Strange Women, The (15 page)

I wouldn't want anyone, even my wife, to go through what I went through—waiting. Even my wife? Hell—especially my wife!

Yet in the dark room with her perfume drifting around him, Kit felt his nerves screaming. He wanted her, if only to touch; to kiss without some damned nurse skulking around. With shaking hands, he reached for a cigarette. He hated smoking in bed; no man who has been dragged from a burning plane ten seconds before it exploded is ever again going to be casual about setting things on fire. But this was a calculated risk.

He snapped the lighter, its tiny flame blinding out the moonlight.

"Kit?"

He dropped the cigarette, and caught it, scorching his thumb. "Damn. Did I wake you up, sweetheart?"

"I wasn't asleep." She crossed the room, taking one of his cigarettes, and moved a chair close. Kit said irritably, "You can sit on the bed, I'm not fragile."

"It's just a habit, Kit."

"Well, get the hell out of that habit, I'm no patient." But he laughed. "Put a light on."

She flicked on the bedlamp. She was wearing silky blue pajamas, and her hair, tumbled from the pillow, had a copper halo of tiny hairs apart from the rest. It occurred to Kit that this was the first time he had seen it like that. After the careful braids it seemed somehow more intimate than nakedness. He had never noticed the very few tiny golden freckles on her skin. Her breasts were barely defined beneath the pajama shirt; her whole body—straight back, narrow thighs—looked strong and spare and hard, but Kit remembered how soft she was, the competence of her body to his own.

He said, "I've never seen you in a nightgown."

"I don't own any." Remotely she remembered, Les Rannock used to say; pajamas are better when you're out of bed, and who the heck wears anything in bed?

"Come to think of it, Jill gave me a fancy nightgown for my birthday. I've never had it out of the box."

Kit chuckled. "I'd think Jill would run to white cambric buttoned up at the neck."

Nora laughed at that mental picture. "You couldn't possibly be more wrong." Dangerous ground, the built-in censor warned her; but Kit pulled her down and kissed her.

She lay carefully stretched along the edge of the bed; Kit, too, had felt a brief, split-second shock of pain when she lowered herself, and wondered upsettingly if Nora had felt him flinch.

She murmured "I won't go to sleep here, darling."

"No harm if you do," he grunted, "it's legal."

Nora started to say, that's not what I meant; then withheld the protest. Never in her most fantastic imaginings had she dreamed that when she lay at last in Kit's arms another touch and kiss would present itself to her memory. When she laid her head against his chest she felt a little shock at its flat hard bareness.

With unpracticed but deft hands he undid the buttons of her pajama shirt and slipped it off her slight smooth shoulders. She felt the roughness of his scarred' sinewy palm against her breast, like a caress. His mouth enfolded her lips and, with a long sigh, Nora gave herself hungrily to the kiss.

The pent tension of months was in that kiss; raw maleness, the stabbing thrust of his tongue pulsing roughly in her. She felt his heart booming like an echo of her own pounding blood. He pulled off her pajama pants, his hands lingering, molding every curve, pressing into her back with an almost brutal tension. "Oh, God, it's been so long, so long..."

Through the wild pounding of her heart, Nora felt a sudden knifing fear, as he leaned over her. "No, Kit," she protested quickly, "Not that way—here, let me help you—"

"Damn it, be quiet!" he almost shouted, and his arms tightened with a furious strength. Dismayed, Nora dared not protest—
dared she humiliate him?
—but her own desire had all but vanished in the tension of her fear that he would hurt himself.

He was stronger than she had dreamed, strong and violent, forcing her down beneath his body. Then her fear for him became stronger than her regard for his pride—

"No, Kit—please, be careful—"

Kit crushed his hand over her mouth, rasping, "Shut up, shut up!" Then remorsefully, harshly, "Darling, darling—" and his mouth was on hers again; demanding, almost cruel with savage need.

And Nora, a woman and alien to his mood, could only guess at the instinct stronger than pain, stronger than his fear of failing again. The need in Kit to prove himself virile, strong, capable; to impose the strength of his will and his body on her. NOW, when HE desired it; not when she allowed or felt it wise or safe.

She tried to shift herself, to make it easier for him, and he gripped and held her with strong hands; then he was over her, holding her down, insistent, the ferocious rhythm of raw male hunger claiming her by natural right of his strength; sweeping away all her caution and dread as her own pent-up hunger stirred, waking to meet his own. The year of hunger, of frustration, of tensed, thinned-out anguish, thinned away and vanished like cloud is thrust away by a violent wind; and Kit's hoarse cry in the darkness was rough with exaltation and the savage sureness of his own mastery.

"There, love," he said huskily in the darkness, his fingers gently touching her eyes, moving over her face as a man touches, with love, something he has long desired and finally made his own, "Didn't I tell you it would be worth it all?"

* * *

When Kit had been home three weeks, Nora went down to her office to locate some records young Cranford wanted. When she had found them, and discussed a case or two, she came out and was startled to come face to face, in the waiting room, with Jill.

Vic, a friendly hand on Jill's shoulder as he detained her, came hurrying over to Nora.

"How's it going, girl? When are
you
going to consult me professionally? Three weeks ought to be time enough to get a kid in the cooker. My God, can you still blush?"

Nora touched her reddened cheeks, laughing helplessly. "Jill, where on earth have you been keeping yourself? Kit's been wanting to see you—and so have I." She tucked Jill's hand under her arm. "Come home with me and say hello."

Jill hung back. "Oh, no, really."

Nora didn't insist. "Let me drive you home, then. It's too hot to walk—and those heels!" She frowned at the pencil-slim heels and pointed toes. Jill looked down at her shoe tips. She had to draw back her smock to see them.

"I've got to keep up my morale somehow. There was a lot to be said for the times when it wasn't decent for a pregnant woman to be seen on the street."

Nora laughed, closing the car door. "Well, if Vic hasn't scolded you, I won't either." She rummaged for her keys. Jill leaned forward suddenly and caught her wrist.

"When did you start carrying things in a handbag instead of stuffing them in your pockets? And—why, Nora, you're wearing your wedding ring!"

"Well—" Nora colored suddenly and looked away from Jill. She thrust the key into the ignition.

A fresh evening breeze blew across the park. Jill was still holding Nora's hand; Nora moved uneasily, and Jill released her.

"What did Vic have to say?" asked Nora, backing away from the curb.

"Oh, the usual, with a warning that I might have miscalculated and be in the seventh month, and to get ready to go to the hospital any time," Jill said with a restless shrug. "He gave me a prescription."

"Let's see it." Nora gave the blank a quick startled look as she changed gears. Jill asked edgily, "You don't approve?"

"You're not my patient. Why should I approve or disapprove?"

"You're just the same as always." Jill laid a clinging hand on Nora's arm. Nora squinted her eyes into the sunset. "You look tired, Jill. Not getting enough rest?'

"I've had some trouble sleeping."

"So
I gathered," said Nora, handing her the prescription. "Babies are nocturnal animals, they say."

Jill stared at the floor of the car.
"I
miss you."

"Well, you know where I live." Nora stopped laughing.
"I
miss you too. Of course."

"But it's different. Can't we go somewhere and just talk awhile?"

"Not very well. I don't like leaving Kit alone too long. Unless—could you come back for supper?"

"No. Please, can't we just talk awhile?"

Nora sighed, braking for a red light. "I'll drive around. Unless you want coffee, or a drink somewhere. One won't hurt you."

"Not unless you do." She looked at Nora miserably as the lamp-posts flowed by. "Nora, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I can't stay out long, that's all. Jill, what did Vic really say? Why are you looking at me like that?
If
something's the matter, for God's sake tell me, I'm no mind-reader. Have you heard from Mack?"

"Mack?"

The dull repetition snapped Nora's nerves. "Mack. Or have you forgotten who he is?"

"No, nothing much. He still says he'll try to fly home in August."

"That's wonderful, maybe he can be here when you go to the hospital." Nora drew up before the Lenox apartments. "How is Margaret?"

"She went to a movie. Can't you come in?"

"Dear, I really can't. Come over to lunch one day this week, won't you? Wednesday?"

"Maybe you'd rather I didn't," said Jill sulkily.

"You're not in a very good mood, are you? Here, don't forget your prescription."
Duotal.
That was a considerably stronger sedative than the mild barbiturates Vic usually prescribed for prenatal insomnia. "Maybe you'll be feeling better by Wednesday."

"Does Kit—"

"As a matter of fact, Kit asked me to ask you!"

"Oh." Jill opened the car door. "That makes it all right, then, I'll come. Glad you could spare the time."

"Don't mention it," said Nora automatically, before she heard the sarcasm; but Jill was already out of the car.

"Jill, wait," she said, and started to get out, but the girl had already climbed the iron-railed steps, not looking back. Nora slammed her foot on the accelerator, then felt her anger dissolve. She had walked into this; and she owed something to Jill. If it was no worse than putting up with her sulks, she was getting off lightly.

After lunch they lingered at the table, Nora smoking, Kit and Jill nibbling idly at the candy mints. "You'll get fat, Jill," Kit teased, "three whole mints, and that e-nor-mous lunch! You ought to watch your waistline!"

Jill giggled. "How could I possibly
miss
it?"

"Gerda's going to think you don't like her cooking any more," Nora said idly.

Kit reached for Nora's hand and turned her wrist over to look at her watch; an absent-minded, possessive little gesture. "Leonora, I've got to be in Kuysman's office at two. I'd better be getting along."

"Want me to drive you?"

"No, no—no telling when His Nibs will see me. I'll call a cab—stay and gossip with Jill." He gave a her a quick, secret wink.

Shall I tell Jill today?
Nora smiled at her plate, hugging her secret. "Finish your peach, Jill. In China, peaches are a symbol of fertility. Funny, I haven't thought of that in years."

"She doesn't need any fertility symbols," said Kit, “you're just a great big fertility symbol walking around, aren't you, honey bun?"

Nora thought; if I teased Jill about her pregnancy, she'd snap or sulk. Kit does it and she just giggles.

She chided gently, "Kit, aren't you even going to get out of those old trousers and put on a necktie?"

"Really, Leonora! A burlesque dancer can go around in a couple of fans, but I hardly think Kuysman would appreciate seeing me without pants and with nothing but a necktie!" He bent to snatch a kiss from her cheek. "No, darling. If old Kuysman can't survive the sight of my bare neck, he's out of luck."

"It's a nice neck," Nora said softly, kissing him.

"It's a beautifully suntanned neck," Jill said. "How do you manage that in the city, Kit?"

"I don't, in the city. We drive out to the lake two or three times a week. Hey, if I get back early enough, why not drive out with us? Swimming's one of the few things I
can
do. You'd never guess how nice Nora looks in a bathing suit."

"Better than I would. Now, anyway."

"Oh, you'll be back in swimming shape soon. We'll have to teach that youngster of yours to swim the way the Polynesians do—throw them in the ocean when they're just a day or two old. See you later."

As Nora stacked the dishes, Archy erupted from a corner and flung himself on Jill like a kitten. She picked him up and buried her face in his fur, talking cat-talk to him with her nose. Nora watched, smiling.

"The riddle of the world. Is it love, or does he smell the chops you had for lunch?"

The June sunlight beat through the glass, filtered of city grime by the ivy in the window. Jill put the cat down. "That's a pretty dress, Nora."

"It's nice not to be wearing hospital whites. You'll know how I feel, when you get out of those maternity smocks," Nora said absently, debating how to finish. Should she simply say; I think I'll be wearing them myself pretty soon?

"It's cooler in the living room." She stretched out in an armchair, and Jill came and sat on the arm.

"Silly kid. Why not sit on my lap and be done with it?"

Laughing, she pulled Jill across her knees. "Rock-a-bye baby," she crooned, in her faulty, unmusical voice, and drew the girl's head to her shoulder.

"What's the matter, Jill? Feeling bad?"

She was suddenly, overwhelmingly shocked by what she was doing. She had been so sure it was all over, she had pulled Jill to her lap in teasing impulse; now her own reaction struck her aghast.

"On second thought, you're too big for a baby," she said tightly, "sit on your own lap." She dumped Jill unceremoniously, straightening her knees and letting the girl slide down with a bump. Jill said "Ouch!" and Nora leaned over and gave her a hand as she clumsily picked herself up.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be so rough. You do feel rotten, don't you? You look as if you could use about a week in bed, Jill."

She crossed the room indecisively, standing before the Chinese painting. One of the small figures, twisted into the lotus posture, resembled the curving line of Jill's sullen shoulders.