Fugitive Wife (21 page)

She cried out once, half in pain and half in surprise at the unfamiliarity of this new and ultimate intimacy, then instinct took over and the mystery disappeared for ever, to be replaced by the certainty of this giving and taking which seemed at once endless and, yet, with her last coherent thought before she was claimed and consumed by pleasure, over much too soon.

‘Much too soon,’ she murmured later, lying in Logan’s arms in the drowsy aftermath of that shattering culmination, and heard him laugh deep in his throat.

‘You’re forgetting.’ He put his lips hungrily to the pulse in her throat, then feathered a long line of kisses down to her breast. ‘We have the whole night ahead of us.’

BRIONY awoke the next morning to a feeling of welbeing which was not immediately dissipated by the realisation that she was alone. She wriggled down into her covering of blankets and let her mind roam back over the preceding night, while her physical being assimilated certain facts, the first of which was that she ached rather pleasantly.

There was a new sensuality in the reminiscent smile which curled round the swolen softness of her mouth, as she remembered the heights and the depths of passion which Logan had taught her.And yet nothing had seemed sufficient to assuage their fierce and mutual need.

She turned her head, listening for sounds of movement in the kitchen, but al was silent. Yet he couldn’t be far away because the fire had been made up and the hearth swept at some time.

She got up, draping a blanket round her body like a toga, and wandered over to the window. It was stil raining, although the wind had dropped, and the unceasing monotonous torrent had transformed the pristine untrodden whiteness of the snow into unappealing slush.

Briony wrinkled her nose and turned away. She dropped her covering blanket on to the tangled covers and stretched luxuriously in the warmth from the fire before reaching for her housecoat. Then she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on to make herself some coffee.

She heard an anxious mewing at the back door, and when she opened it, the bedraggled cat shot past her into the living room. Briony

chuckled. The cat had held aloof, during the snow, occupying’ an empty box in the woodshed. Now the rain had forced it to seek shelter and human companionship again. Cats didn’t mind being cold, but they hated being wet, she thought, as she opened a tin of corned beef and chopped some on to a saucer for it. She carried the saucer through to the living room and set it down on the rug, where the cat was grooming itself.

‘You’l get no better service anywhere,’ she assured it, as it turned surprised green eyes upon her, and she laughed out loud in irrepressible jubilation.

She knelt down and began to fold the sheets and blankets which Logan had brought down the night before.

Tonight, she thought, they would sleep together in the bed upstairs where their marriage should have begun al those months before, and the wheel would come ful circle.

She bent and pressed her lips to the pilow they had shared, then snatched it up, hugging it almost fiercely to her breasts. It’s al right, she told herself. Everything is going to be al right―particularly when she solved the growing mystery of where Logan had got to.

On her way upstairs with the bedding, she paused to glance in at the parlour door. The typewriter stood in the centre of the table with the unfinished page stil held in its rolers, and she could not explain the curious feeling of relief that she experienced on stil seeing it there.

She tried to raly herself, to shake off the slight feeling of depression that was beginning to invade her.

The euphoria of her first waking moments had worn off completely by now.

On an impulse, she went into the bathroom and ran herself a steaming tub. There was some French bath essence belonging to Aunt Hes in the bathroom cupboard and she splashed it generously into the water.

She hoped a long hot soak would cheer her up and help banish some of her apprehensions, but she could not relax. She kept listening for the sound of Logan’s return, and asking herself where he had gone. He must have gone down to the vilage, she reasoned, wondering what state the track was in, probably to try and get hold of some fresh bread and milk. But if Kirkby Scar itself had been cut off, would there have been any deliveries? She sighed in perplexity, submerging herself up to the chin in the warmth of the water.

She was humming a little tune as she went into the bedroom. After some thought she decided against the various pairs of jeans she had been wearing over the past few days, and put on a calf-length russet velvet skirt with a matching shirt top. She brushed her hair until it crackled with electricity and let it hang loose on her shoulders. She puled a little face at the shadows under her eyes, then smiled as she remembered the reason for them.

She hummed again as she ran downstairs and turned into the living room, then paused in astonishment as her eyes took in Logan’s coat, draped across the back of a chair to dry. So he’d come back, then―without a word, She stood, conscious of a sudden chil, and heard the sound of the typewriter coming from the parlour; She turned slowly and went across the passage. The door was closed, and she opened it without knocking and went in.

He as sitting, his head bent, typing furiously, al his attention, al his concentration on the words appearing on the page in front of him.

Briony said his name, and knew that he had heard her because she saw him stiffen slightly, but he did not look up at once, and she stood there in front of him vulnerable and defenceless.

At last he did look at her and his eyes were cool and remote. She waited breathlessly for him to get up and come round the table to her.

Her mouth was dry, and her inside was churning, and only his arms around her would give her the peace and reassurance she wanted.

He said, ‘Good morning. The track to the vilage is just about negotiable, you’l be pleased to hear. I caled at the garage while I was down there and they’re sending someone to have a look at your car.’

Utterly bewildered, she said, 'Thank you. I―I guessed you’d gone to the vilage. Did you get any bread?’

He shook his head. ‘We’l have to make do with what food we have left for the short time remaining.’

‘Short time?’ she echoed, staring at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

Logan shrugged. ‘I think it’s best for us to get out of here while the going’s good.’ he said. ‘In the vilage, they’re talking about flooding further down the valey already. We don’t want the weather to trap us here again.’

She tried to smile. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

‘I think you would in time. Anyway, the question doesn’t arise. I’ve booked myself a room at the Black Bul for tonight.’

‘Don’t you mean you’ve booked us a room?’

‘If I’d meant that.’ he said wearily, ‘I’d have said it. I’ve booked myself a room. You’l be long gone by tonight.’ She saw his mouth tighten. ‘I’ve telephoned your father. He’s coming for you.’

There was a silence, then Briony said helplessly, ‘I don’t believe you. Why should you … ? I thought―last night ...’

‘Last night was last night,’ he said. ‘It is now the cold light of day, and time we started seeing things in their right perspective.’ His voice was cool, almost laconic.

She took a step forward. ‘You’re joking―you must be! Please don’t tease me, Logan, it’s not kind.’

‘I’m quite serious.’ he said. ‘And I’m being much kinder than you think. Nothing has realy changed, you know. We’re stil the same

people. Al we’ve realy learned is how to please each other in bed.’

‘That isn’t al.’ she said past the hard lump in her throat. ‘Or it isn’t for me at least. I love you, Logan.’

He said quietly, ‘Briony, you’re just making this harder on both of us. What you’re realy saying is that you like making love with me. But I’m the only lover you’ve ever had, so how can you know that you won’t enjoy what we had together just as much or more with someone

else ? ’

‘I don’t want anyone else.’ she said tonelessly.

'Perhaps not at this moment.’ There was no amusement his faint smile. ‘I wouldn’t feel very flattered if you did. But you have a life to make for yourself, and some day soon there’l be another man in that life.’ He paused. ‘ This man you’re practicaly engaged to―this

Christopher―what about him?’

‘He doesn’t mean a thing to me.’ She was practicaly wringing her hands. ‘I―I only told you he did because I was frightened of you, of how you could make me feel.’

‘Wel, you clearly mean a great deal to him.’ Logan said drily. ‘He's on his way here too, with your father.’

‘Oh, no!’ Briony was aghast. ‘I don’t want him here. I don t want either of them.’ She stared at him. ‘Why did you do this?’

‘Because it occurred to me that your father would probably be worried out of his mind about you. You are his only child, after al, and I must give him credit for possessing some normal feelings.’

‘You told him that we’d been here―together?’

‘I didn't tel him about last night, if that’s what you mean. I merely said that we’d both turned up here and been cut off by the snow ever since.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Let’s just say his reaction was―predictable.’ Logan gave a slight shrug. ‘Which is one of the reasons I took the room at the Black Bul.’

‘Scared, Logan?’ she asked evenly. A bright spot of colour burned in each of her pale cheeks.

‘No.’ His mouth twisted contemptuously. ‘I merely thought it would be less hassle for you if I was out of the way.’

‘Oh, you’re al consideration.’ She wanted to scream out loud, and throw herself down and drum her heels, but instead she had to stand there in front of the table like an unsuccessful candidate at an interview and listen to him calmly and uncaringly smashing every dream she possessed. ‘You were gone quite a long time. Was―was my father the only person you telephoned?’

‘No. Does it matter?’

‘It could explain a good deal,’ she said, and laughed rather wildly. ‘You were so quick to reassure me that there would be other men in my life, that it almost never occurred to me that the reverse wil also be true. That there’l be other women in yours.’ She paused. ‘Wel? I notice that you don’t deny it.’

‘If ever I decide to become a monk.’ he said softly, ‘I’l enter a monastery.’

She said in a voice she didn’t recognise, ‘Did you phone Karen Welesley?’

Logan’s head lifted sharply and he looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from a far distance. He

said, ‘Yes.’

The house seemed empty and weird after he had gone. Briony sat listlessly by the living room fire and listened to the sound of the rain, which was faling more heavily than ever. The view from every window was the same― a grey sodden morass, interspersed with patches

of melting snow, reflecting the dul hue of the heavy sky.

She felt drained and empty and cold to the bone. It was impossible to believe that only a few hours before she and Logan had been here together on that makeshift bed in front of the fire. Incredible to remember the passion and the laughter and the tenderness, and the swift, fierce ascent to passion again. Her throat closed at the memory of it.

She had given Logan everything she had to give. She had believed in her naivety that generosity would make up for her lack of experience, and she had been totaly generous, her surrender complete. Yet it had not been enough. She had seen it as the beginning of a real

relationship. She had thought he felt the same. She’d been so sure …

She gave a long, quivering sigh. Now she was sure of nothing, least of al of her own feelings. Emotionaly, she felt bruised, as she had done when she received the report of his death. Perhaps the bruises would fade in time, or at least not hurt quite as much.

Perhaps there would even come a time when she would be able to think of him with Karen Welesley and not know the pain which was

tearing her apart at that moment.

She couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t alow herself to think because it was very important that she be calm and self-controled when her father and Christopher arrived. For her pride’s sake, she had to have her dignity intact, and not let them find her tear-stained and red-eyed.

She would folow the lead Logan had already given, she thought duly, and let them think that they had been reluctant sharers of the same roof and nothing more.

Suddenly during the course of the long afternoon she remembered her wedding ring again, and her abortive attempt to retrieve it from beneath the dresser. This time she would find it, she vowed. At least she would have something of Logan to remember.

She got the torch, and fetched a broom from the kitchen and lay ful length on the floor. But al she unearthed with her franticaly prodding broom handle was dust and a few disgruntled spiders. The ring seemed to have vanished completely, probably down some unseen crack in the floor, she thought despondently as she got slowly to her feet. Even the smalest memento of her brief and transitory happiness was to be denied her, it seemed.

She had resumed her seat by the fire when she realised that there were people coming up the path. She could hear masculine voices, and knew with a sinking heart that her father had arrived.

He was very angry, she saw as she opened the door in answer to his thunderous knock, but keeping it under control. Christopher standing behind him, his elegant overcoat colar turned up against the al-pervading damp, looked plain miserable.

‘And what is the meaning of this?’ Sir Charles demanded tautly as he went into the living room. ‘Do you realise what you’ve made me

suffer in the past week, you thoughtless, irresponsible child?’

Christopher reached for her hand. ‘Darling, why didn’t you tel us where you were going?’

‘Because I didn’t want you to folow me,’ she said quietly, removing her fingers from his grasp.

‘Isn’t the real reason because you had a rendezvous with that Adair man?’ Sir Charles barked.

‘No,’ she said calmly. ‘My arrival here was as unpleasant a shock to Logan as his was to me. In the circumstances, he was the last person I wanted to see. However,’ her voice wavered slightly, ‘we do seem to have reached an agreement that we do not― agree, and that’s