Sinful Nights (54 page)

Fear, joy, an exhilaration beyond anything she had previously known quivered through her; she felt as though she wanted to get up and dance, to burst out into a song of pleasure, to open her heart to him and tell him about the miracle his touch had somehow achieved. Because to her it was a miracle that for the first time since she was attacked she had felt like a woman.

A great flood of joy filled her. She wanted to reach out and touch him to communicate to him in all the ways there were her sense of release and freedom, but already he was withdrawing from her, his expression shuttered, as he said curtly.

‘ Sorry about that, Claire. I didn’t mean to touch you.’

It was like someone cruelly puncturing a gaily coloured balloon. One moment it was a thing of joy and beauty floating free; the next it was gone. She came
down to earth with his curt words ringing in her head, and she shivered violently, suddenly realizing her own folly.

Jay had married her because she wasn’t a sexual woman, and she must not let herself forget that. He didn’t want the complications of any sort of emotional relationship with her, and for her a relationship in the physical sense would have to contain an element of emotional commitment as well.

A physical relationship? What on earth was she thinking? Her face went white with the shock of the realisation that hit her. She licked her lips nervously, unaware of her state of frozen tension or of the interpretation Jay was putting on her stiff silence.

‘Look, Claire, it won’t happen again. It was a momentary aberration, nothing more.’ He got up and paced the floor tensely. ‘Try and put it out of your mind.’

What was he saying to her? Her confused mind tried to sort out the meaning of the words, and failed.

‘I … I think I ought to go to bed.’

She got up, still trembling wildly, retreating from him when he reached out to help her.

Jay watched her as she fled from the room, and then walked over to the fireplace, to stare moodily out of the darkened window. In front of it the tree glimmered softly in all its finery, but he didn’t see it.

A frustrated bitterness glittered in his eyes as he turned to face his own reflection in the giltwood mirror above the fireplace.

‘Damn!’ he swore savagely, bringing his fist down on to the marble with a force that threatened to crack the bones. ‘Damn … and damn again …’

O
N
C
HRISTMAS MORNING
they were up early, despite the fact that Claire and Jay had attended Midnight Mass the night before.

Both girls had had small stockings filled with little presents left at the bottom of their beds the night before, but Claire had already stipulated that the rest of the presents, which were piled beneath the tree, were not to be opened until after breakfast. She suspected that was the only way of making sure that Heather and Lucy got something inside them.

There had been another fall of snow, and there had been a magical quality to their walk through the village to the pretty Norman church the night before. Jay, in a fit of impulsive extravagance, had insisted on buying a huge red wooden sledge for the girls on Christmas Eve, and that too was now wrapped up beneath the tree alongside the dolls’ pram Heather had asked for, and Lucy’s bike.

Claire had spent almost every evening in December knitting small woolly garments for the golden-haired doll who was to occupy the pram, and against her better judgment both girls were to receive the much desired, and to Claire’s mind, quite revolting pastel-haired plastic ponies they had both ecstatically requested.

Tastes change, she reminded herself, as she heard the squeals of pleasure coming from their room, and no doubt she had pleaded for things that her parents had found equally incomprehensible.

She was still smiling about this when her bedroom door opened, but it wasn’t the girls who came in, it was Jay, a towelling robe belted over his pyjama bottoms,
a cup of tea and some digestive biscuits on the tray he was carrying.

The awkwardness she had anticipated having to cope with after the evening of his return had never materialised. In the morning Jay had been as casually relaxed as he had always been, and she had been too busy to give more than a passing thought to her own reaction to him. In fact she had begun to think she had imagined it, but the way her heart jerked like a stranded fish just because he walked into her room told her better.

‘You’re looking very flushed,’ he commented, completely misreading her vivid blush. ‘Not sickening for a cold, are you? Those boots you were wearing last night …’

The boots in question were old ones, but they were good enough for the snow.

‘I’m fine,’ she told him, watching him put the tray down on her bedside table, before he perched himself on the edge of the bed.

‘Mmm. You were looking very perky when I came in. You were grinning like a Cheshire Cat!’

‘I was thinking about those awful ponies we bought for the girls and wondering if I ever wanted something that appalled my parents.’

‘Well, I know I did,’ confessed Jay. ‘My parents were both members of CND, and one year I asked Father Christmas for a tank and sub-machine gun. It says a lot for their understanding that I got both—I also got twelve months’ worth of lectures from my mother, pointing out the savagery of war.’

He didn’t often talk about his family, possibly because
the subject had never come up, and Claire had not liked to question him.

‘What happened to them?’ she asked now.

‘My mother was killed in a rail accident in France and my father died of a heart attack not long afterwards. I was the only one, and away at university at the time. I missed them, of course, but I think it’s only when one becomes a parent oneself that one realises the true depth of parental love.’

‘Yes. They say, don’t they, that it’s the mark of a successful parent to be able to send out one’s young to enjoy the world without them having to give you a backward glance. The security of a loving background—’

‘Helps to create a child who is healthily selfish in its attitude to its parents. Yes, I know. You’ve done wonders with Heather,’ Jay added quietly. ‘She’s a different child.’

‘She just needed more self-confidence. Heather knows I love her, and because of that …

‘She can love herself …’ He broke off and grimaced as two small bodies came hurtling into the room.

‘Downstairs, the pair of you,’ he told them. ‘We’re going to make breakfast for Mummy this morning.’

They were wearing their new tartan dresses, and Claire felt her throat lock with emotional tears as she saw the matching tartan bows tied in their hair. Both of them wanted to grow their hair, and for school she made them wear it plaited. This morning both of them sported rather drunken bows.

‘Heather put my ribbon in my hair for me,’ announced Lucy cheerfully, darting past Jay to climb on to the bed.

‘And Lucy did mine.’ Heather, not to be outdone, climbed on the other side, still clutching her stocking.

‘Look what Father Christmas brought me …’

‘And me …’

‘Something tells me if I want any breakfast, I’m going to have to make it on my own,’ smiled Jay.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ Claire assured him, shooing both girls off the bed.

‘Mummy, have you got a new dress to wear too?’

She was going to wear the pretty red one she had bought in Bath. The girls’ excitement was infectious, and Claire felt it bubble up inside her as she showered and dressed.

When she got down to the kitchen, Heather and Lucy were happily tucking into bowls of creamy porridge. Jay had made the coffee, and the rich smell of it floated aromatically on the air.

‘Can I leave you in charge while I go up and get dressed?’

‘Don’t be long, will you, Daddy?’ Heather demanded impatiently.

It was impossible to keep the girls at the table after they had finished eating. They had already seen the pile of brightly wrapped presents surrounding the tree, and Jay and Claire exchanged amused looks over their heads as they hurried Jay to finish his toast.

‘You’re looking very festive,’ he murmured to her as they followed the girls to the sitting-room. ‘Red suits you.’

He was wearing a pair of mid-blue trousers that clung to the hard muscles of his thighs. His checked woollen shirt was open at the throat, the softness of the cashmere
sweater he was wearing over it touching Claire’s skin as the girls dashed past them and she was forced to move closer to his side.

If having one child at Christmas time was fun, having two was more than double the pleasure. As she remembered her pathetic attempts to make something special out of Christmas for Lucy when she was a baby, Claire thought wistfully of the delight it would be to be able to watch that wide-eyed joy and bewilderment now, in these warm protected surroundings.

Lucy’s first Christmas had been in the cold damp of their flat, her first Christmas tree one Claire had salvaged at a jumble sale. Expensive presents didn’t make Christmas, she knew that, but warmth, comfort, security; these all added an indefinable lustre of pleasure to this special time of year.

For a few seconds there was pandemonium as sheet after sheet of wrapping paper was shredded in their wild attempts to discover what was inside, but Claire had deliberately given them the much desired ponies first, and once they had assured themselves that Father Christmas had not been remiss in this regard, they settled down quite contentedly to savour the rest of their booty.

Claire, who had not been expecting any presents at all, was surprised to discover that she had quite a pile, two of them very inexpertly wrapped, and decorated with stick-on home-made Christmas trees.

‘We made those for you,’ Heather told her importantly. ‘Daddy helped us.’

It brought a lump to her throat to think of Jay finding precious time to assist with the choosing and wrapping
of her presents. Another man could quite easily have carelessly ignored the sensitive feelings of two very feminine six-year-olds and had them gift-wrapped instead. Even though she prided herself on being practical, Claire knew quite well that those lovingly made wrappings would find their way into the large cardboard box in which she hoarded all her sentimental treasures.

This was the first year Lucy had had someone to assist her with such a task, and as she looked into her daughter’s shining eyes as she unwrapped the soap and bath oil she had chosen, she felt a tremendous surge of gratitude and joy.

This marriage was right; right for Heather and Lucy and right for her. But was it right for Jay? a tiny inner voice asked her. Would he come to regret his selflessness in putting Heather’s needs before his own?

‘Smell it, Mummy,’ urged Lucy. ‘I chose it specially, because it reminded me of you.’

Rather cautiously Claire took the top off the bath oil, and was surprised to discover that despite its rather virulent colour it smelled pleasantly of roses.

‘Now mine,’ Heather instructed, watching her with anxious eyes as she carefully unwrapped her second untidy parcel.

‘We saved up with our spending money,’ Lucy explained importantly. ‘Daddy saved it for us, didn’t you?’

Although Heather had been calling her ‘Mummy’ for some time, and had indeed anxiously asked to be allowed to do so, this was the first time Lucy had referred to Jay as ‘Daddy’.

Wondering if Jay was as aware of this completely
natural acceptance of him as she was herself, Claire glanced across at him, and saw that he shared her feelings.

In a moment of shared intimacy and awareness they continued to look at one another, and Claire experienced a closeness to him that made her feel both exalted and humble.

‘Look at mine,’ Heather urged her impatiently, tugging on her sleeve. ‘Look at mine!’

The moment was gone, but Claire knew that she would remember and savour it later.

Heather had bought her body lotion and talc to go with Lucy’s soap and bath oil. Overcome with emotion, Claire held out her arms to both of them, hugging them tightly. Lucy, as always, was the first to break free.

‘Daddy hasn’t opened his present yet,’ she said severely.

‘Something tells me that Father Christmas has been extremely active on my behalf this year,’ drawled Jay, looking at Claire. It was true that she had found several small things to add to her original present, and then of course there was the girls’ contribution. They had bought him a leather wallet from their combined savings, and on impulse Claire had taken them both to have their photographs taken wearing their new velvet dresses.

In addition to the large photograph which she had had framed and which was now waiting to be unwrapped amongst his other presents, were two individual small ones, just the right size to go in his wallet.

She held her breath as he opened their present, but
she needn’t have worried; his reaction was everything that was necessary to delight both girls.

It took another hour for them to fight the way through the rest of their presents, while Claire tidied up and collected the discarded wrappings.

She had kept back the filing system she had bought for Jay until last. He had already opened the Roger and Gallet toilet water she had bought him and unwrapped the navy jacquard sweater with its design in olive and maroon, and she held her breath as he now unwrapped her last gift.

For a moment the expression on his face confused her. He looked so strange that she wondered if she had somehow angered him.

‘If you don’t like it …’ she began, tentatively, but he shook his head.

‘I love it,’ he said simply. ‘Come here.’

She got up unsteadily, wondering what it was he wanted. Was he perhaps going to kiss her, the way he had done the girls? Her heart thudded shakily at the prospect, but when she reached him, although he took hold of her hand, it was just to tug her down beside him.

‘Here’s my present to you,’ he said softly, handing her a long rectangular parcel.

Claire frowned. She had already received several presents from him, including one of perfume, and an American cookery book, that a brief glance had told her she was going to enjoy. There had also been a much coveted decorators’ directory she had glimpsed in the window of an exclusive book shop in Bath, and, rather surprisingly, a silky camisole in softest peach, lavishly trimmed with lace.