Summer's Awakening (50 page)

The feel of his cheeks and chin, not bristly but unmistakably male, as he moulded her breasts with his palms and nuzzled the valley between them, made her wrap her arms round his head, wanting to hold him there forever.

Then his thumbs circled in a caress which made her breath catch in her throat as new pangs of delight zigzagged through her. Seconds later, without knowing how it happened, her hands were clasping her own head and she was arching her spine, not knowing which was more exquisite, the sensuous touch of his fingers on one breast or the hot, hungry pressure of his mouth on the other.

When his hands wandered down her body, tracing the lines of her ribs and exploring the softness of her belly, she was beyond caution. Nothing mattered but these rapturous feelings and the need to experience, at long last, the ultimate ecstasy of all.

As she lay there, throbbing, in his arms, his hand reached the thicket of curls at the top of her pulsating thighs.

'No...' she murmured. 'No... please...'

It was only a token protest and he knew it. The strong, sure fingers continued their gentle, determined exploration while she held her breath and waited, helpless with longing...

At first, when the telephone rang, she didn't recognise the sound. It was merely an intrusive noise like a strident alarm clock breaking into a dream. And, as if in a beautiful dream, she resisted waking up.

But the jarring sound went on and on until finally, with a smothered curse of exasperation, James stopped making love to her and heaved himself up from the sofa. He staggered across the room as if he were drunk, or abruptly roused from a deep sleep so that he scarcely knew where he was or what he was doing.

That was how she felt herself. Intoxicated... dazed... disoriented. She had had no idea that a man's hands and lips on her body could kindle such wild, wanton feelings.

He picked up the receiver. Instead of the usual incisive 'Gardiner speaking', he said, hoarsely and angrily, 'Who is it?'

If the caller didn't get the message that they had chosen a bad time to call, they had to be extraordinarily dense.

'Oh... Santerre. What do you want?'

That it was Raoul on the other end of the line was like a douche of cold water on Summer's flushed face and warm, swollen, tender-tipped breasts. In a flash she recovered her wits and realised how nearly her senses, and James's expert knowledge of how to arouse them, had made her make a fool of herself.

Her sprawled posture, her dishevelled clothing, all the tell-tale signs of her almost total abandonment suddenly filled her with revulsion.

As James said, 'You needn't have called. She's not ill—it's only a headache. By tomorrow morning she'll be fine,' she sprang from the sofa and ran, as if from a rapist.

Although he had had his back to her, she expected him to swing round, drop the receiver and come after her. If he had, she would never have made it to the safety of her bedroom.

But as she tore across the living room, she heard him say something else, replace the receiver and then discover her flight. It gave her just enough time to reach her own room and turn the key in the lock before he crashed against the outer side of the door.

Had it been like most modern doors it would have burst open. But all the doors in the apartment were made of strong solid wood with high quality hinges and fittings. It resisted the impact of his shoulder better than she had resisted his gentler onslaught on her body, and evidently he was not so far gone in lust as to vent his frustration in ways which might bring José and Victoria to see what was going on.

'Open this door!' she heard him demand, in a low, furious voice.

'No... please go away.'

For a long time, clutching her dress, trembling with self-disgust, she waited to be sure he had gone. At last, far down the hall, she heard another door close. Only then did she collapse on her bed and burst into tears.

She was roused by an insistent noise which, after a moment or two, she recognised as Victoria's way of tapping on a door.

Realising that she must have overslept, she glanced at the clock on her night table and saw that it had gone eleven. She was late for breakfast by three hours!

Hurriedly scrambling out of bed, she called, 'I'm coming,' and hastened to unlock the door.

When she opened it, she found the stout Spanish woman waiting outside with a breakfast tray.

'Meester Gardiner tell me not to disturb you before eleven,' said Victoria, entering the bedroom. 'You had late night at party—yes? You had a good time?'

'Er... yes... very, thank you.' She climbed back into bed and tried to look pleased at being presented with a three-course breakfast attractively arranged on a wicker tray with short legs at either end.

Green and white porcelain... a green linen tray-cloth and napkin... a white rosebud in a crystal bud vase... butter in dewy curls... the fragrance of hot bread rolls emanating from a covered basket— Victoria had been at pains to make Summer's breakfast in bed an enjoyable indulgence.

'Be careful—this plate is very hot,' the maid warned, indicating a plate with a silver lid concealing whatever was on it.

'Has Mr Gardiner had breakfast?'

'Si, si
—at his usual time. All the years José and I have worked for him, he has never stayed in bed later than seven.'

Summer picked up the fruit spoon and dipped it into a mixture of fresh grapefruit and pineapple. It was the only thing she felt like eating.

'Is he still in the apartment?'

'No, he went out about ten and he won't be back until this evening. What time you expect Mees Emily?'

'She should be here by two.'

It was a relief to know she had several hours' grace before she had to face James.

Victoria picked up the black dress flung carelessly over a chair, and she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

'You spoil your nice dress if you don't hang it up,' she remonstrated. 'And you not take your make-up off, I notice. You have black marks all round your eyes. That is bad for your skin—and also bad for the pillowcases. Mascara is hard to wash out.'

'I know. I'm sorry,' Summer said meekly.

She liked the outspoken little woman, but right now she wished Victoria would go away and leave her alone with her headache.

But in shaking out the crumpled dress, Victoria had discovered the broken shoulder-strap.

'Tsk, tsk—how this happen?'

'I... it came apart while I was dancing,' Summer said, feeling her face burn and hoping the maid wouldn't notice and suspect the truth.

Not that it would occur to her that the man who had made a pass at Summer had been their employer. Victoria was a practising Catholic who had been strictly brought up and didn't approve of the licence which girls had now. She would have been deeply shocked to discover what had happened in the living room last night.

'I'll mend it for you,' she said.

She enjoyed looking after clothes. For her own satisfaction she would take off machine-sewn buttons and replace them by hand. A silk shirt washed and pressed by her would look better than if it had been dry-cleaned.

'Thank you.' Summer watched her leave the room.

As soon as the door closed she stopped eating the fruit and sank back on her pillows to think about now, since this time yesterday, her world had been changed and disrupted and could never be the same again.

She had spent half the night thinking about it, which was why she had a headache and felt more like going back to sleep than getting up and making decisions.

One decision was already made. She had to leave. She couldn't possibly continue to live under James's roof and be paid by him. How could she go on working for a man who had tried and almost succeeded in seducing her? Last night had made her position impossible. She could never look at him without remembering her abandoned behaviour in his arms; the soft gasps and murmurs of pleasure which now made her cringe with shame.

Above all, he had given her a glimpse of the heaven they could have shared if he had been capable of loving her. To stay on, knowing what it might have been like, would be an unendurable purgatory she knew she had to escape.

When, some time later, she took the tray to the kitchen, the dish under the cover and the bread basket were empty. To avoid making Victoria feel she had wasted her time, she had flushed the breakfast down the lavatory.

The Spanish woman said, 'I forgot to tell you: Mr Santerre, he called you this morning. He asked that you call him back when you wake up.'

'Did he say where he would be?'

Victoria produced a slip of paper. The number she had written down was Raoul's Fifth Avenue number. Summer went back to her room and telephoned him. After giving her name to the girl on the switchboard, she was put through to him immediately instead of having to speak to his secretary first.

'Are you feeling better?' he asked, in
a
tone of concern.

'I'm fine, Raoul, thank you. I hope you haven't been worried about the necklace. I should have taken it off before leaving last night.'

And perhaps avoided what happened after James took it off for me, she thought.

'It's in a safe,' she went on. 'I don't know the combination so I can't get it out until this evening when James comes in. He's not here at present.'

Thinking about the moment when she would have to look at him and speak to him made her inside churn with nerves.

'I have it on my desk,' Raoul answered. 'James delivered it in person soon after we opened. I didn't see him myself—he handed it over to the manager downstairs.'

'I see.' She wondered why he had put himself to that trouble instead of leaving it to Raoul to recover his property.

'Are you really better?' he asked. 'Well enough to have lunch with me? I must talk to you, Summer.'

'Yes, I want to talk to you, but I can't meet for lunch. I have to be here when Emily gets back about two.'

'Then have tea with me. I can't wait till this evening to see you. Let's meet at the Plaza at four-thirty. In the Palm Court.'

Assuming his impatience to see her was because he wanted to discuss the party, she agreed to this arrangement.

By two o'clock she had packed an overnight case, booked a room at the Barbizon on Lexington Avenue, and written a brief note to James.

In the circumstances, I prefer to leave immediately. I shall tell Emily we have had a serious disagreement.

'
A
disagreement? What about?' asked Emily, an hour later, after Summer had helped her to unpack and heard all about the trip to Bermuda.

'Specifically about my wearing a very valuable diamond necklace at the party last night. But that was really just the tip of the iceberg. We've both made an effort not to show it because of our affection for you, but the fact is that James and I have never really seen eye to eye. Last night our mutual antipathy came to the surface and... and we lost our tempers and said things which make it impossible for me to go on working for him.'

Emily looked baffled. 'I knew you didn't like each other at first, but I thought that was over ages ago. I—I thought you got on very well now. I was even beginning to think that one day you might get married and we'd be together forever,' she said, in a low voice.