Lightning Encounter (15 page)

‘It's all right,' she told him. ‘If you remember I said you'd find the deceit the hardest of all to bear.'

‘That wasn't the hardest,' he corrected. ‘Oh,
I
didn't like being lied to, but I appreciate your difficulty. You could hardly have told the truth.'

The car whispered over the bridge, down the twisty lane and through the stone gates and straight into the garage. They didn't speak again until he stopped the car, got out and came round to assist her. Then she said:

‘I know it won't put things right. But I promise never to lie to you again.'

She fancied one eyebrow slid up as he said: ‘So you're not planning to shoot off first thing in the morning?'

‘No, I made a bargain with myself that I intend to keep. I won't leave until I've paid off my debt. Unless,'—hesitatingly—‘you can't stand the sight of me any longer.' He gave her an eloquent look and said:

‘You have some funny notions.'

‘Will you come in for a cup of tea or coffee?' she enquired briskly, expecting him to say, ‘No, I won't come in. It's too late.' Which is what he did say, but then he added: ‘I'm in a talking mood and I might just waken Val.' Whereupon he placed a finger across her lips to prevent the usual acerbic come-back. But she wouldn't have this time because, incredibly, it certainly wasn't her doing, the mood had swung the other way and she wasn't going to let her quick tongue sour it. ‘So why don't you come up to my room?' he invited.

‘For a cup of coffee?'

‘Or
tea. Or to talk. Or not to talk.'

There are moments in life when everything is wrong, and moments when everything is right. The stars are crisper and brighter in the sky, so bright you think they can't possibly fade. But they do, reminded a tiny inner voice. Every star must fade for the coming dawn.

‘I wish. I wish.'

‘What do you wish?' he asked, taking her hand and leading the way up the steps at the side of the garage. ‘I wish I could delay tomorrow.'

His quarters consisted of a bedroom and a tiny kitchenette. Karen threw off her coat and went to fill the kettle. It wasn't until she was standing at the cooker that she realized she was still wearing her Mandy get up. She wished she hadn't taken off her coat. She felt his eyes travel her low scooped out back and was conscious of how much of her tights the costume revealed.

‘Was it strictly for the money?' he asked, as if that question tormented him.

‘What else?'

‘You're a woman. You should know the answer to that.'

‘If you mean, was I in love with Mitch, the answer is no.'

‘I didn't imagine you were in love with him. I thought—'

‘What did you think?'

‘Well, Mitch has a quality that draws the
opposite
sex. An animal attraction. It's possible to want to make love to a person without being in love.'

‘There wasn't anything like that. Anyway, it's over now. I give you my word I won't see him again.'

‘I'm glad. Tea, or coffee?'

‘Tea please.'

As he reached for the tea caddy, she reached for two cups. Their hands collided. Then they were in each other's arms. His hands were caressing her back, her neck, stroking her hair. His lips found the fluttering pulse at her temple, the hollow of her throat, her lips. Yet there wasn't a part of her mind or body that didn't react to the ecstasy of it. It was like being struck by lightning all over again, an encounter she would never forget, only the hundred per cent current flowing through their bodies was unbelievable delight. With touching egotism she felt that never before had two people been able to create such beautiful magic.

The spluttering of the kettle parted them. ‘Do you want that tea?' She knew from his voice that he was as moved as she was. ‘No . . . I. . . ought to go.'

He made a quick, urgent move towards her and she was electrified by the thought that he wasn't going to let her go. As a second wave of passion was released within her, she waited impatiently agog, wondering how she had
survived
all those years without him.

But his hands were doing a double quick retreat, and she was being bundled into her coat. ‘If I can't see so much of you,' he said. ‘I might just be able to let you go.'

She said through gritted teeth: ‘You must be made of steel.'

The weight of his hands pressed down on her shoulders and she was being masterfully swivelled round to face the door. He whispered throatily into her hair: ‘Think that if you like. Some day I'll prove to you that I'm not.'

He planted a kiss on the nape of her neck, for her to take with her, to cherish. Then he let her go with warming reluctance. As she sped across the paved yard she saw that the stars were beginning to fade. Soon it would be dawn.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Karen was cooking breakfast when Ian crept softly into the kitchen. He turned her round and kissed her full on the mouth. His glance, penetrating, with a light salting of mischief, raked her face. ‘You look as if you positively enjoyed that.'

‘I did,' she replied promptly, sheer astonishment crisping her tone. For some
reason
she'd thought the light of day would strip away the warmth and tenderness. She could still scarcely believe it had happened; that it was still intact was a source of throat-drying, speech-stealing delight. Only, she wished she could lose the lump in her throat and overcome this new, hampering shyness.

He was noticeably amused. ‘I've never before known you to be short on words. You must be one of those people who are most articulate in anger.'

‘And you would know all about that,' she retorted, her new-found voice wrapped round a chuckle. He said, with a good attempt at lightness:

‘I've come to the conclusion we've been at loggerheads far too long. I'm glad I've found a means of disarming you.'

‘Would you think me horribly forward if I asked to be disarmed some more?'

‘I could never think you horribly anything. Damn!' he ejaculated, moving swiftly from the proximity of the cooker, but too late to avoid the spitting bacon fat. ‘Why do we always have to make love in a kitchen?' he asked in amused exasperation, inspecting the angry red spots appearing on the back of his hand. Karen was looking meek and trying not to laugh, when she thought she saw a shadow flit away from the door.

The eavesdropper, if there had been one, could only be Val. How much had she seen and
heard?
How long had she been standing at the door? Karen fiercely resented the intrusion on what was a private and intimate moment, but that wasn't the reason for the icicle drip down her spine. Suddenly she was afraid. It was a stupid fear, a barely analysed feeling of disquiet. She told herself it was without foundation and in a moment her normal common sense would assert itself, telling her she was being fanciful and wrong. Until her composure was fully restored, she absorbed herself in examining his hand. ‘What a fuss about nothing,' she clucked. A fuss about nothing. She hoped so.

‘Will you be late home this evening?' she asked. ‘It's Val's day at the hospital, isn't it?'

‘Normally, yes,' he said, helping himself to the last piece of toast.

‘But not today. Robert Williams, her psychiatrist, has gone on holiday for a fortnight, so rather than put her through the ordeal of getting used to a new man, she's having a break.

Karen looked at the empty plate. ‘I'd better put some more toast on. What d'you suppose is keeping her this morning?'

‘The pull of the bed, I shouldn't wonder. Didn't she tell you she was taking a few days off work? To catch up with herself, was how she put it. She must have found it pretty harrowing being plunged back into the working world. I'm not sure she wouldn't have
been
better off paddling in gently, but apparently it was for the best. Karen?' His eyes were speculative.

‘M-m?'

‘Try, won't you.' She knew what he meant, but before she had time to inch in her reply he began to elaborate. ‘Remember what I said before about the ingredients looking the same, but you having a pound or two more starch in your make-up? What I'm getting at is, please make allowances. In a way you are both victims of circumstance. You lost your mother at an early age and so did she. She lost her father, too. You might curb your intolerance by remembering that you still have yours. She had only Grandmother and me. She was my grandmother's ward, by the way. Perhaps I haven't mentioned that.'

‘No.'

‘There's a lot of things I haven't mentioned, but with good reason. Before it was none of your business.'

‘And now?'

His faint chuckle invaded the seriousness of the moment, making her feel less bleak, less as if she was hanging on some remote cliff top by the starch in her finger-tips. ‘I should say recent events have made it your business.'

For a moment they enjoyed one another with their eyes, and with two thoughts pushing for prominence, Karen knew whichever way she jumped an opportunity was going to be
lost.
Selflessly she chose the one with the unpalatable taste. ‘This must have been Val's home, then?' For the first time it came to her that she was the intruder, not Val. I wonder she doesn't hate me. But she does hate me, she thought with an involuntary flash of truth. My feeling towards her is a reaction. But Ian would never believe that. He's known me such a short while and during that time I've done nothing to foster his trust, in fact I've done everything to destroy it. She closed her eyes for a moment as a silent prayer trembled her body. Please . . . please give me the time with which to build up that trust. But she had the desolate feeling that nobody was listening.

‘Yes, it was Val's home,' ruminated Ian. ‘At first it was a holiday retreat. Then when her parents died she made it her permanent home. She lived here until Grandmother died.'

‘You're going to be late for work,' said Karen, reluctant to end the discussion and so starve her curiosity, but feeling she should make some reference to the creeping hands of the clock. He was such a stickler for punctuality.

But he said: ‘Then I shall have to be late, because there's something I must tell you. I have to return to Paris tomorrow, the deal I'm working on has run into unforeseen difficulties, so this might be the last opportunity for a day or so.'

She interrupted: ‘You don't have to Ian.
What
happened before we met is no concern of mine. It is that kind of confession, isn't it?' Suddenly she didn't want to know. She didn't know why, unless she was frightened to know.

He wasn't to be put off. With an unhappy laugh he began: ‘At one time it was thought Val and I would marry. It wasn't anything as formal as an engagement, but more in the way of an understanding. Val's parents died in tragic circumstances; she'd only just begun to feel secure again, when Grandmother took ill. I don't think anyone ever had a more dedicated or devoted nurse. I could see she was wearing herself out, but she said it was her way of showing her love and gratitude for being given a home. She was so deeply shocked when Grandmother died, I thought she'd never pull round. Of course I comforted her. At first she was such a hurt little girl, then such a gay pal. I didn't for a minute think—' For the past few seconds he had spoken with his face in his hands. He looked up. ‘I don't want to appear ungallant but she read a motive that wasn't there. And there was something else. Grandmother didn't leave a will and as next of kin I inherited the house. I've often wondered if Val had expectations in that direction. If she had inherited, I don't know what she would have done. There was very little money in Grandmother's estate and the house needed a lot spending on it in repairs, but in her grief she wouldn't see it as a liability.
I
got all tangled up trying to explain it to her and she wrongly assumed I was asking her to marry me. I was deeply fond of her and for a while I thought it might be a way out.'

‘It wouldn't have been. Fondness isn't a basis for marriage.'

‘I knew that. What I didn't know was how to disentangle myself.'

‘How did you?'

‘I introduced her to Mitch.'

‘And felt responsible for what eventually did happen?'

‘That's about the size of it. I felt so responsible, I wished I'd married her and saved her from the whole horrible ordeal. I'm sorry, Karen, but that's the way I felt then.'

If I was a brave person, she thought, I would say, ‘It doesn't matter how you felt then. That's over and done with.' Then I would challenge, ‘What is important is how you feel now.' But I'm not a brave person. It mightn't draw the right answer. Sometimes not knowing is a lesser degree of hurt than knowing.

Ian had been gone half an hour when Val came down for breakfast. Karen didn't notice her strange mood because of her own preoccupation. Listlessly she watched Val attack the top of her egg with a spoon, smashing the smooth shell into tiny pieces. It irked her the way Val tackled her breakfast egg. She always sliced the top off hers cleanly with a knife. Pity I don't adopt the same policy
with
life, she thought wryly. Then she thought, measuring her distaste, if I'm intolerant over the tiny things, how can I hope for understanding over the major issues?

She went upstairs to do the beds. Val's first, pausing as always to look at the view, then her own. The Mandy costume was slung carelessly over the back of a chair. Last night she had been too tired to put it away. Too tired, too caught up in the ecstasy and wonder of being held in Ian's arms. Happy beyond belief. She'd always thought happiness was only in jeopardy when you took it for granted. She supposed that when happiness is yours for any length of time you cease to value it with the same intensity as when it is newly acquired. I wouldn't, she thought. I'd take it out every day and cherish it and keep it polished and shiny.