Whispers of Love (15 page)

Looking demure in a new navy cardigan suit and a matching cloche hat she had bought specially for the occasion because she thought everything in her wardrobe was far too bright and flamboyant, Christabel felt very nervous as they took their seats.

Alex had warned her that the press was bound to be there taking photographs, so she had made sure that George was wearing a new white shirt and a well-pressed, dark grey suit. Standing in the dock he looked as cool as a cucumber as he delivered his carefully prepared speech in a strong, clear voice.

Despite his eloquence, or possibly because he was far too outspoken and because he was an actor, the judge decided he wanted to make an example of his misconduct and George was sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment.

His punishment was far more severe than the sentences served on any of the others who had been charged with him and Christabel felt numb with disbelief.

She calculated that even with time off for good behaviour it would be the following autumn at the earliest before he was free again. Where on earth did that leave her, she wondered? Even if George agreed to her staying on in his flat while he was in prison, would she be able to afford to remain there all on her own? Living in London was so terribly expensive; she would most certainly have to try and find a job.

Apart from that, she though worriedly, what would happen when George's parents discovered that he'd been sent to prison? They might decide to either sell the flat or rent it out, and she shuddered to think what would happen if they discovered she'd been living there with George.

She decided that there was only one person who would understand the position she was now in and who could advise her about what was the best thing to do, and that was Alex Taylor. But, as she turned to speak to him and saw the hard inscrutable look on his face, she wondered just how much she could count on his help.

Christabel would never forget the night she had arrived at Alex's Mayfair flat after George had been sent to prison. He'd asked no questions, simply invited her in as if there was nothing at all unusual about her calling on him so late in the evening. He had taken her coat, led her into his massive lounge, sat her down on the comfortable sofa, and then poured her a brandy.

He had occupied an armchair opposite her, silently nursing his own drink, waiting until she'd drained her glass before speaking.

‘Are you all right now? Do you want to tell me what's happened?'

He listened in silence, his eyes gave nothing away. When she had finished telling him that George had been sent to prison, he refilled her glass.

‘Drink this. Then try and get some sleep.' He patted her hand consolingly. ‘We'll talk again in the morning. Things will look different then, I promise you.'

He took her through to the bedroom, handed her a navy silk pyjama jacket, and then left her. The room was enormous, and so too was the bed. She undressed and slipped in between the cool
silk sheets and waited. She felt slightly muzzy with all the brandy she'd been drinking and was asleep almost at once. When she woke, daylight was already showing behind the curtains.

She groped her way to the bedroom door and opened it. The lounge was in darkness. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness she could make out the shapes of the furniture. Alex was sound asleep lying on the sofa and covered over with a blanket.

She crept back into the warm, comfortable bed feeling guilty that he'd had to spend the night on the sofa.

She lay there dozing and turning over in her mind her feelings for Alex. She found it impossible to understand why he meant so much to her. She sometimes wondered whether it was because, with his dark hair and dark, hypnotic eyes, he reminded her of her brother Lewis. In her heart she knew this wasn't the case. Lewis had vivid blue eyes, like her own, and Alex's hair was not just dark, it was jet black.

If you analysed Alex's appearance, Christabel thought dispassionately, you would see that his features had a certain Latin quality. His skin was so tanned and smooth that his clean-shaven cheeks gleamed. His dark eyes had a cold, watchful brilliance that screened his thoughts. She had never known anyone quite like him.

Even his shoulders seemed to be exceptionally wide. George, with his shock of fair hair, was so different. Just by looking into his eyes,
because he was so transparent, she could usually tell exactly what he was thinking.

With Alex there was always uncertainty. Although he seemed to be interested in her, she was never entirely sure what his feelings for her were.

He didn't try to please her, or attract her attention. There were no gifts or bouquets of flowers. Always she was the one who was anxious to please him, to fall in with his plans, whatever they were. In some ways, she knew she was behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl.

She re-examined in minute detail every moment she'd been in his company from the time they'd met. There had been a great many memorable hours spent together while George was in the theatre. There had been walks in London, drives out into the countryside and boat trips on the river. It had been more than mere friendship; it had been like a courtship. A very proper courtship conducted by a man who seemed serious about his intentions.

She was suddenly roused to find Alex standing at the bedside holding a cup of tea for her. She felt a moment's unease because she hadn't heard him come into the room and wondered how long he had been watching her.

‘I have to go out,' he told her in clipped tones. ‘When you are dressed, why don't you go and collect all your belongings?'

‘You mean I can stay here while George is in prison?' she asked in surprise.

‘Don't you want to?'

‘Yes – that would be wonderful. Only you can't sleep on the sofa.' She looked up quickly and caught a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes before he masked it under lowered lids.

‘I don't intend to do so. You fetch your things. We'll sort out the sleeping details later,' he told her, looking at his gold Rolex. ‘I must go, or I shall be late for the theatre.'

‘The theatre?' She looked dumbfounded.

‘I'm not only an agent, representing George and some other actors, but I'm also a producer. I'm in charge of the company putting on the play that George had a part in.'

By the time Alex returned later in the day, Christabel had collected all her clothes and other possessions from George's flat. She had no idea where to put them, so they were piled up in one corner of the otherwise immaculate living room.

She saw him frowning at the sight of them as he crossed to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and poured them both a glassful. He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him.

‘We must have a talk,' he said tersely. ‘I need to know how you come to know George.'

‘We met in Switzerland. I was working as a nurse-companion to his sister Fiona when she was recuperating from tuberculosis,' she said briefly.

‘I see.' His lips curled sardonically. ‘And what happened to your patient?'

She was silent for a moment, staring down at her hands which she held tightly clasped in her lap.

‘Her parents came and decided to take her home.'

‘And left you behind in St Moritz?'

‘They wanted to take her to see a new specialist in London. For personal reasons I didn't want to return to England right away,' she said stiffly.

‘You mean you decided to stay behind with George?' The mockery in his voice made colour flare in her cheeks.

‘George was my patient's brother. He was very kind to me and always the perfect gentleman,' she defended.

‘Aah! His sort usually are,' he commented dryly.

‘His sort?' She frowned. ‘What exactly do you mean?'

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Are you telling me you don't know about George and his sort?'

She shook her head.

‘He's never tried to make love to you all the time you've lived with him?'

‘Of course not. We're good friends and he's always been the perfect gentleman.'

‘That's because he doesn't care for women; not in the way most men do,' Alex told her dryly.

Christabel felt the colour flooding her cheeks.
She had never thought about it before, and what about the servant girls Fiona had mentioned? She'd never quite believed that. In a way she'd been grateful that there was only camaraderie between her and George because she still hadn't put Philip out of her heart.

‘You don't think that any red-blooded man could share his flat but not his bed with someone as attractive as you?' Alex questioned.

That night, Alex didn't sleep on the sofa.

 

Alex was an experienced lover. When, shaking with nerves, Christabel told him she'd only ever made love once and that had been with Philip before he'd left on his fatal voyage, he smiled and told her not to worry.

He taught her so much, showed her that loving could be an art as well as a physical release. He was such an exciting lover that when she was in his arms she felt as if she was being transported to another world and no two journeys were ever the same.

Sometimes he was gentle, his strong, sensitive fingers tuning her body to its ultimate pitch. The quick-breathing eagerness of his mouth, as he explored every inch of her skin with the utmost delicacy, carried her to heady and exhilarating peaks of excitement.

At other times he could be harsh, demanding and almost brutal; intent on his own satisfaction and oblivious of whether he hurt her or not. Even these moments brought a wild ecstasy
to her senses until she cried out for release, with a rhythm and ferocity that matched his own.

Her feelings for him were so intense that she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Yet, for all his momentary fervour and passion, he was cold. As the months passed she was concerned because she felt she had no hold over him at all except their lovemaking. It worried her. She didn't want this to be a casual relationship; she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Alex Taylor. Above all, she wanted marriage.

As the time approached for George to be released from prison she decided to put Alex's feelings for her to the test so she suggested they should visit Liverpool so that he could meet her mother and brother. To her delight, he agreed and said they would drive up there in his new Alvis motor car.

‘Does your family know that we've been living together?' he asked as they left London behind them and headed North.

‘No, of course not. Mother would be horrified. She thinks I am still in Switzerland nursing.'

They were both silent, lost in their separate thoughts as they covered the miles between London and Liverpool. Even when they stopped to refuel the car and took a break for refreshments, Alex had very little to say.

It was early evening when they finally reached Liverpool and she directed him to her home. Christabel felt a sense of unease as she
introduced Alex to her mother who seemed to be looking much frailer than she remembered. Her hair was now quite white, her round face showed a network of fine lines under her eyes.

‘Would you and your friend like to freshen up before we sit down to a meal, Christabel?' she enquired after asking Alex if they'd had a good journey.

‘I've put your friend in Lewis's old room, so can you show him where it is? Your room is exactly as you left it,' she added with a faint smile. ‘This time there has been no one using it while you've been away,' she assured her.

It felt good to be home. Christabel lingered in her bedroom, touching the familiar furniture, looking at the pictures and ornaments that she'd treasured as she was growing up.

She flung wide the window and leaned out, smelling the cold tang of the Mersey. The glow from rows of street lights patterned her view reminding her that the nights were drawing in and that summer was almost over.

Like my life
, she thought, as she combed her hair and renewed her lipstick.
I've reached my thirties, my spring days are over. I'm becoming an old maid
. She smiled confidently at her reflection. She would marry soon. She was sure that Alex was on the point of proposing, possibly either tonight or tomorrow.

She found that Alex was already downstairs and in the drawing room with Lilian and
Marlene. She paused in the doorway, struck by the contrast they made; her sister and niece both being so petite and fair seemed to make Alex look even darker.

She stood there unnoticed for several moments watching with amusement as Marlene demanded his full attention. Marlene was no longer the chubby toddler Christabel remembered her as but a plump little six-year-old with a halo of fair curls. Because of all the attention she'd had from her mother and grandmother in the intervening years she was now an extremely precocious little chatterbox.

To her surprise, Alex seemed to enjoy Marlene's company and when Lilian said that she and Marlene would take him for a walk the next morning he readily agreed.

‘It will give you the opportunity to have more time with Mother,' Lilian explained to her. ‘I'm sure there are lots of things you want to talk about and you won't get much of a chance when Marlene is around.'

It wasn't what Christabel wanted; she wanted to be with Alex, to be the one to show him familiar landmarks. She was also looking forward to taking him to meet Lewis and Violet and, above all, Kay.

Most of the time she only half listened to what her mother was saying because her own thoughts were distracted by wondering about what Lilian was saying to Alex.

She did, however, become interested when
her mother started telling her about the problems Lilian was having with Dennis.

‘He ill-treats her, you know. Sometimes she has terrible bruises. Mind, he is always very careful and they are always where they don't show, or where, if they do, Lilian can cover them up. Her arms are often black and blue and she says there are marks on her back and other parts of her body that would shock me if she showed them to me.'