Dragon's Lair (4 page)

renting to fetch his own case, not touching him and thankful for the

taxi-driver's cheerful presence. She would liked to have made an

excuse and waited for him in the cab, but he made it quite clear he

expected her to accompany him up to the flat. She stood silently

while he unlocked the door and then walked ahead of him into the

small living room. This was all strange too, she thought, even

though it was where they would be living when they returned from

the hotel until they left again for the U.S.A. She wandered round

the room while Gethyn collected some things from the bedroom. It

was difficult to imagine herself sitting in either of the fireside chairs

reading while Gethyn worked at the table behind her. She peered

into the kitchenette where she would soon be cooking the meals and

a feeling of total inadequacy began to invade her.

It was as if some romantic veil had been suddenly torn from her

eyes and she was seeing life as it really was for the first time.

Where had they gone—all those hours she had spent with Gethyn,

wandering round art galleries, browsing through bookshops? He

had taken her to dinner, to the theatre, walked with her along the

Embankment and through the parks. Sometimes he had kissed her,

and she put a hand almost fearfully against her lips. It wasn't a great

deal on which to base a relationship as intimate as marriage, yet this

was what she had done. What did she know about him

really—except where he had been to school and university and the

titles of the books he had written? She knew his parents were dead

and that he was an only child like herself, and preferred Italian food

to Chinese. She shook her head almost dazedly.

She heard a board creak behind her and turned to find him leaning

against the bedroom door jamb watching her. He had discarded his

jacket and loosened his tie and looked completely at home, which

she supposed he was. She was the stranger here. The little fish,

suddenly and disastrously out of water.

'Come here.' His tone was gentle enough, but there was an

underlying note of command, of ownership even, which made her

mouth dry.

She tried to smile. 'The taxi will be waiting.'

His brows rose lazily. 'I sent the taxi away. We can call another

when we're ready. Now, come here.'

Her reluctance must have been obvious for by the time her lagging

steps had got her across the room to him, he had straightened with a

jerk and was frowning.

'It's a little soon for second thoughts, isn't it?' he asked sarcastically,

and she flushed.

'I—I don't know what you mean.'

'Of course you know,' he jibed. 'Any resemblance between you and

the loving girl I kissed last night is purely coincidental. My God, I

don't think you've touched me voluntarily all day.' He took her by

the shoulders, his eyes searching hers. 'What the hell's the matter

with you?'

'Nothing,' she lied. 'It's all been a bit of a strain, that's all. And

Mummy was being—difficult this morning.'

Gethyn murmured something under his breath that she prudently

failed to hear. Then his grip had tightened, compelling her towards

him.

'Hello, wife,' he said quietly, and bent and kissed her on the mouth.

She made herself remain passive under his touch, waiting for that

familiar warm tide of feeling to engulf her, but there was nothing. It

was as if her warm flesh and blood had been transformed to marble.

She was incapable of even the slightest response, and presently he

released her. She had closed her eyes involuntarily as he had bent

towards her, and she kept them closed, afraid to encounter his

anger, until she knew that he had moved away.

When she ventured to open them, she found he had returned to the

bedroom and was focussing all his attention on fastening the straps

round his case. She bit her lip.

'Shall I make some coffee?' She strove for normality.

'If you want some,' he said, his voice expressionless. 'Can you find

everything?'

'Well, I shall have to learn some time,' she returned without

thinking, and blushed stormily as his sardonic gaze met hers.

'That's true,' he observed smoothly, and swung the case from the

bed to the floor. She turned away hastily and went to the

kitchenette. She filled the kettle and plugged it in, and found the

remains of a pint of milk in the refrigerator.

She was searching through the cupboards for the jar of coffee when

Gethyn came in. Immediately the admittedly cramped area of the

kitchen seemed to shrink to the proportions of a postage stamp.

'Look,' she pointed to the milk. 'That wants using up.'

'Perhaps.' He came to the cupboard and leaned down, his arm

brushing hers. It was as much as she could do not to flinch. He

produced the coffee jar and set it down on the narrow worktop.

'Unless we decide to stay.'

'To stay?' She could hear the nervousness in her own voice, and

knew it would not be lost on him either. 'But we're going to the

hotel.'

'I'm not so sure that's such a good idea.' His face was enigmatic as

he spooned coffee into the waiting beakers. 'This is going to be our

home, at least on a temporary basis. I don't see why we shouldn't

move straight in, and forgo your uncle's offer, kind though it was.'

'Oh, but we couldn't!' The kettle was boiling and she moved

hurriedly to switch it off.

'Why not?' He leaned one elbow on the worktop, watching her

levelly. 'Careful of that kettle. You're going to scald yourself.'

She set it down, her heart thumping. 'Because—because it would

hurt Uncle Phil's feelings. It's his wedding present to us and ...'

'I could phone him and explain the situation. I'm sure he would

understand.'

'Well, that's more than I do.' She lifted the kettle and filled the

beakers.

'I simply get the feeling that the implications of the bridal
suite
are

proving a little too much for you at the moment,' he said

unemotionally. 'I'll ask him just to postpone it for a few months, if

you like, until you're in a mood to appreciate it more.'

She was panic-stricken. The flat was so small. What possibility of

privacy did it afford? She added a splash of milk to her coffee and

sipped at it almost distractedly. She preferred it with sugar, but she

did not wish Gethyn to join her on another search for the

commodity. She thought fast.

'I think it's too late to change our minds now,' she said rapidly. 'The

hotel will be expecting us. Besides, I didn't really expect to have to

do housework on my honeymoon.'

It should have sounded coquettish, but it came out as petulance, and

she wished it unsaid. Gethyn's dark face, was still and enigmatic.

He said coolly, 'As you wish, then,' and drank his coffee with a

slight grimace.

While he phoned for a taxi to take them to the hotel, Davina rinsed

the beakers under the tap. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in

the kitchen window, her eyes much wider and brighter than usual,

but that could be the champagne, and a tiny flush of colour high on

her cheekbones. She looked as if she was running a temperature,

yet inside she felt deathly cold.

She was still cold when the hotel porter ushered them into the suite.

Everything was there waiting for them— more champagne on ice,

red roses—lovers' flowers, filling the air with their scent, baskets of

fruit. She glanced round and saw through the half-open door the

gleam of a gold satin bedspread, and hurriedly averted her gaze.

Gethyn was tipping the man, who was asking, after an appreciative

word of thanks, if they wished to have dinner in the suite rather than

downstairs in the restaurant.

'We'll dine up here,' Gethyn said. 'We can order later, I suppose.'

'Of course, sir.' The man's voice was deferential, eager to please.

'Oh no,' Davina broke in, aghast. 'I—I mean—wouldn't it be more

fun to have dinner downstairs ...' Her voice tailed away

uncomfortably. She knew that they were both looking at her, the

porter with a kind of sly amusement under his deferential manner,

and Gethyn with an anger that held no deference at all. He turned to

the porter.

'My wife prefers the restaurant. Perhaps you would make the

necessary arrangements.'

When the door closed behind the man, he said softly and chillingly,

'Do you think you could manage to conceal this aversion you have

for being alone with me in front of the hotel staff?'

He strode across the sitting room to a door on the opposite side and

opened it, glancing in. He was smiling when he turned, but his eyes

were like green ice.

'The instinct that brought you here was quite right, lovely. Every

modern convenience at your disposal—even a second bedroom for

the bestowal of an importunate bridegroom.' He stared round the

luxurious sitting room. 'And what shall we call this, eh? No Man's

Land, perhaps? Shall I wait for you here when it gets to dinner time,

or would you prefer to eat separately too?'

She said, and there was a sob under her breath, 'Gethyn?' She was

asking for his tenderness, his understanding, but he had gone and

the door was shut behind him. She was alone and afraid.

With a long shuddering sigh, Davina sat up at her desk and pushed

her hair back wearily from her pale face: She was still alone, she

thought. But at least she was no longer afraid, and to prove it she

would go to this place in Wales and meet Gethyn face to face once

again.

The signpost for Moel y Ddraig had said four miles, but Davina

seemed to have been driving for hours and there was still no sign of

any habitation. The narrow road wound determinedly on ahead of

her, leading her deeper and deeper into the very heart of the valley.

She had encountered little other traffic, so she had been able to pay

some heed to the beauty around her. It was wild and rugged when

compared to some of the rounded green hills she had seen that day,

with harsh, rocky outcrops thrusting through the short green turf

and clumps of purple heather. There seemed to be sheep grazing

everywhere, like tiny tufts of cotton wool against the vivid

landscape. The sky was a deep tranquil blue with only the faintest

tracery of high white cloud.

If only this had been the start of a holiday, Davina thought ruefully,

she might have imagined herself in heaven. As it was, not even the

wild charm of the valley could rid her of the insidious feeling of

dread that was beginning to pervade her consciousness. She was

already regretting quite bitterly that she had ever set out on this

strange journey.

But she wouldn't turn round and go back. Now she was here, she

would go through with it. In her briefcase was a letter from Uncle

Philip, setting out details of the proposed American tour—her

credentials for being here. Not that she expected Gethyn to be taken

in by that for one minute. It was merely a face-saver and she knew

it, but at least her presence here in Wales would mean that she

could test his feelings about divorce.

She had tried quite vainly to explain this to her mother. Mrs Greer

had been stunned into silence when Davina had awkwardly broken

the news of her proposed trip and its dual purpose. Then, and more

disturbingly, she had burst into tears.

'You're going back to him,' she had repeated over and over again.

'In spite of everything that's happened, you're going back to him.'

'No.' Davina had attempted to reason with her. 'I'm going solely to

find out, if I can, why he has ignored Mr Bristow's letters. And I

have some papers from Uncle Philip to deliver as well.'

'Oh, yes, Philip!' Her mother had rounded on her, her eyes flashing.

'Naturally, he's involved. He'd be glad to see you reconciled to

that—creature, if only to spite me. He's never liked
me.'

Davina felt suddenly very weary. 'If Uncle Philip really felt like

that, I doubt whether he'd go to these lengths to show it,' she said.

'This tour that's being laid on is quite genuine.'

Mrs Greer produced a lace-trimmed handkerchief and sat twisting it

in her hands. Her eyes when she looked at Davina were brooding

and full of resentment.

'I still see no need for you to go,' she said. 'If it's all that important,

Philip could go himself—or send someone else.'

'He is sending someone else,' Davina insisted gently. 'He's sending