Comparative Strangers (17 page)

Malory turned suddenly on to his back, lifting her over him, drawing her down so that her body sheathed him, silk against his velvet hardness. She looked down at him, her eyes widening as she assimilated this new and devastating sensation, then an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed took over, and she began to move on him in sweet and sensuous rhythm, letting her hair swing round her love-flushed face like a scented chestnut curtain.

When, at last, he groaned in ecstasy, his head twisting on the pillow, the muscles in his throat standing out like cords, Amanda felt as if she’d been awarded the most glittering prize of all.

This time Malory didn’t try to separate from her. They lay, wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging slow, delicious kisses, Amanda’s hands becoming more adventurous as she began to stroke and explore his body in turn.

No such thing as instant bliss, she thought languorously. How could he have denied it when he made her feel like this—when he himself could want her again, so unmistakably, and so soon?

And, as their mutual need began to build again, she stopped thinking at all.

Hours later, she woke in his arms with the grey light of morning gleaming outside the window. She lay for a while, savouring the strong, unhurried beat of his heart under her cheek. She had not, she thought drowsily, told him yet that she loved him, and that was a serious omission. But then, neither of them had spoken at all for the whole duration of that intense and passionate lovemaking.

She could always wake him now, of course, perhaps by biting him very softly and delicately on the shoulder. And then, perhaps…

She smiled to herself.

Don’t be greedy, she adjured herself self-mockingly. He deserves his sleep. And I can tell him how I feel later. After all, this is the real beginning of our marriage—of our life together.

She gave a small, happy sigh, and slept again herself.

The next time she woke, the room was filled with pale and watery sunlight. Amanda reached sleepily for Malory, her eyes flying open in startled reaction as she realised she was alone in the big bed.

She sat up, pushing her hair back, and looking at her watch. It was late, but it was Saturday, and Malory didn’t need to go to Templeton’s today, so where was he?

She’d slept, her body moulded to the curve of his. She’d wanted to wake in his arms today, of all days, and she was conscious of a stab of disapthat he’d apparently found it so easy to leave her.

Perhaps the night they’d just spent had not been as important to him as it had to her, a sly inner voice suggested, and she recoiled from the thought.

At the same time, she had to admit that Malory couldn’t have learned his undoubted sexual expertise solely from textbooks. Other women, before herself, must have sobbed their delight in his arms.

So perhaps he could afford to be blase about her joyous and wanton response to his lovemaking.

Oh, stop it, she told herself impatiently as she threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. He left me to sleep late, and that’s all there is to it.

She gathered up her clothes and retreated to her own room. Half an hour later, bathed and dressed in slim-fitting corded jeans and a cream roll-necked sweater, she ran downstairs, expecting to find Malory there. But he wasn’t in his study, or the drawing-room, and any hopes that he might simply be out taking the dog for a walk were extinguished when she entered the kitchen to find Harvey snoring in his basket near the Aga.

Mrs Priddy, who was making pastry, welcomed her placidly with the news that the caterers had removed the last of their equipment, and the house was back to normal.

‘So there was no need for you to get up so soon at all, madam,’ she told Amanda severely. ‘Dr Templeton said you’d had a very late night, and needed to rest.’

Amanda suppressed a giggle inside her. ‘Has he gone out?’ she asked.

Mrs Priddy nodded. ‘Two hours ago, madam.’

‘To the laboratories?’

‘He didn’t say, I’m afraid, Mrs Templeton.’ Mrs Priddy gave her a comfortable smile. ‘Now, can I get you some breakfast?’

Amanda stifled a sigh. ‘I—I don’t think so, thanks. Just some coffee would be fine’ Suddenly she didn’t feel like giggling any more. She felt almost bereft.

The phone rang several times during the hour that followed- Each time Amanda answered it, her heart lifting in excitement, but each time it was a bread-and-butter call of thanks from someone who’d been at her party.

Eventually, Amanda decided she was sick and tired of roaming round the house like a caged animal, waiting on tenterhooks for her husband’s return. She would put some of her brimming energy to good use, and take Harvey for a long walk across the fields. And, if Malory came back while she was out, then he could wait for her for a change.

Harvey was clearly delighted at the scheme, although Mrs Priddy clucked reproachfully over Amanda’s announcement that she would dispense with lunch, and have a snack when she returned.

When she returned, cheeks glowing, two hours later, it was to find Malory’s car standing in the drive, and her spirits rose magically as she ran into the house.

He was just coming downstairs, and her eager rush to him was halted when she saw he was carrying a suitcase, and had an airline bag slung over his shoulder. She stood still, the warmth and excitement dying out of her face under his cool, unsmiling regard.

Amanda swallowed. ‘You—you’re going somewhere?’ she ventured inanely.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ This formal stranger couldn’t be the man who’d scaled pleasure’s heights with her the previous night, she thought with total incredulity. ‘I find I have to go to America’

‘But you didn’t say anything about it last…’ She stopped, and substituted, ‘Yesterday.’

‘A last-minute change of plan, and quite unavoidable, I’m afraid.’ He sounded almost bored, and not in the least apologetic.

‘How—how long will you be away?’ To her horror, Amanda found it an effort to keep her voice steady.

‘It’s difficult to say.’ Malory clearly had no such problem. ‘A matter of weeks rather than days, I imagine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And I’ll have to hurry if I want to catch the next flight. You’ll have to excuse me.’

She couldn’t believe this was happening. One quivering, wretched part of her mind was urging her to fling herself at his feet and beg him to take her with him—on a later flight, if necessary. But her last remnants of pride, and a very real fear of his refusal, kept her silent.

She summoned a smile from somewhere. ‘Well, as they say, have a nice day.’ Lifting her chin, she turned and walked away into the drawing-room, Harvey following her, tail down, aware that all was not well in his world.

She stood, staring out of the window, looking at the green spikes of bulbs showing above the dark earth—proof, if she needed it, that even if she was dying inside, life went on. Waiting, hoping that Malory would drop those damned cases and come after her. That he’d take her in his arms and tell her with love and yearning why he had to leave her behind at this emotional turning-point in their lives.

One word, she prayed silently. One word of need and regret was all she asked from him.

The sound of the front door closing behind him was like a whiplash across her wincing senses. And presently the sound of the car engine receding into the distance warned her with chilling finality that there was nothing left to hope for.

It was the most wretched day Amanda had ever spent. She wandered from room to room, Harvey pattering after her, feeling more lost, bewildered and alone than she had ever thought possible.

If it hadn’t been for the small, intimate marks of lovemaking that Malory had left in significant places on her skin, she would have thought she’d dreamed the whole of the previous night. And the optimism she’d experienced about their future relationship seemed, in retrospect, absurd to the point of tragedy.

She even found herself wondering miserably if she’d transgressed some unknown code, behaved more like a mistress than a wife, embarrassed and shocked him by her wild, uninhibited abandonment to his loving. But she soon dismissed the idea. If she’d been an over-eager pupil, then Malory had been her more-than-willing teacher. And it would be hypocritical in the extreme for him, afterwards, to draw back in distaste from the memory of her response to him. He might be complex, but Amanda didn’t believe for one minute he was a hypocrite.

All she could suppose, even more depressingly, was that their night together had not been sufmemorable for him to wish to make her his wife in any real sense. He’d had her, and now it was over, and they could revert to the terms of their original agreement.

But I can’t, she thought desolately. I can’t live as a stranger with him any longer. I want him—I need him too much.

Nor was it merely passion that she longed for from him. It was everything that made a marriage—the laughter, the tenderness, the communication, and the sharing. All the things she had naively thought would follow from their loving as spring followed winter.

There was the sourness of unshed tears in her throat. She had thought happiness was hers for the taking, but her hands were empty, and so was her life.

Her reverie was interrupted by the indignant arrival of Mrs Priddy.

‘Those florists,’ she said scornfully, surging into the room. ‘Really, you can’t trust anyone these days. Look what George found pushed into one of the dustbins, madam.’

She produced from behind her back, with the air of a conjuror, a magnificent bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, each bloom tightly furled into a dark velvet bud.

‘They’re lovely.’ Amanda touched the protective cellophane covering. ‘And they’re still absolutely fresh. But I certainly didn’t order them. There’s clearly been some mistake. Perhaps you’d phone the florist and ask them to collect them.’

‘An expensive mistake, if you ask me. And I phoned as soon as George brought them in, Mrs Templeton. But the manageress says she knows nothing about them.’ She snorted. ‘Fine thing. You want to check their bill when it comes in, in case they do suddenly remember them after all, and charge you.‘ She gave Amanda a shrewd look. ’Anyway, as they’re here, madam, why don’t you put them in water? They might cheer you up a little.‘

She put the bouquet down on the table, and went back to the kitchen.

It would take, Amanda thought listlessly, more than roses. But the flowers, whoever they’d been intended for, were exquisite, and it would be a shame to let them die.

She removed the wrapping, inhaling the faint scent that wafted to her. Red roses, she thought. A token of love which would never, now, reach its destination. It seemed, somehow the final, sad straw; bending her head, she began, very quietly, to cry.

The telephone was ringing as Amanda came into the house. Stripping off her gloves, she called, ‘I’ll get it’ to Mrs Priddy.

She had no idea what the time difference was between England and America, but she had long ago given up the hope that Malory might be calling her. He had been gone for almost a fortnight, and in that time, hurtfully, there’d been no word from him.

Lifting the receiver, she gave the number.