Joan Wolf (7 page)

Julianne was furious. “Personal freedom! Don’t talk to me about personal freedom!” Her voice was shaking. “It is only another way of being selfish. In pursuing your own great vision, you heroes of
personal freedom
trample upon the lives of all the little people who look up to you, who depend on you. There is nothing in the world as utterly ruthless as a man who is intent on pursuing his own
personal freedom
.  I’m sick of it!” She was white with temper, her eyes blazing as she stared defiantly up at him.

The air between them vibrated with angry tension. Then, “Are you, by God,” he said in a breathless, goaded undertone, and pulled her into his arms.

The bruising pressure of his mouth on hers caused Julianne to push desperately at his chest, trying to free herself. He only held her more tightly and with the hardness of his mouth he forced her own lips open. After a minute his kiss became more gentle, slow, deliberate and quite astonishingly effective. Her hands were still braced against his chest, but they had ceased to push. After a moment, as the slow erotic kiss continued, they moved up to circle his neck. She was bent back in his embrace and his lips finally left her mouth to move slowly along her exposed throat. “Julianne,” he murmured, “I have been trying to stay away from you for weeks.”

It took a moment for the sound of his words to penetrate Julianne’s hazy consciousness. “I’d like to get rid of this damn cloak,” he said and at that she broke away from him. She retreated from the rail until her back was up against the ship’s side.

“Don’t touch me!” She was breathing much faster than usual. “Don’t come near me.”

His eyes were open and brilliantly, intensely blue. He said nothing. After a minute she turned and fled down the stairs to her cabin.

Chapter Eight

For what we sometyme were we are no more...

—Sir Walter Ralegh

Julianne was shocked by what had happened between herself and John. She knew about sex, of course. Africans regarded it as perfectly natural, and she had seen and heard things that girls of her age in England were strictly guarded from. But, untouched and unawakened as she was, she had always regarded it as degrading and rather repulsive. When she thought of marriage and a husband, she thought in terms of home and children. How those children were conceived did not enter into her fantasies.

John had changed that. She had to admit to herself that she did not find his kisses at all repulsive. Quite the contrary. It frightened her, the way he made her feel. When he had said he wanted her robe out of the way, she had felt too the longing for his touch on her bare flesh. It was that desire which had frightened her into pushing away from him and fleeing to the safety of her own room.

He had said he was trying to stay away from her. The thought that she had the power to disturb him, as he did her, pleased her. But she thought it would be best for all concerned if she assisted him in carrying out his prudent course of action. She did not want to fall in love with John Champernoun! The very idea was absurd, she told herself. He was the last man in the world for her. She did not need to give her heart to someone who espoused the creed of “personal freedom.” She had seen through that philosophy, thank you. It brought only heartache and despair.

The following morning, Said came to return her journals and she invited him to sit with her on the deck for a while.  Rather to her surprise, he accepted. What she did not know was that John’s temper had been so vile that Said found even the company of this strange woman preferable. And Said had secretly admired Julianne ever since the night of the massacre, when she had been so calm and so unafraid.

So he sat beside her now in the bright December sun and talked in a more comfortable manner than he would have thought possible. At a little pause in their conversation Julianne brought up the very name she was trying to banish from her thoughts. “Why are there no women in John’s house, Said?” Her voice was casual, her face idly curious. Julianne had learned well how to mask her feelings.

“He has never had any women in his harem,” replied Said, shaking his head at the strangeness of it. “It is not that he is one who likes men,” he added, lest she misinterpret his statement. “John is a man for women.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Julianne dryly.

“It is that he does not want any women of his own. He likes them only briefly.”

Julianne’s nostrils quivered. “Otherwise they might interfere with his personal freedom,” she said with palpable sarcasm.

Said missed her irony. “Exactly,” he replied, pleased to find her so understanding. “He explained to me that once a woman in your harem has a baby, you are saddled with her for life. And women always seem to be having babies.”

“It’s a good thing for him his mother shared in that failing,” Julianne said tartly and Said laughed.

“That is true, lady,” he agreed, amused by her wittiness. Julianne changed the topic of conversation and after another ten minutes Said left, rather reluctantly, to rejoin his bad-tempered master.

Said’s words had only confirmed Julianne’s opinion of her rescuer’s character. He
was
her rescuer, she reminded herself, and for that she must always be grateful to him. But once they landed in England she wanted nothing more to do with him. She would banish him from her mind.

It was not quite so easy to put him out of her thoughts on the ship, however. She heard his voice and caught sight of his tall figure too often for her peace of mind. And even his books did not serve to distract her as they once had. The well-worn poetry, particularly, seemed to echo with his inprint, Thomas Wyatt appeared to have been one of his favorites. Certain lines were underlined with decisive strokes and Julianne read them again and again, pondering:

I cannot speak and look like as a saint;

Use wiles for wit, or make deceit a        pleasure

And call craft counsel, for profit still to        paint.

She thought of what he had said of his uncle and his hypocrisy. Perhaps, she thought, there was reason for John to be the way he was. There were some lines of Ralegh’s too that he had marked:

Say to the court, it glows

And shines like rotten wood;

Say to the church, it shows

What’s good, and doth no good:

Tell men of high condition

That manage the estate, Their purpose               is ambition,

Their practice only hate

If that was how he felt about England and the English, then his long sojourn in Egypt made perfect sense. He had not wanted to make this trip home; she had seen that in his face. Perhaps, she thought shrewdly, he was afraid to return. Perhaps he did not want to find out that his grievances had, after all, no basis in fact,

They landed at Harwich in England. Crewe was only twenty miles from the town, but John installed Julianne at an inn. “Neither of us can appear anywhere until we get some Western clothes,” he said firmly and Julianne had agreed. She was so accustomed to Eastern dress that the dark, heavy clothing she saw on her brief trip from the ship to the inn looked ugly and uncomfortable, but she knew her grandmother would be scandalized by her trousers.

There was a roaring fire in her room at the King’s Inn and she huddled gratefully before it for most of the afternoon. Julianne was no longer accustomed to the English climate and thought with definite longing of the steamy heat of Africa.

John came back late in the afternoon and knocked at her door. When she opened it he was holding a large package in his hands. “This is for you,” he said and walked past her into the bedroom to lay it on the bed.

Julianne scarcely looked at the parcel, she was too busy staring at him in his new clothing. He saw her look and grinned sardonically. “Do I look like an English gentleman?”

“No,” she replied positively.

His black brows rose. “Why? The tailor assured me that I would look just like everyone else.”

Julianne shook her head, amused and forgetting to be cautious. “You will never look like everyone else, John.” Then, realizing abruptly that they were alone, she asked hastily, “Are those clothes for me? Will we be going to Crewe now?”

His face became very grave. “Julianne, you and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?” she asked suspiciously.

“About how we are going to deal with the fact that you have been unchaperoned and in my company for several months now.”

“But no one knows that.”

“If you and I turn up at Crewe together, with no chaperone in sight, people are damn well going to suspect.” His voice was as calm as hers.

“Oh,” said Julianne. They were standing with the width of the room between them, John near the fire and Julianne near the door. She moved toward the bed and began to fiddle with the strings on her parcel of clothes. “What do you suggest?” she asked a little nervously.

“I suggest that you change into that dress and come downstairs to have dinner with me. I’ve hired a private parlor. We can plot strategy over a meal.”

She didn’t think it was a safe idea, having dinner alone with him. She opened her mouth to object but what came out instead was, “All right.”

He nodded briskly and moved past her to the door. “I’ll see you in half an hour,” he directed as he left the room.

Julianne sighed as the door closed behind him. “Now why did I do that?” she muttered to herself. She began to open her parcel, knowing full well the reason was that after tomorrow she would probably never see him again. She wanted a few more hours of his company before she had to say good-bye. “I must be mad,” she decided as she shook out a wool dress of a very pretty shade of blue.

The dress fit fairly well, but the heavy material and the confining skirt felt very strange after the soft cottons and loose trousers she had been wearing. She brushed out her hair, braided it in a single plait, and went downstairs to dinner.

There were other people in the inn’s dining room, but the landlord came over to Julianne and escorted her to another room further down the hall. When she came in the door, she saw that there was a table set for two, and John was standing with his back to her, looking out the window. She had a sudden feeling of recognition: Just so had he stood, looking out at the courtyard, on the night of their first dinner together. The night he had first kissed her.

“Good evening,” she said, in a slightly breathless voice, and he turned to look at her.

“I liked your trousers better,” he said after a pause, and she laughed.

“You know, I did too.”

He came to hold her chair for her and once she was seated the waiter came in with the soup.

They talked harmlessly of neutral topics while the initial courses were being served. When the main part of the meal, a joint of roast beef, had been placed on the table, John dismissed the waiter and told him not to return until he was rung for. As the waiter obediently departed, Julianne stared at her laden plate. “I can’t remember ever having seen so much food at one meal! Surely the English don’t eat like this all the time?”

“I suppose they do,” said John, regarding his own plate. “I ordered the beef; the rest of the dishes must be standard fare.” He looked up at her, a faint smile in his eyes. “The waiter just asked me if we would want some ham and fowl as well.”

“You’re joking me,” she said incredulously. “After soup, salmon, turbot, and now roast beef!”

“I tell you what, Julianne,” said John, picking up his knife and fork and tucking in. “You’ve turned into an Easterner. You like wearing trousers and you miss your frugal meals. Would you rather have grilled impala than this very handsome roast beef?”

“Well, perhaps not grilled impala—though it
is
very good,” she murmured, picking up her own knife and fork. They ate for a few minutes in silence and then both put down their forks at the same time, looked at each other, and broke into laughter.

John poured himself some wine. “The only thing I have missed about England is the roast beef,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “And I’m too full to enjoy it.”

“We shouldn’t have eaten so much earlier,” she said, picking up her own glass. “But I was hungry then!”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her across the candlelit table. “Now,” he said, “about our problem.”

She sobered immediately. “Is it really a problem? Will anyone really care about how I got back to England?”

“You’ve been away too long, Julianne.” His voice was lightly sardonic.

“Perhaps.” She compressed her lips a little. “Have you any suggestions?”

“I think so.” His face was perfectly expressionless as he looked at her across the table. “I will go to see your grandmother tomorrow. I will explain the situation to her and ask that she send some reputable woman here to chaperone you for our arrival at Crewe. I suggest we say that you have come from France, where you were taken by some respectable Frenchwoman in whose care you have been since your father’s death.”

“I see.” Her eyes, staring back at him, were equally expressionless. “It sounds all right to me.”

“Do you want me to tell your grandmother the story about the Frenchwoman or the truth?”

June’s eyes left his and moved to the fire. She thought for a minute and then said, “The truth, I think. At least that part of the truth. If one is going to deceive someone, it is always wiser to stick as close to the truth as is possible.”

He shook his head in mock disillusionment. “So young to be so corrupt. And you look as pure and honest as a saint from heaven.”

“It’s a great help,” she answered smoothly. “But don’t tell my grandmother about my being sold as a slave, John. And don’t tell her about the lion. Say that my father died of fever.”

“Oh, so I am the one who is to break the sad news to her?”

“You’ll have to, won’t you?” She sounded suddenly very tired. “After all, you’ve got to account for my return.”

He was watching her steadily, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Don’t worry about it.” The mockery had completely left his voice. “I’ll tell her. And I will spare her sensibilities about the slave market and the lion. And I will arrange for a chaperone so that you may return home with perfect respectability. I realize,” he said unexpectedly, “that none of this has been easy for you. But it’s almost over.”