Oriental Hotel (39 page)

She read his mind and the beginnings of panic stirred within her. ‘Oh, I don't know …'

‘But you hardly ever have dessert.'

‘I know, but they do the most delicious bombe, and the cheese board is a delight. You know how you love cheese …'

‘I don't want to bother with it tonight.'

‘Why? Aren't you feeling very well? Oh Gordon, you must have some cheese!'

‘I'm feeling perfectly well.' He lowered his voice. ‘But I will feel a great deal better after an hour alone with my wife.'

‘But I really would like a bombe. They're chocolate – the chef makes them specially. He will probably resign if …

‘All right, have your bombe.'

‘And you have some cheese.'

‘I don't
want
cheese, Elise. I want …'

The waiter approached.

‘A chocolate bombe for my wife,' Gordon instructed.

‘And for you, sir?'

‘Nothing.'

The bombe arrived and he sat watching her eat it; she made every mouthful last as long as possible, grateful for the cold smoothness that slipped down with ease in spite of the dryness of her throat. When it was finished she searched around for something else – anything to delay the moment when he would take her back to the room she had to share with him.

You're crazy! she told herself. He's your husband and you have been married to him for six years. Why should the thought of him making love to you be so terrible all of a sudden?

And the candlelight flickering and bathing Gordon's face in a warm golden glow seemed to give back at least some of the answers:

Because you're afraid he will know you are different, will be able to tell that another man has taken you to bed –

Because it is Brit's love-making you want to remember most vividly; you don't want Gordon's superimposed over it –

And because you just don't want him, and to make love feeling like that is a form of obscenity …

‘Elise …' He was on his feet, the waiter was at her elbow helping with her chair and there was no alternative but to follow suit. She moved in front of him and he placed his hand on her waist – as if he thought I was going to run away, she thought dully.

‘It's all right, Gordon. I do know the way.'

She knew that she sounded petty and irritable, but she could not help herself. Once the door to their room had opened and closed behind them, they were alone in a world of their own.

Panic assailed her and she moved swiftly away in case he should embrace her unexpectedly from behind. But she need not have worried: that was not Gordon's style.

‘I'm going to get into something more comfortable, darling. Why don't you do the same?'

‘I don't really think I want to, Gordon. I would rather go to bed – I'm very tired. This heat …'

‘I thought you liked the heat.'

‘So did I. But when you've shopping to do …

‘What shopping was that? You never did tell me what was in that enormous parcel.'

‘Oh, I was looking for souvenirs. I lost everything when we were torpedoed, remember.'

‘I would hardly have thought you would
want
souvenirs of such a trip,' Gordon said drily.

He passed Elise, going into the bedroom, and a few moments later re-emerged wearing his dark red silk dressing-gown. Elise's heart sank. Ever since she had been married to Gordon one red silk dressing-gown had succeeded another and they always seemed to be associated with love-making. Sometimes he wore it before, always he wore it afterwards – except for the rare occasions when he fell asleep in her bed. Gordon was a man of habit – and a fastidious one. The red silk dressing-gown was somehow a symbol of the way he combined these qualities with his sexuality.

He looked at her standing where he had left her. She was fiddling with the writing paper on the bureau and a faint frown creased his smooth forehead.

‘Aren't you going to do anything about getting ready, then?'

‘Yes, I suppose so. It's such an effort though.'

His frown deepened. ‘Elise …'

‘All right – I'm going.'

She went into the bedroom. There was no nightgown laid out on the bed – with Brit, she had got out of the habit of wearing one. A sudden sharp thought struck her – supposing he had left something behind and she had failed to notice it – then ricocheted into the void within her.

Her trembling fingers fastened on the drawer handle and she pulled it open, taking out a cream silk nightgown. Then, watching the open doorway in the mirror above the dressing table as she did so, she managed to change without a single moment of nudity.

‘Elise?' His voice, questioning and slightly impatient, reached her. She sat down on the edge of her bed, swinging in her legs and covering them with the sheet.

‘I'm in bed now.'

He lowered the lights as he came into the room, leaving only a soft glow. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see him. Perhaps if her eyes were closed he would believe she really was tired and leave her alone for tonight at any rate. It would be a brief respite only, but she was beginning to become accustomed to looking no further than the present.

The bed dipped and she felt him leaning over her. His mouth touched hers and she wanted only to pull away. One hand was on the side of her neck, the fingers holding her jaw, while the other slid across the smooth silk to her breast. She held herself tight, willing him to stop; to her immense, unbelievable relief he did, rolling away from her. She turned her head to follow him and her heart sank again as she saw that he was sitting on the edge of the bed in order to remove his dressing-gown. His body was pink, almost hairless and with no trace of a tan – even here in the sweltering heat Gordon never became brown. The sight of it, familiar though it should have been, came almost as a shock and she was aware of a fresh wave of revulsion. As he slipped beneath the sheet beside her, the warmth radiating from him made her cringe; he kissed her again, pressing against her with the length of his body and she felt she was suffocating.

‘Get away from me!' she wanted to cry, but his mouth was covering hers so thoroughly that no sound would come and it was forced back into her. ‘Get away – leave me alone!'

His kiss deepened and he shifted his weight slightly to enable him to pull up her nightgown. The feel of him against her made her panic so complete that she wrenched her mouth away from his.

‘No! I don't want to!'

He stopped, tense, poised above her.

‘
What
?'

‘I don't want to!'

‘What on earth's the matter with you?'

‘Nothing – I just …'

‘Something is. You've been avoiding it ever since I arrived.' There was a raw savagery in his voice which she had never heard before and did not understand.

‘I haven't. I just don't feel like it …'

‘You never feel like it.'

‘I can't help that …'

‘You've been away eight bloody months. Elise, please, for God's sake, at least try …'

The tears were thick in her throat. The panic had receded and though she still felt trapped there was guilt and pity too. It wasn't Gordon's fault that he could not arouse her. It wasn't his fault he was not Brit.

Tentatively she lifted her hand and placed it on his back. Beneath her touch she felt a shudder run through him and the sickening vulnerability of him brought the tears one step nearer. She couldn't… she
couldn't
… Her hand inched up his back to the base of his neck, her fingers splayed in the short, wiry hair.
No, I don't want to … Gordon, I don't want
… But independent of her weeping heart, she felt her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling his head down to hers.

‘Elise?' It was a softly breathed question and she answered it as softly.

‘All right.'

She heard the breath come out of him on a sigh that was half-way to being a sob and as he rolled on to her she lay passive, her mind detached.

How could it be so different – so utterly distasteful? How could something which gave her so much pleasure with Brit make her want to turn her head, divorce herself from the whole ridiculous procedure? She spread her legs obediently beneath his probing and as he entered her the tears stung her eyes. She lay impassively, her face turned into the pillow, and as he made love to her they squeezed out of the corners of her eyes and ran in hot, slow rivers across the bridge of her nose, down her cheek and into the pillow.

Oh Gordon, I didn't want to … I didn't want to …

When it was over he rolled away, but she did not move except to wipe away the tears. He must not know she was crying: that would be the final indignity for him. But when he lay silent, neither reaching for his dressing-gown preparatory to returning to his own bed nor settling down to sleep with her, she raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. His face was closed in, with none of the drowsy contentment that follows satisfied love.

‘What's wrong?' she asked. For a moment he did not answer and she prompted, ‘Gordon?'

He sighed, half laughed.

‘That was like making love to a tailor's dummy!'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was that bad.'

Again he did not answer and she said, ‘I did try. That's what you asked me to do.'

He snorted softly. ‘I suppose that's just the trouble. It is not a great deal of fun, Elise, when you have to try so hard.'

Not for me! she almost retorted, but bit back the comment.

Gordon sat up at last, his back towards her as he reached for his dressing-gown.

‘I'll have a shower, then I'll sleep in the other bed. If you're so tired, I don't want to disturb you.'

She lay back against the pillows and the depression was a weight on her, heavier even than his body had been. That was just the first time after Brit, the first of all the times which would now make up the rest of her life.

I can't do it! she thought wildly. I can't go on living like this! I made love with Brit and it was right – right – but when I make love with my husband I feel like a prostitute.

‘Gordon, I'm so sorry,' she said softly, but she was not sure whether he had heard her above the sound of water running in the shower, neither was she sure exactly what it was she was apologising for.

‘She was still numbed when, next morning, they left the Raffles for Hugh de Gama's yacht, the
Lively
.

She had been aboard before and knew that after the cramped and uncomfortable conditions she had had to contend with so far, this would be the height of luxury. On her way to the berth with Gordon she concentrated on remembering it as a way of keeping her mind off other, more painful matters – the well-appointed cabins, white and gold with soft blue rugs and silk sheets, the dining-room that was a poem in shades of biscuit and cream, the loungers and wicker chairs strategically placed on deck so that passengers could enjoy the warm sunshine or relax in the shade as they chose. She remembered too that every inch of paintwork on the hull and superstructure was always dazzlingly white; this was what she saw first as they approached the mooring, making the
Lively
stand out even here in the busy dock.

As they went aboard, Hugh was there on deck to greet them.

‘Elise, my dear – how good to see you!'

He came towards them, effusively polite, yet somehow managing to make the skin on the back of Elise's neck crawl slightly.

‘Hugh!'

He held out a berry-brown hand and, when she took it, pulled her to him so that she was obliged to let him kiss her on the cheek.

‘It was very good of you to come all the way to Singapore for me,' she said stiffly.

‘A pleasure,' Hugh smiled, showing those sharp, ultra-white teeth. ‘You know very well that if there is anything I can do, you have only to ask. And Gordon has been so desolate without you. It was painful to see him so upset – though I can well understand how he must have been feeling.'

‘A confirmed bachelor like yourself, Hugh? I doubt it!' Gordon said easily and Elise found herself remembering last night's fiasco and thinking that no one would ever guess from Gordon's confident bearing or his conversation what had happened behind the closed door of their bedroom.

‘Gordon, I hope you don't mind, but we have an extra passenger for the return voyage – fellow I happened to run into last night who wants to get back to Hong Kong.' Hugh de Gama relaxed against the rail, hands in the pockets of his immaculate cream slacks. ‘ I thought since we were sailing today the least I could do was offer him a berth. You may know him … ah, talk of the devil, there he is now!'

He straightened, waving towards the docks, and as she followed his glance Elise's heart seemed to stop beating. From the moment Hugh had mentioned their passenger, her intuition had begun prodding her. Now, as she saw the tall, lean figure threading his way towards the
Lively
, she was swept up on a tide of emotion.

Brit! She should have known it could not be anyone else.

Gordon, too, had followed the direction of Hugh's glance and like Elise had instantly recognised Brit.

‘Oh – it's that fellow Brittain!' Caught unawares, he was unable to keep the distaste out of his voice and Hugh glanced at him sharply.

‘Yes. You
do
know him. Well-known family, of course, but he's rarely in Hong Kong and has nothing to do with the business, I understand.'

‘Just as well. You should know how I feel about the Brittains of Cormorant by now, Hugh.' Gordon had had time now to control his reaction and his voice was light and well-modulated.

‘My dear fellow, I'm so sorry! I quite forgot. Forgive me …'

‘Dammit, Hugh, it's your yacht. You can invite whoever you like on board.'

‘But if you can't stand the man …'

‘I've nothing against him personally. It was his father who did his best to ruin me. And anyway, I could hardly have you throw him off even if I wanted to. It was he who arranged Elise's passage, so I owe him a favour, not a disservice.'