Comparative Strangers (10 page)

Nevertheless, she could not deny that the intimate proximity of their bodies, not to mention the lingering sensuousness of his kiss, was having an inevitable effect on her senses. Her entire body seemed to be tingling, coming to life, no matter how much mental resistance she could summon up, and she was shocked by her own reaction.

When he’d made her put her arms round him on the dance-floor earlier, her fingers had accidentally brushed the hair at the nape of his neck, and the contact with its crisp thickness had shocked her like an electric current. Now, she knew an impulse to touch his hair again, to lift her hands to his head, and hold him, and the strength of this response alarmed her.

Even as she tensed against it, Malory’s own hand moved from its gentle stroking of her throat, down the bare curve of her shoulder and arm to her waist. His fingers splayed across her ribcage, moving in small rhythmic circles on the golden silk which veiled her skin.

He lifted his head, and looked down into her eyes. ‘Was that so terrifying?’ he whispered with faint mockery.

She was lost for an answer. On the face of it, she wasn’t threatened at all. Even the way he was touching her now was perfectly circumspect, his hand remaining at a discreet, if narrow, distance from the curve of her breast.

At the same time, she was beginning to realise that those gentle circling movements had an eroticism all their own, because they pulled delicately at the silken fabric which covered her breasts, setting up a sweet and subtle friction against the sensitive peaks.

Suddenly, it was becoming difficult to breathe. A languour had invaded her limbs, and there was an odd drumming in her ears, as if she’d tuned in to the inward pulse of her own blood. She could feel her nipples hardening involuntarily against the thin bodice.

She wanted to say, ‘Don’t’ but no words would come. Not even when she felt Malory’s other hand lightly stroking her stockinged leg from ankle to knee, brushing aside the myriad pleats of the culotte skirt as he did so.

As his head bent towards her again, she yielded weakly, her lips parting in anticipation and a shamed need. This time, when he kissed her, there would be no barrier to any of the intimacies he sought.

But instead, Amanda felt the swift brush of his lips on her forehead, before he lifted her briskly off his knee on to the cushions she’d occupied previously.

He said pleasantly, ‘I think it’s time I left,’ and got to his feet, straightening his tie, and raking a hand through his hair.

Amanda was suddenly, horribly aware that she was sprawled there, gaping at him, and jack-knifed into a sitting position.

He added lightly, ‘You show your gratitude quite delightfully.’

Before she could say or do anything, he picked up his coat, walked to the door, and went out, closing it quietly behind him. A moment later, she heard the front door shut, too.

She sat where she was, staring after him, telling herself she would wake soon and find the entire events of the past half-hour a preposterous dream.

And then she caught sight of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, and that galvanised her into action. If her mother woke now, and found she was still downstairs, she would be bound to come down, and Amanda was in no state to face any kind of inquisition. As she got to her feet, she found her legs were trembling so much they would hardly support her.

She moved the guard in front of the fire, and as she turned she caught a glimpse of herself in the ornamental antique mirror which ran along the wall above the sofa. In spite of herself, a little cry escaped her.

She’d thought Malory’s last remark had referred to the fact that he’d enjoyed kissing her. But now she looked at herself, and saw what he had seen— the flush of excitement along her cheekbones, the eyes drowsy with awakened desire, the reddened, parted lips and, most damning of all evidence, the erect and swollen nipples clearly outlined under the thin dress.

And his comment took on a new and shaming significance.

Amanda lifted her hands and pressed them to her burning face.

How could I? she wept inwardly. Oh, God, how could I?

Amanda stayed in bed until late the following morning, remaining hunched in a pretence of sleep even when she heard her mother enter with a cup of tea.

She could still find no adequate explanation for her conduct. It wasn’t even as if she fancied—horrible word!—Malory. He wasn’t her type, and anyway she was still hopelessly, wretchedly in love with Nigel. She sighed, burying her face in the pillow. She despised herself for that as well. After all, she now had no illusions left about him. He’d seen to that himself.

But neither the knowledge of that, nor the passage of time, could alleviate the hurt inside her, or that swift, stomach-churning, heart-leaping stab of excitement and yearning which assailed her whenever she thought of him. And she thought of him more often than she wanted to.

Which made her behaviour in Malory’s arms all the more inexplicable. It wasn’t what he’d done, either. It was what she’d found herself wanting him to do that made her writhe with embarrassment in the cold light of day. And the crowning humiliation was that it had been Malory himself who’d called the halt. Which proved, apart from anything else, that he’d been by no means as carried away as she was.

Amanda hit the pillow a blow with her clenched fist, and decided she had better get dressed.

She found Mrs Conroy sitting in the kitchen, listening to Radio Four and cleaning some silver— one of th$ few household tasks she did not allocate to her daily.

‘So there you are, dear.’ Her mother’s voice sounded awkward and rather strained. ‘Was it a nice party?’

‘Very nice.’ Just don’t ask me about its aftermath, thought Amanda frantically.

‘Are you going out today?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

Mrs Conroy’s face brightened. That’s nice,‘ she said. ’It’s so long since you’ve been down here and we’ve had the chance to talk—really talk.‘

Amanda groaned inwardly. If a Trappist convent had beckoned at that moment, she would have joined it gladly.

‘We’re having sole
Veronique
for lunch,’ Mrs Conroy went on, clearly warming to the idea of the day’s tête-à-tête. ‘Why don’t we make it a real celand dress up a little?’ She gave Amanda’s jeans and sweater a charmingly disparaging glance. ‘Wouldn’t that be fun?’

‘Perhaps I’ll change later,’ Amanda said. ‘I might spend an hour in the garden.’

‘Oh, not today, surely. It’s certain to rain,’ Mrs Conroy gave her an appealing look. ‘Why don’t you wear that lovely green dress I bought you, and your pearl ear-rings? I’m so tired of seeing you in those scruffy jeans.’

Amanda sighed. ‘And I’m so tired of wearing smart clothes in London,’ she returned ruefully. ‘Can’t I celebrate and be relaxed at the same time?’

‘Amanda, dear—to please me?’

Amanda was not an admirer of her mother’s little-girl mood, but it was certainly preferable to the martyred silences of recent times, so she stifled a sigh and got to her feet. ‘All right,’ she said resignedly. ‘I’ll put on a dress.’

‘And some make-up?’

‘Be content with the dress,’ Amanda retorted as she went back into the hall.

She saw the drawing-room door standing open, and a thought struck her. Wasn’t there a Concise Oxford Dictionary in the small bookcase near the window?

Indeed there was, but it brought her no particular comfort. Some of the meanings attributed to ‘dalliance’ were ‘to amuse oneself‘ and ’to coquet with temptation‘.

His and her definitions, Amanda thought, grinding her teeth before ramming the inoffensive book back on the shelf. It was at that moment that she heard the telephone ring. She got to the door, but her mother had already forestalled her, and was listening intently to whatever the caller had to say.

Amanda heard her say, ‘Yes—in about an hour.’ Then, ‘Of course I haven’t said anything. Goodbye, dear.’

She was standing by the drawing-room window, staring out into the garden, when Mrs Conroy came into the room to restore some of the newly bursilver to its cabinet.

Her mother gave a little shriek. ‘Good heavens, girl. I thought you’d gone up to change.’

‘Oh, there’s no hurry.’ Amanda watched her fuss with the cabinet door, then said quietly, ‘Mother— who was on the phone?’

Her mother fumbled the piece she was holding. ‘Oh—just a message about the Parish Council meeting.’

‘But that isn’t for another fortnight, surely?’

‘They’re—trying to bring it forward.’ Mrs Conroy was a poor liar, and she sounded flustered. ‘Now, I must see to lunch.’

‘I don’t think I’m very hungry, after all. Perhaps I’ll go for a drive.’

‘No!’ It was a squeal of anguish. ‘You can’t go out. You said you wouldn’t.’

‘I—suddenly feel like some fresh air.’ Amanda looked steadily at her mother. ‘And I think you know why. Tell me, who was really on the phone? It was Nigel, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Conroy admitted wretchedly. ‘It was. He rang yesterday—he’d found out somehow that you were coming down this weekend. He begged me to ask him here—to give him a last chance to win you back. He sounded so humble—so unhappy, Amanda, I couldn’t bear it. No matter what the problem—however foolish you’ve been over his brother—I’m sure it can all be put right, if you just give Nigel a chance.’

’And you really won’t believe that it’s impossible.‘ Amanda gave a small, unhappy laugh. ’I’m sorry to spoil your plans, Mother, but I can’t stay here under the circumstances.‘

Mrs Conroy followed her, bleating, up the stairs. ‘But what am I to tell him? What am I to say? He’s expecting to see you—to find you here.’

’Tell him whatever seems best.‘ Amanda had hardly unpacked a thing from her case. It was as if she’d known, she thought… She pushed down the lid, and clicked the locks. ’But don’t be surif he loses his temper‘

‘Where are you going?’

Amanda shrugged. ‘Back to London, I suppose. What does it matter, anyway?’ She saw her mother was crying, and planted a brief kiss on her cheek. ‘Goodbye—I’ll be in touch.’

But once she was in the car and on her way, she saw suddenly that her destination mattered very much indeed. If she went tamely back to the flat, then it would be the simplest thing in the world for Nigel to follow her there. And he would undeniably have Maggie and Fiona as allies, she realised with dismay.

Almost before she realised what she was doing, she had turned the car towards Aylesford Green. She didn’t even know if Malory would be there, but perhaps she could persuade Mrs Priddy to let her take temporary refuge there while she considered her next move.

This time, as she pushed open the big white gates and walked up the drive, there was a welcoming bark and Harvey bounced to meet her, his tail wagging joyously. A second later, Malory followed him round the corner of the house.

When he saw her, he halted, his brows lifted enquiringly. ‘Amanda? This is an unexpected pleasure’

‘No, it isn’t—not really.’ She thrust her hands in the pockets of her coat to conceal the fact they were trembling. ‘I—I had nowhere else to go, that’s all.’

There was a silence, then he said equably, ‘Fair enough. I’m glad you came here rather than the nearest pond.’