The Emerald Valley (48 page)

For a moment she sat motionless, her eyes magnetised by his while everything in her seemed to be stilled to a breathless, waiting hush. Even her heart and pulses seemed suspended; she was nothing but eyes that held his and a hand that lay, trembling with awareness, beneath his touch.

He rose from his chair then, somehow managing to relinquish neither eyes nor hand as he came round the table. As she looked up at him – so tall and ruggedly good-looking, towering above her – her pulses began to beat again, hammering fast and unevenly at her wrists and throat. Then he was bending over her and his face was going out of focus.

Ralph … no! she wanted to say, but no words would come. She could not have spoken them – no, not to save her life. She wanted him too much, wanted to feel his mouth on hers and the eager leaping response of every nerve, both on her skin and deep within the yearning heart of her.

His breath touched her first, a warm whisper, and then his lips … vibrant, drawing all that longing to one focal point. One moment she was taut and aching, the next he was urging her slowly to her feet and her knees felt weak, too weak to support her. She swayed, but he held her and as the length of his body pressed against hers she was alive and aware again, soft and fluid, while sensations of exquisite needle-sharp desire ran shivering through her.

For timeless moments it seemed she hung there, suspended just beyond reality, while the world around them ceased to exist. One of her arms was around him, feeling the long, taut muscles of his back beneath the well-cut jacket, the other hand on the nape of his neck where his hair grew down to meet his collar.

And his fingers were in her hair, too, holding her lips against his while his free hand supported her.

When he lifted his mouth from hers she wanted it again, wanted to melt into him, but as he held her away the world slowly righted itself once more so that she seemed to see them as two characters in a drama, standing there locked in each other's arms. Panic began then, rushing in to take the place of desire, and with it a fearful tumult of uncertainty.
What am I doing? What am I feeling?

He began to draw her close once more, but she pulled away.

‘Ralph – please … no!'

‘Why not?' His voice was low, urgent.

‘Because … because I don't want you to!'

‘That's not true,' he said softly. ‘You
do
want me to!'

‘I don't! I don't know what I want …'

He let her go and she sank back into her chair, knees trembling.

‘Amy.' He crouched down beside her, his face level with hers. ‘I once told you that you didn't laugh enough. You've laughed a lot tonight!'

‘Because I've had too much to drink. You said so yourself!'

‘No. Well, yes, maybe, but not just that. You've laughed because you're alive. You've found that out tonight. You're alive. You didn't die on your husband's funeral pyre like some Greek heroine.' She caught her breath and he took her hand, holding it in his. ‘You owe it to yourself and to him to go on living. Don't try to fight that.'

‘I can't … I don't know …' She was close to tears.

‘All right.' He released her hand, stood up and returned to his chair. ‘I won't press you. But think about it, will you?'

She could not look at him but stared down at her plate, seeing it through a mist. Then, as suddenly, she seemed to get a grip on herself and lifted her chin with a jerk, her voice falsely bright.

‘I'm sorry – I'm sorry. I'm being stupid, it's a lovely dinner …'

‘And it's not over yet, far from over.'

‘Oh, but I don't think I could eat another thing …'

‘I hope you can! Mrs Milsom will be mortally offended if you don't try her excellent apple pie.'

‘All right, then. Just a little …'

The forced normality lasted throughout the meal. Mrs Milsom appeared with what was indeed the most delectable apple pie Amy had ever seen let alone tasted, and somehow she managed to eat a little of it. Then there was coffee and a liqueur which Ralph said was called Drambuie. It burned her throat but left a warm trail wherever it touched, and she began to feel better again.

‘Do you know I've scarcely had a drink in my life before tonight!' she said with a small, dry laugh.

‘Well, I hope I'm not going to turn you into an alcoholic!'

‘I shouldn't think so. I couldn't afford to drink, even if I wanted to.'

‘You do smoke sometimes, though?'

‘Sometimes,' she admitted.

He took out his cigarette case and passed it to her. The lighter flared and as she drew in the smoke it seemed to find the same place inside her head as the sherry.

‘I think when I've finished this cigarette I ought to be going home,' she said.

Ralph did not argue and she thought: I've probably upset him. He saw this evening as a cosy party for two and now I've spoiled it all. Well, I can't help that.

She ground out her cigarette into the crystal ash-tray.

‘It was a lovely meal. Can I see Mrs Milsom, to thank her?'

‘I'll call her; she'll be pleased to know you enjoyed it.'

Mrs Milsom responded promptly to his summons and flushed with pleasure at Amy's praise.

‘It's nice to cook for somebody as appreciates it,' she said, with a meaningful glance at Ralph.

Driving home in the open Morgan, the wind whipped coldly against Amy's flushed face and added a twist of exhilaration to her mood. There were no lights showing at the windows of her house and she sighed with relief. It probably meant that the children were all tucked up in bed, Ruby was in the sitting-room at the back of the house and all was well.

She tried to get up and out of the car. ‘Wait – I'll help you.' Ralph came round to the passenger side and she began scrambling out, but being still slightly unsteady she caught her foot on the edge. His steadying hand was on her elbow, but as she jerked forward she collided with him and he caught and held her.

‘Careful now!'

The contact of their bodies brought the blood rushing to her cheeks again and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. Breath caught in her throat and the same heady mix of desire and panic flooded through her. But though he held her for long seconds, his face just inches away from hers, he made no attempt to do so.

‘I'll be in touch.' His voice was both tender and decisive, his breath caressing her lips.

Amy felt her knees tremble again. ‘Ralph …'

He released her. ‘Come on, I'll see you to your door.'

His arm was around her waist and somehow her legs moved. Then something made her glance once more at the upper windows of the house and she saw the small white blur of a face between the screening curtains of the little house. Huw. Huw … watching for her … Huw seeing her in Ralph's arms. A tiny voice of alarm spoke within her, but was overwhelmed by the tumult of her emotions.

Ralph waited while she fumbled in her bag for the key and unlocked the door. She climbed the step and they stood briefly looking at one another, their eyes now directly level. Then he smiled, turned and was gone, striding down the path with the easy gait that characterised him – a man who knew what he wanted, a man who almost always got his way.

Amy closed the door. The house was quiet, there was not a sound to be heard except the buzzing of the blood in her ears. With trembling hands she hung up her coat and tidied her hair with her fingers.

‘Is that you, Amy?'

‘Yes, Ruby, it's me. Is everything all right?'

‘Fine! I sang the girls to sleep – they were no trouble.'

‘They like that.' Once, in another lifetime it seemed, Amy had sung the girls to sleep. Now there was rarely any time for such special moments.

‘But Huw's a strange one, isn't he?' Ruby commented.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘I don't really know – it's just the way he is. I think I'd be worried about him if I were you, Amy.'

‘He's still settling in,' Amy said, wishing she could convince herself. ‘He had the most terrible time, but he'll be all right.'

‘If you say so. Well, now that you're home I'll be going, Amy.'

‘Yes. Thanks, Ruby. I'm really grateful.'

‘That's all right. It's a pleasure to see you able to get out once in a while.'

When Ruby had gone, Amy set about her usual jobs that made up her bedtime routine – clearing up generally and setting the breakfast things ready for the morning – but it all seemed to take a great deal longer than usual. Upstairs at last she looked in on the girls, who were both sleeping soundly, then opened Huw's door a crack.

‘Good night, Huw.'

There was no reply and she opened the door a little wider. The lump under the clothes told her he was in bed now, but she felt he could not possibly be asleep.

‘Good night, Huw,' she said again.

But still there was no reply and Amy withdrew. There was no way she could make him speak to her if he didn't want to. And perhaps I was mistaken anyway, she thought. Perhaps I just imagined his face at the window and he was tucked up in bed and asleep all the time.

For all the torrent of emotions she had been experiencing, the wine acted as a drug and Amy fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. But it was still dark when she found herself suddenly and completely awake once more.

For a moment she lay trembling, a little from the suddenness of her awakening, wondering just what had disturbed her. Then from somewhere in the house she heard a thud, and froze. Someone was downstairs! She sat up, straining her ears for another indication, but there was none. A cold bright moon shining in between her curtains illuminated the clock beside her bed – 5 o'clock. Carefully, as if she herself might make a sound to alert whoever was downstairs, Amy pushed aside the cover and got out of bed. Beneath her feet the linoleum was like ice; it sent a shiver up her warm legs as she reached for her dressing-gown and pulled it on over her flannelette nightdress. Her door creaked as she opened it and she turned back into the room for a moment, wondering what she could use to protect herself from any intruder. There was nothing there, but she remembered her umbrella in the stand at the foot of the stairs. She must creep down and get that … then investigate.

Softly, her breath coming in shallow gasps, she went down the stairs. Once the umbrella was in her hand, she felt bolder. Where had the sound come from? The front room? No, she didn't think so. The kitchen, more likely. She went along the hall and threw open the door to the living-room.

‘All right! Who's there?'

No answer … but the door to the kitchen banged, making her jump, and a blast of cold air whistled round her. Cold air? What …

She went into the living-room and then stopped, gasping in dismay. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark now and what she saw was a scene of complete devastation.

The table which she had set for breakfast before going to bed was now completely bare – the check cloth which had covered it and all the crockery and cutlery were on the floor. As Amy took a step in to the room she trod on something hard – the sugar bowl. Then as she backed away, her toes went deep into the gritty spilled sugar.

What a mess! But this was not the work of a burglar. Her nervousness disappeared and in its place anger came rushing in.

‘Huw!' she called furiously. ‘Huw – where are you?'

For answer the door banged again. She crossed the living-room, picking her way over the debris. As she had thought, the back door was wide open but of Huw there was no sign.

She ran to look out, but the cold moonlight showed no one on the path along the side of the house and the first thrust of panic shot through her anger. He must have gone again … made his gesture and gone. Oblivious of her bare feet, she ran out on to the path as far as the pavement, from where she had a clear view up and down the road. Empty! No movement, no sign of life anywhere. She pressed her hands against her mouth.

Oh God, what now?

And then she remembered her sudden awakening. Something must have brought her sharply to consciousness. Had it been the noise when he had pulled the cloth and everything on it from the table? If so, that was not many minutes ago, so he could not have gone far.

As she turned back towards the house, the sight of the coal-house door gave her inspiration. He had hidden in a coal-house once before; might he have done so again?

The door was unlatched and she pulled it open. The dark here was complete and she could see nothing, but she could hear breathing … rasping breathing that was almost a sob.

‘You might as well come out, Huw. I know you're there,' she said in a stern voice.

After a moment's hesitation she saw a shape detach itself from the shadows. As he came towards her she planted herself squarely in the doorway.

‘And you needn't think you're going to get away with this, either,' she said.

He went to slip past her and she caught his shoulder so roughly that he squealed in pain.

‘In!' She propelled him into the kitchen, slamming the door after them and latching it. Then she lit the gas-lamp and turned to look at him – cowering, yet defiant still, in the corner by the sink.

‘Huw, I'm ashamed of you!' she yelled. ‘What can you be thinking of to do this? Look at the mess you've made – just
look!
'

He didn't answer, just stood there, his lower lip jutting, hands clenched. He was fully dressed, she noticed.

‘Were you going to run away again?' she demanded.

He shrugged.

‘I expect you were. You couldn't face me after this, could you? I've done my best for you, Huw; I've really tried to make you feel at home and this is how you repay me.
Oh!
' She was beside herself now and it was all she could do not to take him and shake him like a rag doll, or hit out at him with the umbrella she still held. ‘I should have taken Mr Porter's advice and let him give you a darned good hiding the first time you ran away. Then perhaps you'd be behaving better now!'