The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (7 page)

‘I’m going back to school
tomorrow. Will you miss me?’ she asked.

Had he answered immediately,
he would have said yes, and that would have been the end of it; but uncertain
how to respond, he hesitated. Avoiding her eyes he busied himself clearing up
the debris of his lunch. By chance, it seemed, their hands touched. The
unexpected physical contact made him recoil so violently that flask and mug,
apple core and remains of sandwich were tossed on the grass. Confused, all he
could do was sit there looking at the mess. Seeing how agitated he was, Margot
burst out laughing. Tom was hurt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said contritely, ‘I didn’t
mean to laugh. But you look so miserable.’

For a few moments they sat
staring at the lawn, Tom sullen, Margot wondering how she had offended him.
‘Are you angry?’

‘Why should I be?’ he muttered.

‘Why won’t you talk to me
then?’ She turned to face him, her eyes willing him to speak.

For a few moments he was
silent. Then he looked away, mumbling ungraciously, ‘I’ve no time to sit around
talking to children.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ she said
indignantly. Most days she practised telling lies in front of the mirror in her
bedroom.

He picked up the mug and the
thermos flask. ‘Do you think I’m pretty?’ she asked him softly.

Pretending not to hear, he
scooped up the scraps of bread and the apple core and stuffed them in his
plastic lunch box.

‘Do you, Tom?’

He clicked the lid shut. ‘I
wish you wouldn’t talk like that, miss.’

‘Why not? It’s a simple
question.’ She put her head on one side and eyed him seductively. ‘Do you?’

He said something under his
breath. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘I said yes, didn’t I?’

For a while they sat without
speaking, then, without warning, she took his hand in hers; when he tried to
draw it away, she tightened her grip. For a young girl she was surprisingly
strong. ‘How big your hand is,’ she murmured, caressing it gently. ‘I love big
hands.’ Neither the smile nor the coquettish look that accompanied the words
were hard to read. Flushing bright red, Tom snatched his hand away.

In an instant her mood had
changed. She jumped up, graceful as a ballet dancer, and spun round and round
on the tips of her toes. Tiring of that, she turned two perfectly controlled
cartwheels, revealing in the process slim legs and a pair of white knickers.
Tom looked guiltily away. Such thoughts; what was the matter with him? Look at
her, skipping round the lawn, a carefree, innocent child. ‘Good-day, miss,’ he
said gruffly, and rushed off in the direction of the lake.

‘Good-bye, Tom!’ she cried
after him, watching him disappear from view. Lifting her skirts, she whirled
round and round until she was so dizzy that the lawn reared up and tumbled her.
For a while she lay on her back, eyes closed, waiting for the earth to stop
moving. When finally it came to rest, she sat up and giggled. ‘Dear Tom,’ she
murmured wistfully.

As the days passed, Tom
convinced himself that he had been imagining things. What had seemed at times
deliberately seductive behaviour was nothing more than the natural way of a
girl at the confusing age of puberty. All the same, he wished she hadn’t taken
his hand in hers. The thought of physical contact between them disturbed him.
Perhaps he was being foolish, but for him the touch of her hand had tainted
something wonderful between them, something precious and innocent. For some
reason he felt ashamed, as though he had committed a sin. It was not as if he
had done anything to feel guilty about, but it was enough that he felt guilty.
That night he went home and proposed to his steady girl friend. A few weeks
later they were married.

It was the following year
before he saw Margot again, and he was startled by the change in her. She was
no longer a child, she was taller, her slim hips swayed as she walked, her long
dark hair fell loosely about her shoulders. With her head carried high, she
moved with a natural, unselfconscious grace and an indefinable air that told
the world, “I am beautiful, and I know it.” His heart beating fast, he went to
greet her, wiping earth from his hands and bobbing his head deferentially.

She held out her hand. ‘Hello, Tom.’

‘You don’t want to shake my dirty hand,’ he
said churlishly. As if she hadn’t heard him, she took his hand in both of hers
and held it for a long moment. Gently, he eased it away. ‘I’m off to get some
more bulbs.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ Quickly she fell in step
beside him. For a few moments they walked together without speaking a word. ‘I
got married,’ he blurted out.

‘I know.’ She pouted. ‘Beast!’

‘Known her a long time.’ Why,
he was thinking, did it sound like an apology?

‘Oh, Tom,’ she cried happily,
dismissing all talk of so mundane a subject, ‘it’s brilliant seeing you again! It’s
been so long! I’m sixteen already. Think of it. Sixteen!’ Catching the
meaningful sidelong glance, his face burned bright red.

‘Sit down and talk to me.’ She
pulled him to her on the lawn.

‘I don’t have time to talk, miss,’ he
protested.

‘Oh you!’ she scoffed. Her
eyes softened and before he could stop her, her arms were round his neck and
her mouth close to his. He knew his only hope was to push her away but his body
refused. Once, twice, three times, she touched his lips with hers, tantalising
him, her brown eyes smiling a mocking smile. ‘Kiss me, Tom,’ she whispered.
‘You know you want to.’

The blood surged in his veins,
his head swam, and he almost fainted. Grabbing hold of her, he kissed her
roughly, pulling her harder and harder to him, limbs shaking uncontrollably in
a frenzy of torment and desire. As his whole body stiffened, he threw back his
head with a cry, not of joy, but of despair and pain, like a wounded animal.
When he looked at her again, she was studying him with serious eyes. ‘It’s no use
pretending anymore. Is it, Tom?’

And that was just exactly it.
He thought of handing in his notice but he had a wife to support and a child on
the way. He knew what he ought to do – turn round and leave this place for
ever. But he could not; the truth was, he yearned for Margot, every nerve and
sinew in his body crying out its need.

All the time she watched him
with those big brown eyes, and then, as if she knew what he was thinking, she
nodded. Without a word, she walked towards the big potting shed behind the
greenhouses; as in a spell, he followed her. Inside, she stood facing him,
boldly meeting his gaze.

‘For God’s sake, Margot, this is wrong,’ he
pleaded.

‘Dear Tom,’ she said, holding
up her arms to be undressed, the way a child does.

Gently he removed her clothes.
When she was naked, he knelt at her feet. ‘If you’re not the most beautiful
thing I ever did see.’ He ran his hands over her small, hard breasts, her
swelling stomach, her thighs. Kneeling there, he was torn between desire and
shame, desperate to make love to her and praying for a miracle to save him from
this mortal sin. Margot looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you
brought me here to worship me, Tom?’ she asked mockingly. Kneeling beside him,
she began to undo his trousers.

He was lost; demented with
desire, he thrust her down and took her savagely. It was more like an act of
revenge than of love. As he drove into her, he cursed and swore, loathing
himself and her, while Margot lay serenely on her back, eyes closed, lips
parted, with a half smile on her angelic face. When it was over, he saw to his
horror that her thighs were covered in blood. She had not uttered a sound, much
less cried out. Overwhelmed with remorse and guilt he asked himself again and
again – what had he done? What had he done?

During the tortured weeks that
followed he tried everything he could to stay away from her, but there were few
places to hide on the estate, and she always succeeded in tracking him down.
Although she made it more than obvious what she wanted, he refused to go with
her again.

‘Don’t you love me anymore?’

He told her he could never
touch her again, and that he was bitterly ashamed of himself. It was a clumsy
and insensitive rebuff, and he knew it. At that moment she became like a child
again. ‘Must I be ashamed too?’ That only made him feel worse, for it was not
her who should feel ashamed. His lust had perverted a near child’s romantic
dream of love. He reported sick, then after a few days, returned to the gardens
to look for her.

She was waiting for him on “their” bench.
Determined to say what had to be said, he sat beside her, but before he could
utter a word she was kissing him passionately, her fingers thrusting between
his legs. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he grabbed her and threw her from
him savagely. She fell back, hit her head on the lawn and lay there, not
moving, eyes closed. For one terrible moment he thought he had killed her. The
panic rose in his throat, choking him, his mouth gaped as he gasped for air
like a drowning man. A sharp pain gouged his head and he cried out in agony.
Margot opened one eye, then the other. Slyly she grinned at him. He stared down
at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘I keep thinking you’re
an innocent child. But you’re not, are you?’

‘Am I not, Tom? What am I then?’

For a second his face was
distorted by hatred and contempt. ‘You’re a monster!’

Margot sat up, her face
expressionless. Smoothing down her dress, she nodded her head several times in
a knowing way, as if nothing in the world could ever surprise her. She stood
and looked at him as she had never looked at him before, her scrutiny
thoughtful and frightening in its detachment. This was not his Margot, this
girl who walked away and never once looked back.

Never would Igraine forget the
sight of Margot, dishevelled, dress torn, face scratched, moaning pitifully and
tearing at her hair as though demented. That such a thing could happen to her
angelic daughter was beyond her comprehension. Uther fired Tom on the spot.
That, he made clear to Igraine, was the end of the incident as far as he was
concerned.

‘Incident! It was rape! We
must call the police. The man’s a pervert, a paedophile. If he’s not punished,
he’ll do it to someone else’s child.’

Uther shook his head. ‘Drop
it, Igraine. Do you really want your child to go through the trauma of
cross-examination by the police, and then court proceedings with all that sick
publicity? Our first duty is to protect Margot.’

Igraine knew Uther was right,
though for all the wrong reasons. “Your child”, he had called her, not “our
child”. Nothing could be clearer. He didn’t see it as his problem. And yet it
was hardly surprising, for this was the man who could sacrifice his own son on
the altar of his ambition. Why should he hesitate to do the same thing to his
step-daughter? Protect Margot, indeed! She knew exactly who Uther was
protecting. ‘It’s your bloody career you’re thinking about.’

‘What if I am? I’m trying to
claw my way up from the back benches. The last thing I need is a scandal.’

‘Margot has done nothing
wrong. She is the victim. So are we. How could anyone make a scandal out of
that?’

‘Easily. Imagine the
sanctimonious claptrap, the media’s moral censure – the parents who allowed
their beautiful young daughter to spend her days with a hot-blooded gardener!
They’d say we were either indifferent to Margot’s wellbeing or unbelievably
naïve. Either way they’d condemn us.’

‘If we don’t call in the
police, Margot will think we don’t believe her story. It’s important she knows
where we stand.’

Uther nodded. He knew what he
had to do. ‘You are right, duchess,’ he said, ‘absolutely right. I’ll have a
chat with her.’

Uther stood by the library window with his back
to Margot. ‘Good gardeners are hard to find,’ he said, directing his words at
the ornamental gardens.

‘You don’t give a shit what he
did to me, do you?’ She spat the words at him.

‘Tom wouldn’t hurt a flower,
let alone a young girl.’ ‘He raped me!’ she screamed.

Uther turned to face her. ‘Did
he, Margot? Or was it you who raped him?’

She burst into tears. ‘I hate
you! I hate you! You don’t know me at all!’

‘Oh but I do, darling,’ he said calmly. ‘Don’t
forget, I’ve seen you in action. I know what you can do to men.’

She started to protest but he
waved her quiet. ‘I warn you, Margot. This game you play with men, it’s a
dangerous one. One day you’ll pay for it. You never know what a man will do
when he loses control. This time it only cost you your virginity. Next time,
you might not be so fortunate.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you? Let me explain
then. I had my suspicions, of course, so I went looking for evidence. I found
it in a drawer in your bedroom. By the way, a small tip for the future. Under
your knickers is not a very intelligent place to conceal your diary.
Appropriate perhaps, intelligent no.’

Margot’s eyes flickered.

Uther waved a red book at her. ‘Recognise it?’

‘Give it me! It’s mine!’ She
made a grab for it but he held it out of reach.

‘A mistake to record everything
in your diary. It makes it crystal clear you planned Tom’s seduction from
beginning to end. I must say I found it fascinating, if a little over-written
in the pornographic passages. I imagine your mother would find it shocking.’

Margot clenched her fists and
stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Give it back!’

‘I prefer to keep it – as
insurance, you understand.’ ‘I know plenty about you and your lady friends.’

‘Well, well, we are grown-up,
aren’t we? Do I take it you are threatening to blackmail me?’

Margot maintained a resentful silence.

Uther regarded his
step-daughter coolly. ‘Nice try, darling but you haven’t a hope in hell. Your
mother knows all about me and my extra-mural activities. She may not admit it
but she knows. On the other hand she knows absolutely nothing about you. Think
how fascinated she would be to discover who you really are.’