Shining Threads (58 page)

‘Why are we here, Will? Why did you tell me to come? It is this which frightens me, not the mill, though that is bad enough. It would be simpler, far simpler, if we walked away from one
another. I don’t want . . .’

‘To love me?’

‘Yes . . . no . . .’

‘Then you do love me?’

‘I . . . we cannot . . .’

‘Say it. Goddammit, Tessa, say it, but mean it this time.’

‘I . . . I love you. I love you, Will Broadbent. Can you doubt it now? This is no adventure, as it was the last time.’

‘I wish it were, my love, it would be far easier for us both.’

‘I dare say.’ She moved to stand closer to him, looking up into his stern face. She placed her hands carefully, one on either side of his smooth, freshly shaved cheeks, then her
mouth lifted to his as sweetly and softly as a sigh, lingering, tasting the texture of his lips, carrying in her mind the passion of their past but holding back from it.

‘Will you stay with me, my darling?’ he whispered against her mouth, still not touching her.

‘For as long as I can.’

‘Aah, Tessa . . .’

‘I know, I know. I have never felt so sad and yet so blindly, rapturously happy.’

‘Where . . . ?’

She shook her head and the misted drops of moisture in her hair scattered, some running down her forehead and across her wet cheeks. She blinked as they dewed her eyelashes and he watched with
all the fascination and bewitchment of a man under a spell. She was like some water sprite, dewed and shimmering palely in the mist, and yet her mouth was poppy-red and full.

‘When?’ he said more urgently and she felt the instant unfolding of their desire. His arms drew her to him, a homecoming now, a return to the place where she was always meant to be,
and his mouth, wet with raindrops, came down hard on hers, merciless in its aggression. She was his,
his
and he would take her now, put his own special mark on her, his woman, before she
could change her mind. ‘When, Tessa, when?’ His lips parted to take hers and the rain which was falling steadily on them now tasted sweet in their joined mouths.

‘I don’t know . . . there is nowhere . . .’

‘Dear God, how I’ve loved you, wanted you, all these years, and now the bloody weather . . .’

They began to smile as they kissed, then to laugh, holding on to one another, the skin of their faces wet and sliding, their hair dripping, their hands which were longing to explore, to touch,
to caress what was dear and familiar, cold and wet. The whole loving encounter was becoming impossible, amusing even, so that their laughter released itself high and merry into the grey sky.

After a while they grew quiet, content for the moment to stand within the circle of each other’s arms and talk softly of the past, the question of where, or how, or even when they would
meet in the future, still unresolved. It would happen, they both knew it. There would be turmoil ahead, they both knew that too, since he was not a man to share another man’s woman. He might
have believed, in the past, that they could become lovers, live a clandestine life of deceit and lies, of messages passed from one paid hand to another, of hurried meetings and hurried farewells,
but Will Broadbent, deny it now as he might, was not a man to live such a life. The day would come when Drew Greenwood’s wife, Will Broadbent’s
woman
, would be forced to make a
choice.

‘We could go away, you know,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have money. We could move away from here. I am not a man without experience. There are other mills . . .’

‘Don’t . . . don’t, Will.’

‘You could not bear to leave your husband, you are saying?’

‘He could not bear it.’

‘He is a grown man though one would not think it to hear him speak. He would survive.’

‘No, he would not. He is . . . not strong . . .’

‘He looked well enough to me at the board meeting. Somewhat highly strung but then he and his brother were always that. The mills could be run by those men . . .’

‘You told me a little while since that they would fail without me.’

‘I only meant that
he
could not do it.’

She held on to him tightly, her face buried against his chest, her eyes tightly closed against the pain and fury in his. So soon, so soon. It had been but an hour and already he was demanding,
begging more of her than she could give. They had done no more than kiss and declare their true feelings, hold one another, thanking the gods which had given them this small, shared part of their
lives. Somehow she must make him see that they could never,
never
have more. Only she knew what Drew had become, how far down the slippery road his darkened mind had sent him, the death of
Charlie accelerating that journey a hundredfold. He was desperately vulnerable, likely to be further weakened by anything which threatened that vulnerability, and knowing this she had come here
joyfully to throw herself into Will Broadbent’s arms.

‘Will, you must listen to me.’

‘To hear you tell me how much he means to you?’ he said roughly, holding her to him desperately, crushing her, hurting her in his sudden illogical anger. The sweet reason with which
he had viewed their relationship was swept away on a flow of savage jealousy.

‘You must listen to me. Don’t you see we might as well part now, and forever, if you will not see reason?’

‘I want you, that is reason enough . . .’

‘No, Will.’

There was a great weight on them now, a bewilderment that this had come upon them so suddenly. It was as though a pendulum had swung them, first high on a delirium of delight at finding one
another again, falling slowly to the sober realisation of what it would mean to them as they lived that secret life, then high again in possessive, jealous rage. Will was not naïve enough to
believe that Drew Greenwood’s wife would not make her body available to her husband whenever he required it and in his mind’s eye he could picture them, perhaps no more than an hour
from now, sharing the sweetness of what he himself was denied. He and Tessa could find a place somewhere, discreet and hidden, he was certain, but for how long! They could meet up here now and
again where no one came but the birds and the moorland animals, but for how long? How long would it be before the situation provoked disillusionment, impatience, and a refusal to suffer it any
longer?

‘Perhaps we should remain . . . no more than business acquaintances then?’ His voice was cold and he let his arms drop heavily to his side.

‘If you think it best.’

‘I can see no alternative.’ The numb misery in him washed over her.

‘Nor I.’

‘We had best be on our way then.’

‘Indeed.’

‘You are . . . we are both getting very wet . . .’

Their eyes met for that last fatal moment, glazed with pain and the need to hide it, to bury it deep where it could be neither seen nor felt, for it was too much to bear. A moment, an instant,
then without coherent thought they flung themselves into one another’s arms, crying both of them, that whatever the cost they could not part. His hands were at her face and hers at his,
stroking feverishly, then clinging again until their bodies met and strained together.

‘I can’t wait . . .’

‘Nor I . . .’

‘Here . . . ?’

‘There is nowhere else, my love.’

He tried to spread his cloak and hers upon the wet, spongy turf, using the overhang of the rocks to protect them from the drizzle which still fell, but the garments were already damp before he
laid her on the makeshift bed. It was not cold and though the skin of her naked body rose in tingling gooseflesh it was at the delight of the new and erotic sensation as wet flesh met wet flesh.
Her breasts lifted ecstatically, the nipples peaked and rosy to his hands and lips. They had waited a long time and they could not hold back, either of them. He entered her at once and that taut
thread which had tightened so many times in the past for Drew Greenwood snapped in two releasing in her a languorous breathless pleasure which left her laughing and weeping with her joy.

‘Again,’ she told him, lifting her body greedily, and he plunged into her, his own laughter joyous and triumphant. This time the rapture caught them both by surprise as it exploded
within them simultaneously.

‘Truly, you are perfect,’ she breathed when she could at last speak.

‘Together we are, my love, my sweet love.’

‘Hold me in your arms.’

‘Always.’

‘Always. You will always love me?’

‘How can you ask?’

He wrapped his warm, wet body about hers and drew the damp cloaks about them. His head rested in the curve of her shoulder and as they lay quietly the sun drifted out from behind the wisps of
cloud which moved across the sky and the light rain stopped. There was no sound except for her mare as she cropped the grass. One of the dogs yawned noisily and moved into a patch of sunshine and
Tessa knew that it was time to leave. She must be home before Drew. She would, of course, tell him she had been for a canter up behind the house but he must not know how long she had been gone.

Will drowsed against her and she studied his relaxed face intently, the hard, flat planes of his cheeks, the strong mouth, half-smiling in sleep, the firm chin unblurred by excess flesh though
she knew him to be thirty-five or so. The face of a man who has known hardship and adversity but has overcome it; who has shouldered aside the barrier of class and education and become a man other
men respect, a man other women – other than Tessa Greenwood – could love. Only his eyelashes seemed out of place in his man’s face for they were long, silky and fine, like those
of a sleeping child, giving him an air of defencelessness which was not apparent when he was awake, and which moved her heart to anguished love. His short, straight hair lay spikily on his forehead
and she brushed it back with loving fingers. His smile deepened as she dropped light kisses on the corner of his mouth, on his eyes until they opened, and he made love to her again, slowly, softly,
gently, without urgency and time simply stopped for her as she fell into the rapture again.

They dressed hastily. She was aware that she must get home before Drew, that it was probably already too late; he was conscious of her anxiety and resented it. She caught his rancour but did not
dare to stop and allay it. How could she? It would always be like this and they must both accept it. Don’t let him be hurt, her heart begged over and over again, don’t let him be hurt
too
much. Don’t let me wound him again as I did the last time. But already she knew the pain was there, the pain of letting her go to another man.

He pulled her roughly to him.

‘Will you . . . ?’

‘What, my darling?’

‘Is it too much to ask that you won’t . . . ?’

She knew what he was trying to ask, trying
not
to ask for it diminished him in his own eyes, but she could make him no promises and he knew it in his heart. She drew his head down to her
shoulder, amazed that this strong man should be so frail.

‘I love you, Will,’ she whispered. ‘No matter what . . . happens between Drew and me, you are the one I love.’ She could promise him no more than that.

She thanked God that Drew’s horse was not in the stable. Though it probably meant that he would come home the worse for drink, that his earlier solicitude for her had been forgotten,
indeed that she had been forgotten, at least she would be saved the complication of explaining where she had been for so long. It was almost six and the intervening hours with Will had drifted by
without her noting their passage. Even Walter, she felt, as he took her mare from her must sense the tension in her, the guilt, she supposed, since she had just committed the sin of adultery. Drew
in his more reasonable state was aware of her every mood, but if he was drunk, whether merry or surly, it would be easier for her to get through that initial encounter. For the first time, she
realised, she was praying that her husband would come home in his cups!

He did, just as the watery sun slid beyond the charcoal grey tops.

‘It was a splendid day, sweetheart, quite splendid. We played cards and sampled the Squire’s claret and then old Johnny rode over and bored us all to distraction waxing lyrical on
the charms of his Alicia. Yes, that’s her name, the future Mrs Johnny Taylor, of Hadden Hall. So we plied him with claret and took several guineas off him . . . well, I did until Nicky had a
run of good luck and ended up the winner by . . . now don’t look at me like that, Tessa darling. A gentleman must pay his gambling debts . . . only 200, sweetheart, and now that the mill is
to be back in business and old Bradley is looking after all our investments, we can well afford it. Then, after we had finished the claret Nicky brought up a bottle of . . .’

His good humour made him mercifully unaware of her own tenseness and gradually it drained away as she realised that her husband had spent such a pleasant day he had completely forgotten her own
reason for not accompanying him.

‘. . . so all in all it should be a splendid weekend. Freddy Piggot is to be there. You remember Freddy, don’t you, darling, and that horse-faced sister of his, who, I suspect, is a
strong candidate for Nicky? His mama is set on seeing him married and if she can arrange it to her own satisfaction poor old Nicky will be saddled . . .’ he shouted with laughter. ‘. .
. did you hear that? Saddled, how very appropriate . . . with Freddy’s wealthy sister . . .’

She listened smilingly, able now to look into his flushed face, to meet his bright and merry eyes. When, after half an hour of lounging by her sitting-room fire, a glass of brandy in his hand
and the decanter close by, since the night had turned decidedly chilly, he said, he dredged up from his bemused mind the memory of the morning and her indisposition, he was almost reduced to tears
in repentance.

‘How could I? Oh, my darling, all these hours you have been alone. What a swine I am, and you with a headache . . . Will you ever forgive me?’

‘I had a ride out . . . to clear it.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m so glad. You’re completely better, really?’ With his contrite head in her lap, her hand smoothing his tumbled curls, she sighed, remembering the wiry
hair she had caressed that afternoon, studying the face of Will Broadbent as he smiled at her from the dancing flames of the fire.