THE RELUCTANT BRIDE (25 page)

They
continued to dance.

The
trio, suiting the music to the few couples who remained on the floor,
were playing a selection of soft romantic melodies and as they danced
on and on she knew that her resolve was weakening and that if she
didn't tear herself away now it would be too late.

Just
one more dance, she promised herself, and let her head rest against
his chest, closing her eyes to shut out the other dancers. Then she
felt his fingers leave her neck and stroke through her hair, gently
touch her eyes and ears and mouth. Risking a glance at him she saw
that he was watching her, his dark eyes glittering in the half light,
and something in his expression turned her limbs to liquid.

“
Shall
we go up?” he murmured.

She
nodded. It was already too late.

From
the moment he closed the bedroom door behind them and gathered her
into his arms she clung to him with a passion that shook her with its
intensity. Yet even as he covered her trembling mouth with his, as he
undressed her and carried her to his bed, as he knelt over her, his
hands rousing her body to a fever pitch of desire, she bit back the
halting half-formed endearments. There could be no language of love
between them. Because there was no love. And never could be.

And
yet she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her
life, and during the days and nights that followed her obsession with
him grew, so that he had only to signal by a look or a touch for her
to follow him to their private place.

In
her saner moments she knew she was building a trap which she would
find more and more difficult to escape yet she had no one else to
blame but herself. She had gone into the marriage with her eyes open,
knowing what sort of man he was, knowing that despite everything
something in her responded to him. She should have taken more care.
For years she had vowed she would never allow any man to hurt her as
her father had hurt her mother, and she had instantly recognised Rod
as a man who could do just that if she let him. And yet – that
first time, when she had fallen asleep naked on her bed. Suddenly she
wondered if subconsciously she had wanted him to find her. But how
could she behave so foolishly? She didn't know. All she knew was that
she was going to pay for it. In peace of mind, and quite possibly in
heartache.

And
then it was the last day. As they took off from the airport she
craned for a last look at the island.

“
Sorry
to be going home?” asked Rod.

“
No,”
she said. But if she had answered honestly she would have said Yes.
Who knew what problems might await them back in England? And unbidden
and unwanted, Sue Langdon's alluring image sprang into her mind.

In
the pine panelled hall of White Gables the peppery scent of a huge
vase of mauve and white lupins mingled with the smell of beeswax.
Gabriella buried her nose in the flowers, remembering the great ranks
of them each May in the herbaceous border, every colour from peach to
purple, and how as a child she had loved to squeeze their little pea
shaped flowers.

“
Welcome
back, darlings!” Her mother's rapturous greeting enveloped them
both. “Margaret and I have had such a lovely time, but I've
missed you all the same.”

Mrs
Priddy came forward, smiling. “Helen's been out in the garden
every day. I keep telling her she's doing too much but she won't
listen.”

“
It's
the best convalescence I could have, dears. And see – no
walking stick! I've been managing without it quite a lot of the time
– give me another week or two and I plan to toss it away
altogether.”

“
That's
wonderful.” Rod smiled at her. “You're certainly looking
well, Helen. Tanned too. Anyone would think
you'd
been
to Madeira.”

Mrs
Stevens laughed. “Being back at White Gables is holiday enough
for me, although I do love Madeira. Your father took me there several
times,” she said to Gabriella and, as often before, Gabriella
wondered how her mother could speak of him so naturally and easily,
seeming to harbour no trace of the bitterness she herself still
nursed. “Now,” her mother went on, “go and freshen
up but don't be too long. Margaret's preparing a very special
homecoming dinner and we don't want to keep it waiting, do we?”

“
Our
room finished?” asked Rod.

“
Of
course, dear, although it was a close thing. The decorators didn't
leave until yesterday lunchtime. Margaret's tried to get rid of the
smell of paint but it may still linger.”

“
We'll
leave the windows open,” said Gabriella. “It's warm
enough. And thanks, Mum, for supervising everything.”

“
Darling,
I've enjoyed it. Just like old times. And the room looks lovely.”

Before
they went away they had arranged to have the master bedroom and its
adjoining dressing room and bathroom redecorated and refurnished,
with the addition of a smaller bed in the dressing room for Rod. It
was a compromise. At the time Gabriella would have preferred to
banish Rod to a separate bedroom but they both knew that would arouse
speculation. Now, dumping her case on the king sized bed in which she
had expected to sleep alone, she wondered uncertainly what the new
arrangement would be. She couldn't ask him and she waited for him to
make some sign. But Rod, whistling quietly under his breath, was
unpacking and when he did speak it was only to comment on the room.

“
Nice
wallpaper. And I like that bluey green colour on the woodwork. What
d'you call it?”

“
Aqua.”

“
Nice.
You've got good taste, Gabriella, and now you've the money to indulge
it. We'll look at the other rooms at the weekend.”

“
Why
not tomorrow?”

“
Well,
I'd like to go into the office. See what's been happening while we
were away.” He went into the bathroom and she heard the splash
of water as he washed.

“
But
it's Friday,” she called. “No one's expecting us until
Monday.”

He
came back, blotting his face with a thick white towel. “I don't
like leaving the place for too long without any proper management.
Anyway, I want to look at my mail.”

She
sighed. “All right, I'll come with you.”

“
Oh,
there's no need for that. Why don't you spend the day with your
mother? You can plan the garden together. I'll bring your mail home
with me if you like, but knowing Jenny she's probably handled it all
in her usual efficient manner.”

Won't
Sue have done the same?” She turned to look at him but he was
hanging his suits in the wardrobe.

“
Possibly,”
he said, his back still turned to her. “But I'd still like to
check personally.”

“
In
that case I think I should do the same.”

The
glance he flashed at her was unreadable but in its very lack of
expression she sensed his annoyance and backed off. It was too soon
for confrontations. “Perhaps I'll just stay for an hour or two.
See Jenny, read the mail, then come back and have lunch with Mum and
Mrs Priddy.”

He
smiled. “That sounds more sensible. Shall we go down?”

As
the evening drew to its close Gabriella realised with surprise that
she had enjoyed it,. The meal of shellfish au gratin, lamb with
rosemary and redcurrant, and a mousse rich with brandy and cream
prepared by Mrs Priddy was superb, and at Rod's request the
housekeeper joined them to eat.

“
We're
all family tonight,” he said.

Afterwards
they took their drinks outside and wandered along the scented paths
of the garden, Rod carrying Mrs Stevens' glass while she held on to
his arm, pausing now and then to allow her a sip. The two laughed
together a great deal. It was good to see her mother so happy but
nevertheless Gabriella was uneasy. Somehow she had not expected her
mother to accept her new son-in-law quite so wholeheartedly. She
would be distressed if she ever found out the real nature of the
marriage and Gabriella knew how easily one or other of them could
slip up and reveal the truth.

Mrs
Stevens tired first. She and Mrs Priddy went upstairs, leaving Rod
and Gabriella to finish their drinks in the drawing room. The warmth
had left the evening. He closed the French doors to the garden and
under pretense of straightening cushions she watched him as he
crossed the room to the fireplace and stood before it, his back
turned to her., What now, she wondered? He appeared relaxed but the
fingers of one hand were tapping out a slow beat on the rim of his
glass and in the mirror above the mantel she could see that his dark
face was sombre, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Why
didn't he speak? She tried to think of some easy remark that would
break the silence but a tension had sprung up between them that made
it impossible. She found it equally impossible to leave him and go up
to their bedroom. Instead she moved to the window and sank into one
of the comfortable armchairs that overlooked the terrace. The heavy
silk curtains, whose pale soft green matched the walls of the room,
were undrawn and although the night was dark she could see the
glimmer of white flowers beyond the stone balustrade of the terrace.
On a table beside her chair her mother or Mrs Priddy had arranged a
bowl of early roses. She ran her fingers delicately over the petals,
releasing the clean sharp, almost soapy, perfume from their golden
stamened centres.

The
silence stretched out.

When
she felt she could bear it no longer she heard him coming towards
her. He stood beside her chair, hands in his pockets, and stared out
at the garden. She was very aware of his nearness, of the
warmth
that emanated from him. The sleeves of his light blue denim shirt
were rolled up carelessly and she wanted to reach out and stroke the
deeply tanned skin that they exposed. She wanted him to take her in
his arms. God, what was happening to her?

He
spoke at last.

“
You've
got what you want now. Your mother well and happy. This house. No
financial problems.” He glanced down at her. “You've got
everything you want, haven't you?”

No.
I want more. I want you too. But not the way you are, never as you
are. “Yes,” she whispered. “I've got all I want.”
She waited but he said nothing. “And you?”

“
Of
course.” He gazed through the window for a moment longer, then
turned abruptly and strode from the room.