Make Love Not War (21 page)

Four spoons dropped with a clatter into the dessert bowls.

“No! You can’t. Please Andy,” she implored, grabbing his hand. “You’ll get killed.”

“Better a dead hero than a live coward.”

Caroline let out a sob and fled from the table.

“Hell,” Bryce exploded. “Couldn’t you have kept your mouth shut for a while longer? She was enjoying her food.”

“Where else could I tell her? I only found out last night.”

“Go after her son. She’s upset,” his father urged. “You should comfort her.”

“Yes, go after her. You’re her husband,” Andy put it.

“Oh great.” Bryce’s lip curled. “You surely don’t expect me to go into the ladies’ powder room.”

“You could wait for her near the entrance,” Andy retorted.

“And get arrested for being some kind of pervert? You wait for her, if you want to run the risk.” He gulped down his champagne.

“Go and check on her, Iris. She’s in shock, she might have collapsed,” Bryce heard his father say.

Collapsed? He hadn’t thought of that. “For God’s sake, Mother, go and check on her. Pregnant women faint, don’t they?” He turned worried eyes on his father.

“Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t know. Your mother has never fainted in her entire life, have you dear?”

“For heaven’s sake,” his mother said frigidly. “I’ll go. Then we are leaving. This farcical display has gone on for long enough. I’ll never be able to hold my head up again, never, I tell you.” She glared at Andy.

“Don’t look at me. And don’t blame Caroline, either.” He stabbed his finger at Bryce. “It’s your son’s fault.”

“Ah, she’s coming,” his father said.

“You okay, Caro? I’m sorry for blurting it out like that.” Andy put his arm around her shoulder.

That’s my role, Bryce thought furiously. I’m the one who should be comforting her. He couldn’t help noticing how pale and stricken she looked.

“I suggest we go,” he said, getting up and removing Andy’s arm from Caroline. He didn’t know why he had such a strong desire to knock it off, but he restrained himself.

“I’ll get the bill,” Bryce said, watching his father link one of his arms through Caroline’s and the other through his mother’s before heading towards the door.

“I will see you before you go back, won’t I?” Caroline asked Andy in a fear-filled voice as they prepared to leave.

“No. I’m being picked up at five o’clock in the morning.” He grinned, and Bryce wondered how he could act so cheerful when he was marching off to war.

“I’ll give you a ring in a couple of days. Give me your home phone number, Harrington.”

Andy moved away, and Bryce followed him.

“Here.” Bryce pulled out a business card, wrote his private number on it and handed it to Andy.

“Thanks. I won’t be back before I go. All leave is cancelled.”

“I had a feeling it might be.”

“The army is worried about anti-war protesters stirring up trouble,” Andy said.

“Understandable. Ranting lunatics, most of them.”

“I don’t want to upset Caroline again, but if I haven’t rung by Wednesday, it means I’ve either gone or can’t get to a phone.”

“All right, good luck.”

“Who needs luck? I’ll probably spend my tour of duty at our base camp in Nui Dat.”

Bryce dropped his parents off first.

“Good luck, Andrew.” Alexander shook his hand. “You give those Viet Cong the hiding they deserve,” he said fiercely. “Show them what the Aussie soldier is made of.”

“Yes, good luck, Andrew.” Bryce watched his mother bestow a benevolent smile on him. A young soldier going off to war certainly tugged at the heartstrings. His mother would get plenty of mileage out of that at her committee meetings, he thought cynically. Like a vampire let loose in a blood bank, she’d suck out every drop.

“Bring Caroline over one day soon. I’ll search out my old school photos. Sure to be some of her father.” Alexander leaned through the open window and kissed Caroline’s cheek.

“Thank you, I’d like that. I haven’t got any pictures of Dad.”

They drove off and were soon pulling up outside Caroline’s apartment. Bryce watched as Caroline kissed Andy goodbye.

“Take care, Sis.” He ruffled her hair and gave her a hug. “Look after her, Harrington, and make sure you treat her decently.”

“I will.” Bryce got out of the car and shook Andy’s hand. “Good luck. If you need anything, just let me know.”

They drove along in silence. Bryce was morose, brooding, and Caroline felt sad and frightened. He had seemed so angry during the ceremony, even if he did thaw out over dinner. He obviously regretted his decision to marry her. Maybe he would want a divorce after a couple of months. She had to stop this incessant weeping, but it was hard, knowing that your husband had only married you because he felt duty-bound to do so, and your brother was marching off to war.

Chapter Fifteen

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time they arrived at his apartment. Bryce parked the car and they alighted. Caroline stood without speaking while he locked the doors. He was always security conscious. With his hand under her arm,
he escorted her to the elevator, then down the hall when they reached his floor.

At the door of his apartment, she faltered.

“Come on.”  He flung the door open. Probably remembering the last time she stayed here. Who isn’t? He scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them. He lowered her to the ground, watching as she stood there, uncertainty written all over her face.

“Come on, for heaven’s sake. This is your home now. Stop acting like a frightened rabbit.”

“I think mouse was the word you once used to describe me.”

Hell, she remembered that? “Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll make you one, if you like.”

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” she asked bleakly. “I’ll have to earn my keep somehow.”

Her lips trembled, and he knew he should comfort her but couldn’t bring himself to do it. I’ve done the right thing. I’ve married her. What more did she expect? He was acting like a self-righteous pig, but he resented being maneuvered into doing something he didn’t want to do.

“I’m tired. I might go straight to bed.”

Was she dropping hints? No, of course not, she looked exhausted, and so sad it smote his heart.

“Do that. Why don’t you have a bath or a shower?” He tried to sound kind rather than autocratic.

“Could I? I mean, have a bath in that swimming pool in the bathroom?”

“Why not? It will relax you.”

“Thanks. It’s been a trying day.” 

God, what an understatement. He gritted his teeth so the words wouldn’t spill out of his mouth.

Caroline traipsed towards the bedroom and Bryce followed.

“I think I might change my clothes, too,” he said. “I’ve just about cooked all afternoon. I feel like a trussed-up Christmas turkey.”

“If you want a shower, you can use the bathroom first,” she offered tentatively. Did he expect to use the bathroom at the same time as her? He was her husband now and had the right, if he wanted to exercise it.

He must have read her mind. “You have your bath, I won’t disturb you. I’ll have a shower later.”

She followed him into the bedroom, where he opened the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

There was special heating inside his wardrobe to keep the creases out of the clothes, she noticed as she stood beside him.

“I’ve moved some of my gear out so you can have the top three drawers.”

“Thanks for hanging my clothes up, but I could have done it.”

He drew in a shocked breath. “I didn’t unpack your clothes. I got my housekeeper to do it. They would have ended up in a jumbled heap if it was left to me.”

“I’ll try and make you a good wife, just tell me what you expect.”

“I don’t expect anything. You can go your way, I’ll go mine, and we’ll get along quite well.”

He stripped off his coat then his shirt. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from his tanned, muscular chest. Once she had buried her face in that mat of hair she thought sadly, wondering whether she would ever do so again. What if he took up with his other women? The thought sickened her.

After unbuckling his belt, he started unzipping his trousers.

“We’re married now, so you can look if you like, Miss Prim, or rather, Mrs. Prim.” He laughed at her embarrassment. “You can turn around now. I’m decently covered.” She couldn’t decide whether he was teasing her or not.

“Sort out what you need for bed, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a while.” He sauntered off.

She waited until he’d left the room before going to one of the drawers and taking out a neatly folded negligee set. A calf-length black silk nightgown had slits half way up either side. The top was of lacy net and plunged to a deep V between her breasts.

Why had she let Kerry talk her into buying such a vampish thing? The other part of the set was in the same silky material but only had lace trimming around the edges.

Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the taps and started to fill the bath. This bathroom was the last word in luxury. If only Bryce loved her and Andy wasn’t going to Vietnam, she would be the happiest person in the world.

She picked up a bottle of rose-scented bath salts. It wouldn’t belong to Bryce. One of his many lady friends? She wanted to chuck it in the garbage. On closer inspection, and to her great relief, the inside seal was unbroken. The housekeeper must have bought it.

What would she do about the housekeeper? If I don’t go out to work, I’ll need something to fill in my time. Maybe they could compromise. She could do some of the work and let the housekeeper do the heavier tasks.

She relaxed in the water, closed her eyes and let the warmth flow over her. Such luxury! She could have stayed there for hours.

“Hey, are you all right?” Hard knuckles rapped against the door. “What on earth are you doing in there? I thought you must have drowned.”

“Sorry! It felt so relaxing, I forgot the time.”

“The kettle has boiled about a dozen times.”

Reluctantly she climbed out of the bath, patting herself dry on a huge fluffy towel. She slipped into the nightdress and matching robe and, after giving her hair a quick brush, padded out to the kitchen.

Bryce lounged at the island bar flipping the pages of a sporting magazine.

“There’s your tea.” He pointed to a bone china cup and saucer. “Do you want something to eat?  There are probably biscuits around somewhere.”

“No thanks, just the tea.”

His gaze wandered from her feet to her throat, until it finally rested on her breasts. Could he see the shadowy outline of her nipples? She felt them tighten. His eyes blazed and a pulse convulsed in his jaw.

“Your mother doesn’t like me, thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

“My mother is a first-class snob. You wouldn’t appeal to her because your name doesn’t appear in the social columns.” He gave a careless shrug.  “Of course, you could always join her chicken and champagne lunches, maybe help out at some fundraiser or other, and then you’d be in the clique with a vengeance.”

“I don’t happen to like those kinds of things, so don’t expect me to attend them.”

He laughed. “You’re priceless. I don’t expect you to do anything you don’t want to do, and believe me.” He grimaced dramatically. “That would be the last kind of function I’d ask you to attend.”

When they had finished their drinks, she took the cups and was about to rinse them.

“Put them in the dishwasher. Mrs. Evans, my housekeeper, waits until the machine is full before turning it on.”

“Oh?” She felt so inept. It would take ages for her to adjust to being the wife of a rich man, if she ever did. You’re not destined for great things, Caroline, not like your brother, her mother used to say. You’re just ordinary. She could never understand why her mother had chosen to denigrate her all the time. Or why she burnt every picture of their father. She had refused to talk about him, as if she never wanted to admit that he ever existed.

“I think I might go to bed now.”

“You do that. I want to finish reading this.” He waved a car magazine in front of her.

She dawdled towards the bedroom. What else could she do?

Caroline was upset. He saw the hurt in her eyes. She needed comfort, but he felt so inadequate. As he watched her walk slowly away, a dispirited droop to her shoulders, he had a strange, almost overwhelming desire to call her back, but he didn’t.

I’ve married her, haven’t I? He tried to excuse his boorish behavior. I’m behaving like a pig. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He’d hurt her on purpose. He flung the magazine down. Hadn’t read a bloody word, anyway. Stalking into the sitting room, he switched on the television.

He puffed moodily on a cigarette but after only a few puffs stubbed it out in the ashtray. A second-rate western appeared on the screen. When he could stand it no longer, he turned the dial, only to be confronted by some torrid love scene. That he could certainly do without. Sporting repeats on another channel did nothing for him. In the end he turned it off in disgust.