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He ignored this last remark and the several preceding it, fastening on an earlier one. ‘So, the weather was bad, you were nervous all the time and I think you were running short of money.’

‘We had enough,’ she glared at him. ‘We could have managed for quite a long time, until April at least, and then I had the offer of a temporary post at a school in Sussex, so don’t think you’ve saved us from starvation, because you haven’t!’

‘But that’s all over now.’ He sounded serene. ‘You’re marrying me and we’re having a honeymoon, and I don’t want Philip to come with us.’

Kate closed her eyes to shut out the red mist of temper that was floating between her and this arrogant, impossible man. She drew a deep breath and forced her voice to be steady.

‘Where I go,’ she said tonelessly and emphatically, ‘Philip goes. Have I made that clear to you, Mr Manfred?’

‘We seem to have reached an impasse.’ He sounded unruffled and his face gave nothing away.

Kate sat quite still and looked at him steadily. Inwardly she was shaking, but outwardly she was calm. There was nothing in her but a fierce pride and an even fiercer determination. She would not beg, neither would she give way. He could think what he liked of her, she didn’t care! If he wanted to think her all kinds of a trollop, he was welcome to do so. His opinion of her was of no consequence, it didn’t matter to her, not one iota, but she was
not
being parted from Philip! She drew a deep breath which thinned her nostrils.

‘Of course we’ve reached an impasse,’ she was scornful. ‘What did you expect? That I should get down on my knees and thank you humbly for the honour you’re doing me?’ Her voice developed a bitter note. ‘I’m marrying you, Mr Manfred, so that I can keep Philip with me, and as I said before, I don’t consider it an honour. I consider your offer an insult. You evidently don’t have much of an opinion of me—I’ll go along with that, I don’t have much of an opinion of myself. Like the rest of the quite ordinary members of the human race, I’m far from perfect and I admit it. I may have done some stupid things, I
have
done some stupid things, but my motives were good. I don’t care what you or anybody else thinks about me, I’ve kept my integrity—
and
I didn’t have a hedge of money a mile high to hide behind. Whereas you, Mr Manfred, are shop- soiled, so don’t think you’re doing me any favours. Under normal conditions, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot bargepole!’ Kate uncrossed her ankles and stood up. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me....’

He rose with her to stand over her and she received the impression of menace and hard held temper. ‘Kate, you’re becoming shrewish and obstinate. Come here.’ He held out his hand.

She backed off. ‘No!’

‘Then pack your things and I’ll ring for a taxi. You can go.’

She stood silent, feeling as though she had been drenched with a bucket of ice water. ‘Philip,’ she said through lips stiff with fear.

‘Is asleep. I see no need to wake him so that you can say goodbye.’

‘You don’t mean it,’ she whispered.

‘Try me,’ he advised. ‘Come here.’

When she stood within the circle of his arm, he looked down at her mockingly. ‘Now do you understand? I said I wanted a wife I could control, and that’s what I intend to have. You’re vulnerable, Kate, and I hold the means of controlling you. I have Philip and the negatives. You want Philip and you want to go back to being a schoolteacher. You can stay with Philip, on my terms, but if you leave, I’m afraid you’ll have no chance of teaching. I’ll circulate those negatives to every education authority in the country. Who would employ you then, do you think?’

His arm tightened about her and he lowered his head to hers, his mouth forcing a response from her Ups. When he raised his head, Kate stood very still while his fingers coolly unfastened the buttons of her shirt and pushed it over her shoulder. She gasped as his hand closed over her breast and shuddered as he enquired mockingly, ‘How long was that bargepole you wouldn’t touch me with, Kate?’

Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears and her lower lip was swollen, but she faced him, doing all she could to conceal the tremors which shook her.

‘If you’ve humiliated me enough for one night,’ she muttered, ‘I’ll ask you to excuse me. I’m very tired.’ At the door, she turned back to see him unconcernedly lighting another cigarette. His complete unconcern swept away the hold she had put on her tongue.

‘Goodnight—and the bargepole was ten foot long!’ She snapped off the words sharply.

‘Go to bed, Kate.’ His voice was noncommittal.

And I bet, she thought with a dull satisfaction, that’s the first time in years anybody has told him what they think of him, and she carefully locked the bedroom door. She had examined the flat when they had arrived, not completely but sufficiently to familiarise herself with the broad outlines. There were only two bedrooms, Philip was in one and she was occupying the other. Mr Jerome Manfred was going to have to sleep on the couch! But it was a comfortable couch. She made a face as one part of her, the bad part, expressed a vehement wish that the fat squabs and cushions had been stuffed with concrete!

In the bedroom, she rooted through her case for nightwear and gathering that and her toilet bag, let herself into the bathroom through the connecting door. With shaking fingers she locked it and the door into the corridor and stood contemplating herself in the mirror. She was astonished to find that she looked quite normal and that nothing of her inward perturbation was showing.

The shower looked inviting and she bundled up her hair under a plastic cap and divested herself of her clothes. She was still nervous, but here, locked in the bathroom, she could be as nervous as she liked. There was no need to keep up a stolid front in here, by herself. She could shake all over like a jelly and it didn’t matter as long as she could present a cool, calm face when she was with Jerome Manfred. Nothing mattered as long as he didn’t know what an abysmal coward she really was. She was going into this marriage with her eyes open, knowing that she could expect no mercy from him. He would take her with as little thought as he would take a glass of brandy with his coffee. She could only expect the worst and it would have to be tolerated. She closed her eyes to squeeze back the tears. It was for Philip!

She choked down a frantic desire to unlock the door and run whimpering to him, offering him complete control of the boy just as long as he would let her go and not force her. She could feel the perspiration wet and cold on her forehead and she stood rigidly while the needle jets of the shower played on her back. It would do no good, anyway, not if she begged on her knees. Jerome had those negatives and he would use them, of that she was certain. If she left here, left Philip with him, what was there for her? Only a return to being Noelle Lowe. She was trapped!

So this was fear! Whichever way she turned, she ran into a brick wall—no, not a brick wall; she ran into the hard, uncompromising block which was Jerome Manfred. This was fear? She jeered at herself. Wait until Saturday night, my girl. Then you’ll have something to be really afraid about!

With cold hands she let herself back into the bedroom and tiptoed through into the other room where Philip was sleeping soundly. She looked down at him fondly; he was worth it, he was worth anything, and with a sigh she went back to her own bed and slid beneath the covers, leaving the bedside lamp switched on in case he should wake during the night and be frightened in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Kate slept very well considering all she had on her mind, and she woke to pale sunshine and Philip bouncing on her chest.

‘Uncle,’ he was demanding her attention. ‘Uncle knocked.’

Kate stared at him as she caught herself together. She was not at the cottage, she was here in London, in Jerome Manfred’s flat, and if what she remembered was not a nightmare, on Saturday she would be Mrs Jerome Manfred. She closed her eyes against the thought. Last night she had known it, but it hadn’t seemed as real as it did in the cold light of day.

Again came the quiet knock, and putting Philip to one side, she slid out of bed and hurried into her dressing gown, a most unglamorous garment of camel-coloured wool which she had packed for its warmth rather than its looks. She opened the bedroom door and he was standing outside, a cup of tea in his hand.

‘Good morning.’ He was as expressionless as the Sphinx. ‘You slept well?’

‘Thank you,’ Kate heard herself being curt as she accepted the tea.

‘Perhaps you could hurry,’ he suggested blandly. ‘We have a lot to do....’

‘You don’t need me for any of it,’ she cut across his words and watched him fending off Philip’s advances. ‘You said last night that you didn’t need me, that you had all the information you required.’

‘But you will come with me, Kate.’ The remote, half smile curved his mouth. ‘I still don’t trust you, remember? I prefer to keep you in sight at all times until Saturday, you and the boy. After that there’ll be no need. Come to breakfast.’ He hoisted Philip under his arm and stalked off towards the kitchen.

Within fifteen minutes Kate joined him, dressed and ready for battle.

‘I don’t trust you, either.’ She was unsmiling. ‘You want Philip!’ She was interrupted by the little boy’s howl. ‘You’ve made his milk too hot,’ she scolded, and with an unsteady hand she diluted the contents of the cereal bowl with cold milk and restored the spoon to Philip’s small, fat fingers.

‘Then we shall watch each other.’ Jerome waited while she seated herself. ‘You’re too close now to your friend Gerald Twyford. A telephone call and he’ll be charging to your rescue on his pretty pale pink charger, ready to tear you from the grasp of the filthy capitalists.’

Kate folded her mouth firmly and remembered the bit about boring him to death while she mulled over the shadowy outlines of a plan. First, she must get to a telephone, and she retired into deeper silence to think about it.

They left the flat at ten o’clock and Kate’s protest about leaving without clearing up died on her lips. Jerome was as calm and cold as ever.

‘There’s a maid and cleaning service.’ He grasped her arm painfully and directed her to the bedroom. ‘We’re going shopping,’ he announced. ‘I to get a marriage licence and you, I presume, for some clothes for the wedding both for yourself and the boy. Also you’ll need some other clothes, things suitable for Southern Italy. I have a villa of sorts in Calabria and we shall go there, since you refuse to go without the child and I refuse to go where the gentlemen of the Press might find me, on honeymoon with not only a bride but a three-year-old boy who resembles me closely. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I don’t care to have you stumbling over explanations and trying to convince them that Philip is your nephew! The place in Calabria is primitive, but it will have to do.’

Kate raised her eyebrows. Jerome Manfred had given in! He didn’t treat it as giving in, of course. He made it sound as though he was doing her the most terrific favour. Arrogant swine, she swore to herself. But Calabria! That was down in the toe or heel of Italy, she wasn’t sure which, and she was not going to parade her ignorance for him to treat her to one of his contemptuous smiles.

‘Why do we have to go away at all?’ She wrinkled her brow as they went down in the lift. ‘I don’t like the thought of taking a little boy abroad. Suppose he was ill? Young children catch all sorts of things and I can’t recall whether he was ever vaccinated. I’d rather stay in England. You said the place there was primitive, suppose that the water supply isn’t pure? It easily could be in primitive places where there’s no proper drainage.’

‘It was you who specified somewhere warm, remember?’ Jerome was aggravatingly unmoved. ‘Somewhere, you said, where the boy could enjoy himself, somewhere warm. I’ve merely done the best I can to accede to your wishes. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s all arranged and it’s too late for second thoughts. Perhaps you won’t be so hasty in future. And the boy has been vaccinated. He was done when Theo proposed to take him to Crete with them.’

‘When Theo proposed to take him!’ Kate raised her lip in a delicate sneer. ‘Your brother couldn’t have cared less whether he had a son or not!’

Jerome walked them across the pavement and after bestowing Philip in the back of the car, pushed Kate in through the front passenger door with a far from gentle hand. He walked round the car and got in himself and sat with his hands on the steering wheel, staring bleakly through the windscreen. ‘Are you deaf as well as blind, Kate?’ It was almost a snarl. ‘Who is it that Philip is always asking for? Not his mother! Yes, Theo proposed to take the boy with him to Crete. You can believe it or not as you please.’

Much later, when Kate looked back on that week, she could only find a confused blur in her memory. Things had happened because Jerome Manfred made them happen. He started the wheels in motion and, once turning, they ground on relentlessly and Kate found herself a victim of the system.

She was very foggy about everything, although some episodes stood out clear in her mind, as when, on that first day in London, they had done their shopping together.

In the register office they-had sat waiting side by side on very hard chairs, and Kate had been hard put to it to control Philip, who had grown bored with the delay and wanted to enliven the process by pretending that he was a train. His shuffling feet and his constant, noisy whoo-whoos had caused raised eyebrows and deprecating looks from the other people waiting, and he refused to pay any attention to Kate’s remonstrances. It was not until Jerome rose, captured him and sat him firmly on a chair that peace reigned once more. Then in the Registrar’s office, a very untidy office, she thought, she sat mute while Jerome gave the required information. It still didn’t seem real and she was astounded to find that, instead of paying attention, all she could think of was that she was terribly thirsty and would have given her eye teeth for a cup of tea. She thought of the tea as she listened to Jerome and the Registrar. It would be in a dumpy little pot and would come out of the spout in a clear golden stream.