitten through taut lips. 'You've got nothing of the gambler in you, have you, Deb? You take no risks, offer no hostages to fortune. What a dull life you're going to have!'

  'If you're talking about yourself,' she retorted savagely, suddenly so angry she could barely speak, 'what you fail to see is that I knew you well enough to realise that I wouldn't be taking a risk in having an affair with you. I would be gambling on a certainty — the certainty that you aren't capable of making it worth while.'

  Alex leant forward and turned her face towards him, glaring at her, the red glare of the fire reflected in his eyes. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

  She met his eyes head-on, her face icy. 'What woman wants to be one among a crowd? Do you think the pleasure of going to bed with you is so fantastic that I'd prefer that to a lifetime's happiness with a man who loves me?'

  His lip curled. 'If Robin loves you it's because he has the same timid attitude to life as you have. He wants a rabbit hutch of a house and a shiny car and two point five children, or whatever the national average happens to be at the time. Robin wants to conform. You're one of the status symbols he's acquiring in order to be just like all the others.' His fingers tightened on her chin, biting into the soft flesh of her upper throat. 'He's not a demanding lover, is he, Deb? He doesn't make your head reel. If he's been taking you out for months without trying to get you into bed he's barely human.'

  'He respects me,' she said, knowing how lame the excuse sounded, even to her own ears, and inwardly feeling almost hysterical when she vigorously defended a man she no longer intended to marry.

  'Respects you!' His voice snorted derisively. Good God, woman, is respect what you want from a man?' The grey eyes darkened. 'Only a woman with ice water in her veins could want that, and even your cold nature needs more than respect.'

  She stiffened. 'What makes you think I'm cold with Robin?' she asked in deliberate provocation, resenting his remark. Alex's eyes flashed. 'Yes, what makes me think it?
' he asked, half to himself. A strange look passed over his face. 'But you've never let him touch you the way I have, have you, Deb?' The question seemed to be forced out of him, half in anger, half in disbelief.

  'You don't expect me to describe what Robin does when he makes love to me do you?' she asked tartly.

  A hard red stain grew on his cheekbones. 'What are you trying to do to me, Deb?' he demanded thickly. Both hands framed her face, his thumbs pressing into her throat until it ached. He looked at her with bitter hostility. 'I can't even stand the thought of you in his arms,' he muttered with a savage intonation. 'I have to know. Unlike Robin, I've got a vivid imagination, and the way you respond to me tells me you either want me as much as I want you, or…' His voice broke off, thickening with anger.

  She looked down, her lashes glinting in the firelight. 'Or I'm less inexperienced than you thought?' she suggested sweetly. 'Maybe you shouldn't dismiss Robin so cavalierly after all, Alex.'

  He swore violently. 'Under that groomed exterior you're a sharp-clawed little cat, aren't you, Deb?' His thumbs forced themselves into the soft flesh of her throat and she gave a little cry of pain.

  'You're hurting!'

  'Good,' he said harshly. 'I can force you to accept some experiences, can't I, Deb? If not passion, then pain.'

  'Pain would be preferable,' she said sweetly.

  He snarled in rage. 'You bitch!' His face swooped down to her, glittering with temper, pushing her head back, those cruel thumbs controlling her, refusing to allow her to escape.

  Her own anger at the barbed exchanges made her reckless. She met his punitive lips fiercely. For a second they clashed in silent antagonism, then Alex slid out of his chair and knelt in front of her, his hands loosening from their grip on her throat. Still kissing, they swayed like trees in a stormy wind. Tides of unmanageable feeling beat through her. Alex's hands were moving down her back, clenching on the thin material of her top, pulling her closer. 'You're driving me crazy,' he muttered, reluctantly freeing her mouth. 'You asked for that!'