To Play With Fire

by Flora Kidd

  'Which is also a good description of life, don't you think?' he countered. 'There are moments which you wish could last for ever, moments when you feel completely content to be where you are and with the person who happens to be around at the time.'

  Tory was silent for a few seconds as she realised with a little leap of surprise that part of her contentment now was because she was with him.

  'My father says that if you can stand being at sea on a small boat with one person for a week, you can stand being with that person for the rest of your life. He put it to the test by going on a sailing cruise with my mother before he married her,' she said.

  His chuckle was appreciative.

  'He sounds like a man of good sense,' he remarked, and rose to his feet. 'Watch the compass. You're straying off course.'

  'Oh! ' She glanced guiltily at the illuminated compass which swung on a wooden box on a bar of wood that fitted across the cockpit. 'How do you know I am?'

  'I can hear the foresail flapping and the wind hasn't changed,' he replied, and ducked down into the cabin, leaving her to the glimmer of stars in the clear dark sky, the chuckling sound of water under the bow, the creak of the mast and the wide expanses of heaving light-flecked water all about her, and her thoughts, which were suddenly alive and leaping as she wondered about Denzil and why he had concerned himself with her problems. Why had he interfered?

  He did it because he cares, Mandy had said, cares for people and tries to help when he sees help is required. Well, he had certainly gone to a lot of trouble to make sure she learned about Rita Jarrold before

  the woman arrived home, thought Tory, and she could see now that it was as well that he had done so as her imagination leapt ahead to Magnus's return. How awful it would have been for her to be faced suddenly with his wife.

  But why hadn't Magnus told her on Friday night that he would be bringing his wife home? The figures on the compass blurred slightly as the feeling she had been deceived by him surged up inside her again.

  'Hey, watch it!' Denzil's voice was sharp. 'You're off course again.'

  Tory blinked back the tears and tugged at the tiller with both hands to get the boat back on course and to stop the sails from flapping.

  He came up, bringing two mugs of coffee and a tin of biscuits. He set the self-steering device and sat down beside her, a warm dark vibrant bulk against which she had a sudden longing to lean; a longing she discarded instantly as being weak and silly.

  'You've started feeling again, haven't you?' he murmured. 'I can tell because you've stopped concentrating. Want to talk about it?'

  'I ... it's just that I can't understand why Magnus didn't tell me he was going to bring her home,' she muttered.

  'Perhaps he didn't think it was any of your business. After all, you did tell me once that it was all on your side and that he sees you only as his assistant,' he said dryly.

  'Oh, I said that because I was annoyed with you,' she retorted.

  'So there have been developments, have there?' 'Only small ones, but on Friday Magnus said he regards me as a friend.'

  'And he kissed you, and even though nothing else happened you went to bed in a state of euphoria,' he mocked.

  'No, I didn't, actually. I was a bit disappointed because ...' She broke off in consternation as she realised what she had been going to say—Because I didn't feel as I feel when you kiss me.'

  'Because what?' he prompted, but when she didn't say anything he went on, 'It seems to Me I was pretty near yesterday morning, when I suggested he hadn't come up to scratch. So what are you going to do now?'

  `Go back to work at the Gardens. What else can I do? I'm under contract, remember.'

  'And do you really think you're going to be allowed to stay in that house when Rita Jarrold is back?' Denzil exclaimed sharply, turning towards her. 'Good God, Tory, have you no knowledge of your own sex? When she hears what's been said about you and her husband, when she sees how attractive you are, do you really think she's going to believe you're innocent? She's either going to throw you out or make your life so damned uncomfortable that you'll want to leave. You're in one hell of a spot, but I don't suppose for one minute that you'll admit you've been placed in it by the lack of forethought, the sheer lack of caring either for you or his wife, by that dear professor of yours—who doesn't seem to care a damn about people as long as nothing interferes with his study of flowers and plants.'

  His anger seemed to crackle about her like an electric storm. She couldn't understand why he was so angry, could think of nothing to say in defence of Magnus, and while she sat in confused silence Denzil heaved to his feet, climbed out of the cockpit and went up on to the foredeck.

  Once more alone, Tory sat hunching herself in the anorak she was wearing as a protection against the coolness of the night wind. The lovely day was over, its tranquillity torn to shreds by the sharpness of Denzil's words, and as she thought back over what he had just

  said, she could find only one word which had given her any pleasure. For the first time since she had met him he had called her Tory and not Victoria.

  It wasn't long before the lights of Port Anne appeared on the port bow. Soon they were entering the bay, passing by the big red buoy whose light winked at them every six seconds. By lining up three red lights so that they appeared to be in a vertical line they found the entrance to the marina. Lights strung out along each pontoon were reflected in the almost still water, their shapes elongated so that they looked like Chinese lanterns.

  Although it was late there were still people about, sitting on decks and in cockpits talking and laughing, enjoying the warm starlit night, and a few voices called out a greeting to Denzil as he and Tory made their way along the pontoon after they had left Ariel shipshape and tied up in her berth.

  Since his angry outburst they hadn't said much to each other, and it was difficult to ignore the slight tension which existed between them. Tory had an impression that he'd had enough of her for one weekend. He had done what he felt he should do to help her, and now he wanted to shake her off, so she was surprised when he turned to her and said,

  'You can stay the night with me if you like.'

  They had reached the yard in front of the office building; the pale gravel glittered under the light shed from two powerful lamps which jutted out from the building. Tory looked up at his dark face, wishing she could read the expression in his eyes, but they were hidden by the shadow of his cap brim.

  He was offering her an alternative to staying in a house where she might not be welcome any more, and for a moment she was tempted to accept his invitation. Then she remembered that there was only one bed in

  his bungalow. She remembered the force of propinquity and that hidden physical attraction they had for each other, and took fright.

  'No ... no, thank you. I ... I have to go back. You see, Mrs Dunnet will be expecting me and ...'

  'Okay, you don't have to make excuses,' he interrupted her curtly.

  He turned on his heel and strode off towards the jeep, and by the time she caught up with him its engine was roaring. As soon as she was seated it shot forward towards the marina entrance.

  Along the winding road they went, cutting corners dangerously. The tyres screeched on the surface of the road as they turned in through the elegant stone gateposts and gravel spat in all directions as they sped past the darkly shimmering pool. In front of the big house several parked cars glinted under the beams of the jeep's headlights when it came to an abrupt squealing stop.

  'Oh, Magnus must be back,' Tory exclaimed, recognising the cream car.

  'And you can guess what that means. Rita is back too,' drawled Denzil. 'Want to change your mind and come back to the bungalow with me?'

  'Denzil, please don't think I'm not appreciative of all you've done for me this weekend,' she said in a low voice, 'but staying the night with you isn't going to solve anything, is it?'

  'In my opinion staying the night with me would solve most of your problems,' he replied dryly
. 'But I get the drift of the way you're thinking. You'd prefer not to share my bed. Okay, out you get, then. I'm not fond of long lingering farewells. Goodnight, Victoria.'

  His cool dismissal of her hurt unexpectedly. It was like having a warm cloak that had been placed round her to protect her from an icy wind snatched away from

  her to leave her vulnerable and exposed. She hesitated, puzzled by her own reaction, and glanced sideways at him while she searched her mind for something conciliatory to say to him. But all she could see was his profile etched against the light coming from the house, the straight line of his forehead, the eagle curve of his nose, the arrogant jut of his chin, all as remote and uncommunicative as a painted portrait.

  He revved the still running engine indicating that he was impatient to be gone, and with a muttered goodnight Tory was out of the jeep. She was still climbing the steps to the house when the vehicle left with a roar of the exhaust.

  Inside the front door she paused. The sound of many voices, of laughter and music, came from the lounge, the door of which was open. A party was in progress! Tory made a rueful grimace and began to cross the hall to make her way to the back part of the house to tell Mrs Dunnet she was back. She did not have to go far because the woman came out of the kitchen, pushing before her a tea-trolley laden with cups and saucers, a coffee-pot and plates of savouries.

  'What's happening, Mrs Dunnet?' Tory asked. 'Sounds like a party.'

  'Dat's what it is, miss,' said the little woman. 'Mrs Jarrold is back home, the Lord be praised for his mercy, back home and as well as you or me.'

  'When did she come?'

  'Last night. Dr Jarrold brought her himself.'

  'Mrs Dunnet, when you go in there, would you tell Dr Jarrold that I'm back, please?'

  'I sure will, miss, I sure will.'

  Tory went up to her room thinking that maybe when he knew she was back Magnus might come to have a word with her, to tell her his wife was back, perhaps even invite her to go down and join the party. If he

  did come, or sent a message by Mrs Dunnet, it would mean that he cared, and that Denzil had been wrong when he had suggested that Magnus cared neither for her or for his wife.

  So she did not have a shower, but changed into a dress and sat down at the writing table to begin a letter to her parents describing her sail to Tequila. By the end of an hour, when neither Magnus nor Mrs Dunnet appeared, she admitted to herself that hoping he would come or send a message had been wishful thinking on her part, another little game of self-deception she had played with herself, and she went to bed.

  She woke early next morning, dressed quickly and went downstairs to the dining room. To her relief Magnus was there alone. When he saw her he rose to his feet politely as he always did and greeted her in his usual vaguely pleasant manner.

  'Good morning Tory. Did you have a good weekend?'

  'Yes, thank you.' She had resolved to be bright and cheerful and not to show him that she was aware something unusual had happened. 'We sailed to Tequila on Saturday and spent the rest of the day there. It's really marvellous what Peter de Freitas has done with a mosquito swamp, using coconut palms and sea-grape trees. You should go and see it.'

  She helped herself to fresh fruit salad from a bowl on the sideboard, poured coffee into a cup and carried everything to her place opposite to him.

  'Yes, I suppose I should go over some time,' Magnus murmured. He picked up his cup, gulped some coffee quickly as if he hoped to derive some courage from it, and patted his mouth with his serviette which he then rolled into a tight roll and slipped into a silver ring. 'Tory ... I have something to tell you,' he added.

  'When I flew to St Thomas on Saturday it was to meet my wife and bring her home.'

  'I know,' she said calmly, looking up and directly at him.

  The expression of relief which passed across his boyish features was almost ludicrous.

  'Thank God for that,' he muttered. Then looking up and across at her he smiled, that wry diffident slant of the lips which she had once found so attractive and disarming. 'You see, I wasn't sure whether you knew about Rita. On Friday night at that reception someone said ...' He paused and rubbed at his creased forehead with his fingers, obviously troubled about what he had to say next, but for once Tory's heart didn't soften and she didn't rush to help him. She had learned the folly of doing that.

  'Yes, Magnus, somebody said what?' she prodded him. A dull disfiguring red crept up over his face.

  'It was suggested that possibly you weren't aware that Rita would be returning here to live,' he said in a low, slightly embarrassed voice.

  'I didn't know,' she replied coolly, giving him a straight look which he avoided by sliding the serviette out of its ring, re-rolling it and pushing it through again. 'I didn't know your wife was alive, even. You could have told me on Friday evening when you said you were going to St Thomas.'

  'Yes, well ... er ... you see, Tory, I thought you knew about Rita when you said you understood the first night you were here. And then on Friday I wasn't too sure I'd be meeting her. Everything happened so quickly. At the reception her father said he'd heard from her and that she wanted me to go to St Thomas and wait there as she hoped to be able to leave the clinic. I'd no idea that she would be there already.'

  'I see,' she replied dryly.

  'Tory.' Magnus leaned forward across the table and stretched out a hand to touch hers as he had on Friday night, but she moved her hand back and picked up her coffee cup. 'The fact that Rita is back won't make any difference to us. We'll go on in the same way as before ...' He broke off and his eyes widened as he looked past her. Slowly he rose to his feet and walked round the table towards the door.

  'Rita, my dear! There was no need for you to get up so early. Surely you should stay and rest in bed as long as you can,' he said urgently, rather fussily.

  Turning in her chair so that she could see who was entering the room, Tory was in time to see Magnus kissing the cheek of a slim dark-haired woman of about forty years of age.

  'But I wanted to have breakfast with you, darling,' she said in a low husky voice. She looked across the room at Tory. 'And I also wanted to meet your assistant before you both went off to work.'

  Slowly she walked across the room. She was in a brown linen suit and had a pimento-pink scarf tied round her throat. Her shoes matched the scarf perfectly. Her shoulder-length, sleek black hair curved about her olive-skinned face in a way that emphasised the hollows in her cheeks. Above the high cheekbones set under fine arching eyebrows her slanting eyes were black, opaque.

  'Hello, Miss Latham, I'm Rita Jarrold. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I've heard so much about you and about your devotion to my husband from my daughter Carla.'

  The tone of Rita's voice was pleasant. No one listening could have detected any malice in it. It was the choice of words and the sudden gleam in the dark eyes which conveyed the real message.

  'And I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mrs Jarrold,' replied Tory, feeling inwardly grateful to Denzil and Mandy for preparing her for this meeting. 'Especially since I've heard a record of your singing.'

  'Oh?' The beautiful face expressed pleased surprise. Like most artistic celebrities Rita Jarrold was not immune to flattery. 'And where did you hear it?'

  'At the home of an old school friend of yours, Mandy de Freitas.'

  'You've been to Tequila, then?' Rita slid into a place at the table and Magnus set a cup of coffee down in front of her. 'Which record was it?'

  'It was one from an album you recorded with Pedro Lobos.'

  'And that was the first you've ever heard?' queried Rita. 'Magnus has never played any of his collection to you?'

  ' No.' The question made Tory uneasy. She could not help looking at Magnus for some sort of guidance, but he was either deliberately ignoring her glance of appeal or he wasn't listening to the conversation, because he made no remark. 'Dr Jarrold and I ...' Tory tried to continue, but faltered to a stop.

  'You meet on
ly to work,' put in Rita quickly, 'but of course you do. I am glad you enjoyed the record. Unfortunately my singing days are over.'

  'I'm sorry,' mumbled Tory.

  'But everything has its bright side. Now I shall have all the time in the world to devote to being a good wife to Magnus. Darling, won't you have some more coffee?' Rita turned to Magnus with a smile which showed her almond-shaped teeth.

  'No, thank you, I must get down to the lab. I'll see you there later, Tory. I'll be back for lunch, my dear.' He bent and kissed Rita on the cheek. 'Now don't overdo things, please.'

  'I promise,' said Rita.

  He left the room quickly as if glad to be gone from an awkward situation. Tory finished her coffee, wiped her mouth with her serviette and, excusing herself, stood up.

  'One moment, Miss Latham.' The husky voice held a sharp note of command. 'There's no need for you to rush quite so precipitately after my husband. A little more discretion in your behaviour would be appreciated by me.'

  Tory put a hand on the back of the chair she had just vacated. She felt she was going to need its support.

  'I'm afraid I don't know what you mean,' she said, returning the inimical gaze of the black eyes.

  'I mean, Miss Latham, that I know what's been going on behind my back during the past few months. I mean that I take exception to your obvious affection for Magnus. I mean that I object to your presence in this house and want you out of it as soon as possible.'

  'Mrs Jarrold, you're quite mistaken,' Tory flared, her temper roused by the arrogance of the other woman. 'Nothing has been going on behind your back. I admit I'm fond of Magnus, but ...'

  'You really expect me to believe you when my own daughter, who has been here all the time, has told me of the hours you and Magnus have spent together in the evenings after working hours—either closed in his study or sitting on the terrace or walking in the gardens, when he neglected her to be with you?'

  The husky voice was broken by a spasm of coughing.