Cast a tender shadow

by Dix, Isabel

  `Yes?' Facing him defiantly over her shoulder, she was conscious of the sorry contrast they made, he dressed in lightweight beige slacks and a black open-necked shirt, casual but immaculate, and she . . . Well, she didn't want to think how she looked. But it appeared that she wasn't to be allowed to forget it.

  `I am asking you not to wear any of those disgusting clothes again. They . .

  `You're what?' Amused incredulity was the only defence she could think of, and it had the secondary benefit of smothering her feelings of guilt. As she advanced up the stairs she gave a dismissive condescending little laugh, pleased when she saw Charles's

  features immediately darken.

  `Kate.' He stepped forward, putting his hand over hers as it lay on the rail. 'If you want me to express myself more firmly then I'm forbidding you to wear them.'

  `Don't,' she snapped at him between her teeth, `don't forbid me to do anything! You have no right. And besides, I don't like it.'

  `Be damned to what you like !' He removed his touch from hers, stood back with his hands low on his hips, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

  Kate gave him a long cold look, then with what she hoped was assured dignity she turned away from him and continued slowly to walk up the stairs. That dignity wavered when she realised that Charles was following her, slowly, steadily. As she reached the corner where the stair turned under the high window she sensed that the gap between them was closing, and involuntarily she quickened her pace.

  Below them, Madeau, coming from the kitchen, paused, looking up in surprise before with a smile on her face she went on in the direction of the dining room. Kate felt her heart begin to pound and she darted a quick nervous glance over her shoulder, then abandoning all pretence she made a wild dash for her room.

  Inside, she lay back against the solid wooden door with a sense of relief, but almost at once she felt the handle turn beneath her fingers, the pressure of his weight as he leaned against it. Desperately she pushed her toe into the crack where the wood joined the carpet, but any hope she might have had of that as a security was abandoned as she saw her foot slide inch by inch as the door was forced open.

  Damn, she thought. Damn! Why do people make bedrooms without properly locking doors? Then she had the inspiration. The bathroom door had a lock, and with a bound she had crossed the room, throwing herself inside the bathroom, sliding the bolt firmly into place with a click.

  `Kate !' Charles was rattling the door impatiently. `Don't behave like a child. Surely we can talk about this sensibly?'

  `We can talk downstairs.'

  `I prefer to discuss the matter now.'

  `Not in my bedroom.'

  She lay back, her cheek pressed to the smooth white surface of the door, listening intently, and heard the wearied sigh, then the sound of his feet retreating across the room. But instead of going to the door she knew that he stood in the middle of the floor, probably glaring at the locked door with that exasperated frown she was beginning to know so well.

  Struck by the sheer farce of the situation, she allowed a tiny giggle to escape her lips and reached for one of the soft towels to wipe the tear which unexpectedly slid down her cheek. Then, suspecting some activity from the bedroom she applied her cheek again to the door. To her indignation, instead of the reassuring click of the outer door, she heard the doors of her cupboards being pulled open and the faint rattle of coathangers being pushed along the rails.

  `Charles !' She beat on the door panels with closed fists quite as if she were a prisoner.

  `Oui, cherie?' His tone was as mild as milk but irritatingly preoccupied.

  `What are you doing in my cupboard?'

  `What did you say, Kate?' He walked to the bathroom door and tried the knob.

  `Don't do that!' To emphasise the point she banged with her fist on the door. 'Weren't you ever told not to intrude on a lady in the bathroom?'

  `You're not a lady, Kate. You're my wife.'

  `Well, your wife couldn't possibly be both. That's true enough. Anyway, old jokes like that deserve to be decently buried.'

  She waited for a reply, but when none came she was perversely disappointed to be deprived of the stimulation of their brief repartee. Again she banged at the door. 'Charles !' She leaned her forehead against it, straining for a sound. 'Charles !' She banged again, but this time disappointed, a spoilt child.

  Slowly, watching herself in the mirror over the washbasin, she washed her hands under the running tap, then dried them on the towel. She shook her head at her image, regretful now that she had presented such a picture to Francoise. If only Charles had asked her nicely . . . She went to the door, then listening carefully to the total silence she slid back the bolt, opened it the merest chink, one eye to the crack showing that the coast was clear, the outer door firmly shut. Half in relief, wholly disappointed, she stepped out into the bedroom.

  Now, Kate.' Looking neither amused nor angry, Charles got up from the small upholstered chair by the open window and looked down at her, having carefully positioned himself so that it was impossible for her to retreat again into the bathroom. 'I'm glad you decided to come out.'

  `Only because I thought you'd gone,' she stated

  coldly. 'I haven't changed my mind. I don't usually entertain men in my bedroom and I would be grateful if you would leave.'

  `Very right and proper, my dear Kate. And I'm very glad that you've reassured me. But I think in this case we can make an exception. As I told you that first night,' he surveyed her condescendingly, 'you are in absolutely no danger from me.'

  `You could have fooled me.' Her voice was tart and she cursed herself when she saw the faint smile cross his face.

  `I think, my Kate,' his voice slow and deep, infinitely beguiling so that she felt a betraying tremor at the base of her spine, 'that perhaps we are trying, not exactly succeeding, but trying to fool each other.'

  Kate swallowed hard, staring up at him coldly, determined not to betray by so much as a flicker of eyelashes the effect he was having on her. 'I don't understand what you mean. But I would like to know what you were doing in my cupboard.' She wrenched her eyes from his, searching round the room for some clue. And she didn't have far to look, for there, tossed casually down in a pile in one corner, were jeans and blouses, all those things she had been wearing for the past few days as part of her plan.

  `How dare you!' The long lashes swept up, the blue eyes flashed with an icy rage. 'How dare you come into my room and rummage about! That is contemptible!'

  `You have a cupboard full of what at first glance seem to be rather attractive dresses and I refuse to tolerate you going about looking exactly like a beatnik—and a scruffy beatnik at that.'

  `I shall go about exactly as I like !'

  `Not in my house.' Now his voice was hard and uncompromising. 'In this one place my wishes are supreme. You have made your point as far as I am concerned. I understand that you want to wear a hair shirt until Antoine comes to claim you.' His arrogant condescension made her gorge rise. 'Although,' and he gave a short sneering laugh, 'you might find the hair shirt more appropriate when you return to the château.'

  `How can you?' Her voice trembled with her emotion, again tears trembled on her lashes. 'You speak as if Antoine . .

  `What do you know of Antoine? You really think you know each other? I tell you, Kate,' now he stepped forward and took both her wrists in his hands, circling round them with his fingers as if he would make her his prisoner, 'you will be tired of Antoine in six months.'

  `I thought you loved him,' she protested. 'Like a brother, you said.'

  `I do love him like a brother. That does not mean I can't recognise his faults.'

  `I suppose you have none

  `Even I have a few.' He grinned with a sudden change of mood. But they are different ones from Antoine's.' The smile faded, leaving him watchful, quiet, even a little grim. 'He is not the man to satisfy you, Kate.'

  `Whereas you are, I suppose.' The words burst impulsively from her li
ps and the instant they were spoken she would have snatched them back. They stared at each other, she imagined that the dark eyes darkened. Charles's lips were tight, stretched over his teeth as he answered her.

  `Why did you say that, Kate? I wonder.' Abruptly he relinquished his grip on her wrists. 'Especially when

  I have told you more than once just how very safe you are.'

  Kate turned away, rubbing her wrists as if they hurt, biting her lip with vexation. Then when she felt his hands on her shoulders she shuddered, only just resisting the impulse to lie back against him, to encourage the comfort she knew would come if his hands slipped down her body, turning her towards him.

  But his fingers had no tenderness, they were hard and cruel, biting into the tender skin under the thin material of her blouse. And his voice was hard, determined to dominate. 'Give me those things you're wearing, Kate. I can add them to the pile and Georges can put them on a bonfire.'

  `You really are the most patronising man . . Snatched from her yearning tenderness, Kate wrenched herself from his grip and turned to face him with a stormy resentful expression.

  `Am I, Kate?' he asked almost mildly, and the suspicion that he was laughing at her only increased her aggravation.

  `. . . And there is no way . .

  `Yes, there is a way, Kate. And I am quite capable of taking it. If you refuse to be sensible.'

  `What do you mean?'

  `I mean, my dear,' now he made no attempt to conceal the pleasure he was finding in their contest, 'that I am quite capable of removing them myself. If you fail to see things my way.'

  `You wouldn't dare!' Her words were braver than her emotions. Especially when he lounged, one hand looped round the open bathroom door, smiling down at her with that mocking, heart-stopping look in his eyes

  that should be such a warning.

  `I would, Kate.' Although he spoke softly she knew that it was no idle boast he made.

  `I'd shout for Madeau.' Nervously her fingers closed over the open collar of her blouse.

  He shrugged. 'She would never hear. And if she did she would smile indulgently and think that perhaps we were enjoying ourselves in the most natural way possible.'

  `Why is it,' Kate tried to ignore the throbbing of her own heart, tried to stare as if she were completely unmoved by the sight of his tall lithe figure, 'that your mind always seems to come back to one thing? Anyway, Madeau must know that we don't share a bedroom and . .

  `lib, but I'm taking particular care that she suspects nothing like that. Put it down to my masculine pride if you like, Kate. No man really likes his staff to think that his bride of a few days is content to spend her nights alone. I assure you that my gallery bedroom is completely . . . virginal, if I can use that word . . . by the time Madeau comes in at seven-thirty in the mornings.'

  Kate stared up at him, unwilling to admit that before she left her room in the mornings she thumped the pillow on the other side of the bed, tossed the bedclothes as if a man had been sleeping there. Not for the world would she have liked him to know that she too wanted Madeau to think that the bridegroom found the bride desirable.

  For a long moment Charles looked down at her, watching the emotions chase over her features. Then in a sort of lazy swoop, his hands reached out again for her shoulders, causing her to gasp nervously.

  `Kate, Kate.' Lightly he shook her. 'Why are you so afraid? I have told you, have I not . . .' He sighed suddenly, as suddenly releasing her. 'Shall we call it quits, Kate? Much as I enjoy our little spats I think for the time being we must forgo that pleasure. All I'm asking now is for you to do as I want in this one thing. Will you, Kate?'

  `All right.' She had not intended to agree with him, to give in so easily to his masculine power.

  `Good girl!' He leaned forward, allowing his lips to brush gently against her cheek, his hand to touch the neck of her blouse. 'I don't know whether to be pleased or sorry, Kate.' Then with a sardonic smile he turned and the door closed behind him.

  She stood staring, unable to bear the explosion of pain in her chest. Oh God, what was happening to her? Trembling hands were pressed to her eyes, then with a groan she ran over to the bed and lay face down on the cover, rubbing her forehead distractedly over the roughness of the lace.

  I love Antoine! Desperately she tried to recall the perfection of those idyllic days in London when they had fallen in love, to bring his image to her mind. But his features seemed distractingly elusive, slipping out of her memory each time she thought they had been captured. And always they were replaced by those that were disquietening in their familiarity, stronger, fiercer, lacking most of that gentleness which she had first loved. But now she was afraid, terribly afraid that now she had known the second cousin, the first would never do.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE next day Kate and Charles went into town together to buy the food that they decided would be necessary for the party the following day. Kate was pleased that she was obliged to wear one of her pretty dresses, and although Charles said nothing when she slipped into the dining-room his eyes gave her the message of approval as he wished her good morning.

  Madeau was less reticent when she and Kate sat at the large kitchen table poring over the long list of things that were required from the shops. 'Your dress is so pretty, madame.' Kate knew that she was being encouraged to give up her previous bad habits, and strangely didn't mind all that much.

  `Yes, it is a nice dress. I bought it in a sale before I came over.' She rose and did a little twirl so that Madeau could see how the skirt flared out from the hip seam, then smoothed the long bodice where it clung to her figure. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and momentarily wished that she had done something about her hair, but some perversity had stopped her. She wasn't going to capitulate completely and perhaps give Charles the idea that she was too eager to do exactly what she wanted.

  Just as last night she had compromised. She had given her word to abandon jeans and blouses, but that

  didn't mean that slacks suits were out completely. So she had worn a pair of harem trousers, silky white lamé, perfect with the high-heeled sandals in pink, their straps drawing attention to her slender ankles. The top was a loose blouson style, the slashed low neckline assuring anyone who was interested that she wore nothing underneath.

  Somewhat to her disappointment Charles had made no comment, although he had hardly taken his eyes from her as they sat opposite each other at the round table. Though she had noticed that he had filled his wine-glass a little more often than he usually did and that possibly had had the effect of making him silent and withdrawn. It had almost been a relief, a disappointment too, of course, but a relief when after dinner he had excused himself saying that he had better go and ring round all the people he wanted to invite to the party.

  But this morning he did seem less tense. And so, decided Kate with a last satisfied look at her reflection in the brilliant turquoise dress, did she. She smiled at Madeau in an excess of pleasure and excitement as she picked up the handwritten list from the table.

  `Is this all, then, Madeau?' She pored over her own cramped handwriting.

  `I think it is.'

  `Then I had better go before my master begins to feel impatient.'

  `I'm glad to see that you're getting your priorities right at last.' The laconic voice from the door made Kate turn round in surprise, but she was able to laugh ruefully, although something about his expression brought the colour into her cheeks. 'Ready?' He

  turned back towards the hall.

  `Almost.' She followed him, then began to run upstairs taking two steps at a time.

  `Hurry.' His eyes followed until she was out of sight and she ran, filled with breathless excitement, into her bedroom.

  She sang faintly under her breath as she tied the blue and white scarf round her head, knotting it under her hair at the nape of her neck. Then with a final touch of lipstick to her already pink mouth, she turned, picked up her bag from the foot of the bed and, still hu
mming, ran back down to the empty hall. She paused at the foot of the stairs, arrested for a moment by the strange sound that was on her lips. It seemed a whole lifetime since she had felt the urge to sing—and now she was actually happy.

  Thoughtfully, she walked out to where Charles was waiting by the car. He stood still, watching her walk towards him over the cobbles, making her as conscious of herself as she was of him. When she reached him she felt breathless, stood looking up at him, both hidden behind their dark glasses but each intensely searching for something, she had no idea what. Above, the soft cooing of the doves was seductive.

  Then he smiled. The dark planes of his face softened, lines round the slanting eyes crinkled, the teeth shone dazzling in the bright morning's sun. 'Ready?' The word that had been brief and somehow critical indoors was now like a caress.

  `Ready.' On her lips it was a breathless, yielding statement, and as she folded her skirt beneath her to slip into the door he held for her she felt ridiculously, foolishly happy.

  They spent two hours happily searching out the food which Madeau had ordered, Kate frowning over the list she held, striking through words with satisfaction when they found exactly what was required. But all the time Kate kept exclaiming over the charm of the little town which she confessed to Charles she had never even heard of before.

  `Sarlat-Le-Canèda.' She rolled the name round her mouth as they sat under a wide umbrella in the pavement café where they were drinking iced coffee from long frosted glasses. 'It's such an unusual name. And such a beautiful town.' She waved an arm towards the mediaeval houses opposite with their overhanging upper storeys and tiny lead-paned windows. 'Some of those old courtyards . . . they're just out of this world !'

  `Yes.' He drew deeply on the long black cheroot, then blew the smoke slowly away from her. 'It is all very charming.' His voice had become very French, quite different in her ears from the perfect, almost accentless English that he usually spoke. His mouth was relaxed and smiling so that she could hardly take her eyes from it.