Unknown (17 page)

‘Surely Helen's old enough to realise when someone
^s
s serious or not? She knows we’re engaged.' The conversation was becoming difficult and Laura clasped her fingers tightly behind her back, willing him to change the subject.

‘Old enough, yes, but wise enough, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want her getting hurt. She’s gone through enough recently.'

‘And just what do you propose I do?’ Laura lifted her head proudly. ‘Tell him I don’t want him to speak to Helen again? What would he think then? That I'm jealous? I may have green eyes, but jealousy is not one of my traits.' At least not as far as Philip’s concerned, she added to herself. With Brad it was a different matter.

‘Now who’s being ridiculous? You know quite well what I mean.' His eyes darkened and he took a step forward.

Laura drew back involuntarily, not noticing the table behind her. Brad came forward another step and placed his hands on the table one each side of her, effectively blocking her retreat, his face within inches of her own. Cold grey eyes looked into frightened green ones.

‘Let me go,' she demanded. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?'

‘Trying to prove something,' he answered calmly, as with deliberate slowness his lips came nearer to her own.

Laura’s heart hammered painfully when she realised his intentions, but what reason lay behind his actions she could not imagine. She only knew that it was important not to let him find out the true state of her feelings.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheeks and suddenly, breathlessly, twisted her head to one side, pushing her hands hard against his chest. He remained solid, immovable, and she heard a light mocking laugh.

One hand came up behind her back, tangling itself in her hair and pulling her head back sharply. ‘Yes, your hair’s definitely better this way,' he whispered, then his lips were on hers, crushing, bruising, demanding. It took every ounce of self-control to keep herself from responding, from allowing her heart to rule her emotions. But she succeeded—perhaps too well. For he flung her from him without a sound, returning to lean his head against his arm on the mantelpiece.

The desire to admit her love for him, to wipe away his defeated attitude, which puzzled her greatly, became stronger. With a smothered cry she ran from the room and did not stop until she reached the privacy of her own quarters.

There she lay on the bed and sobbed, allowing her tears to fall freely until at last she felt calmer. Quietly opening the door she looked along the corridor, ensuring no one was about before slipping into the bathroom. She showered and splashed her face with cold water until the redness round her eyes disappeared, but she could still feel the warmth of his kisses and a painful tightening round her heart as she recalled the unleashed passion behind his embrace.

What animal instinct urged him to act as he had? What was he trying to prove? That he could draw more response from her than Philip had? Was that it? If so he had failed and judging by his reaction he had not, liked to admit defeat. His pride was probably badly hurt, thought Laura, used as he was to women falling at his feet. Perhaps now he would realise that not all women were the same. This last thought was not strictly true, for hadn’t she turned out to be little better than all the other girls before her? Except that she had successfully kept her feelings hidden. She supposed he was piqued because she hadn’t conformed to the pattern of the rest of her sex, but at what cost to herself had she resisted his advances? More than she cared to admit, but she didn’t intend letting him think that she too had fallen prey to his undoubted good looks and charming manner when he chose to exert it, which wasn’t often as far as she was concerned.

Back in her bedroom she lay awake, listening to the sounds of the old house as it too settled down for the night. Outside a strong wind pulled at the branches of the trees, whistling through the tall pines. Suddenly she heard the soft but unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing. Wondering who could be going out at this late hour, Laura jumped out of bed and pulled back a corner of the long, heavy curtains. At first she saw no one, but as the moon appeared from behind the racing clouds she saw Brad illumined in its ghostly light. He was standing quite still, apparently intent on something in the distance.

As she watched he turned and looked up, just for a second, and then he walked away into the shadows. Hotly she let the velvet fall. Had he seen her? If so, what would he think? That she too could not sleep? That his kisses had disturbed her? But he couldn’t possibly realise how she felt. She was letting her imagination run away with her. Even so, sleep still refused to come. Her mind was with the man out there in the cold, wondering what he was doing, what impulse had caused him to take a midnight walk.

It was a full hour before she heard Brad return and his careful footsteps pass her room. His door clicked gently to and at last, content with the knowledge that Brad was safe, she slept.

Laura woke the next morning with a raging headache. She drew back the curtains and sunlight flooded into the room causing her to gasp and hold a hand to her head as its brilliance hurt her eyes. Stumbling to the bathroom she swallowed down a couple of pills before washing and dressing and making her way downstairs.

In the dining-room Philip sat near the window reading the morning paper. He rose as she entered, his ready smile fading when he saw her white, drawn face.

‘Sweetheart, what’s the matter? Are you ill?'

‘I have a headache,' Laura smiled wanly. ‘It will pass.'

Philip held out her chair. ‘You look as though you ought to be in bed. Does Brad know you’re not well?'

‘I’ve seen no one.' She then noticed that the table was set for two only. ‘Isn’t he joining us?’

‘He’s already eaten, according to Mrs. Jennings, and is hard at work. Helen’s staying in bed for a while, so we’re on our own, sweetheart.’

So Brad had reverted to eating alone, thought Laura. He could at least have waited until Philip had left. After all, he was the host, even though Philip was an uninvited guest. Unless he was being tactful in leaving her and Philip together? She smiled at this thought. Tact as far as Philip was concerned was one of Brad's failings. He made no secret of the fact that he didn't like her friend, and was more likely to intrude on their privacy than arrange it for them. No, he was probably still annoyed with her over last night, she decided. And there was nothing she could do about it.

'What time are you going?’ she asked, buttering a slice of toast.

‘Straight after breakfast. I’m afraid. I must get back today. Helen’s invited me up for the weekend, but I’m tied up; Saturday and Sunday are our busy times. Anyway, I'll try and come soon or Brad will think there’s something wrong. I take it you still want to carry on with this charade?'

'Oh, yes!’

Laura’s reply was so emphatic that Philip raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘What’s he been saying ? I thought it strange when he asked to speak to you alone last night.’

‘Er—nothing,’ said Laura. She had no intention of telling Philip what had happened. It was just possible that he might decide to tax Brad about it and ask him what right he had to interfere in their affairs. ‘He wanted to discuss some work,’ she said finally, it being the only other excuse she could think of.

She could see Philip did not believe her, but all he said was, ‘A funny time of day to talk work. Couldn’t it have waited?’

Laura shrugged.
^;
It’s not up to me to question him. He
is
my employer.’

‘I keep forgetting that. Sorry. Ah, here’s Mrs. Jennings. I’m starving.'

‘None for me, Jenny,’ said Laura, smiling up at the housekeeper. ‘Toast and tea is all I want.’

‘You certainly don’t look well,’ said Mrs. Jennings in concern. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed?’

And let Brad think I’m scared to see him? thought Laura. ‘No, thanks. I’ll feel better when the tablets work. It’s only a headache.’

‘Well, I think you ought to tell Mr. Stuart. You can’t work feeling like that,' said the older woman emphatically.

She left the room and Philip looked at Laura. ‘She’s right. Would you like me to have a word with him?’

‘Oh, do stop fussing,’ said Laura, beginning to feel annoyed. ‘Anyone would think I was really ill instead of a silly headache.'

‘Well, you look ill,’ insisted Philip. ‘But you know best, so I’ll shut up.’ He attacked his bacon with relish. ‘I’ll say one thing for Brad—he’s got a jolly good cook in Mrs. Jennings. I wouldn’t mind a few more of her meals.’ By the time Philip left, Laura’s head was not quite so bad. As Brad had not put in an appearance she decided to go and face him. It was already half-past nine.

She tapped on his door and entered. He looked up from his desk—his face stem, eyes cold and expressionless. For a second he studied her, but if she thought he was going to comment on her paleness she was wrong.

He deliberately looked at his watch. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you intended doing any work today?’ His voice was low, scornful.

Laura bit back a hasty retort. ‘I’m sorry, I was seeing Philip off,’ and she could not resist adding, ‘He wondered why you weren’t there.’

Some us have work to do,’ came the terse reply.

'We can't all spend our time gadding about the countryside.’

You seem to forget that he saved you a journey yesterday, retorted Laura, again stung into retaliation. 'The least you could do was say good-bye.’ Immediately the words were out she regretted them.

'Perhaps I thought you’d like to be alone?’

Like hell you did, she thought, more confident than ever that he was put out by her behaviour of the previous evening.

'How very kind of you.’ She injected just the right amount of sarcasm into her voice to make him wonder whether she was serious or not. 'If you’ll tell me what you want doing I’ll start.’

‘The work’s already on your desk,’ he said coolly. She was half way through the dividing door when he spoke again. ‘And Miss Templeton—I’d like it all finished today’.

‘Very well,’ she said, closing the door. But when she looked at the pile of papers and tapes her lips compressed.

If Jenny and Philip could tell she was not well, surely Brad must also have noticed? She glanced resentfully at the door, tempted for a moment to march in and tell him she was taking the day off. But pride held her back. She would finish no matter what. She had no desire to give him the satisfaction of reprimanding her for falling down on her work.

DURING the days that followed Brad appeared to delight in finding fault with Laura’s work. It seemed as though her engagement had served only to increase his antipathy. But instead of her own love dying by his constant harsh words it deepened, and as the week passed Laura found it more and more difficult to hide her feelings. As a result she became increasingly subdued. She no longer enjoyed their verbal sparring matches and meekly accepted his recriminations. Even Mrs. Jennings commented on her wan appearance and lack of appetite.

The nights were the worst. Lying in bed, Laura’s misery engulfed her completely. She slept fitfully, tormented by dreams of Brad. Brad chasing her through the grounds of the house with a handful of letters. Brad kissing her wickedly and then thrusting her away in disgust. And worst of all, a tender loving Brad asking her to marry him…

The morning after this particular dream Laura felt more despondent than ever. There was still another three weeks of her contract left and she’ wondered how she would manage to get through it. She sat at her typewriter, staring at the distant hills, their summits disappearing into the low-lying clouds, wishing for the hundredth time that she had never taken the job.

How long Brad had been watching she did not know, but a slight movement caused her to look swiftly round, her eyes widening as she saw him standing in the doorway.

For one unguarded moment she thought she saw concern in his dark eyes, hut the next instant they were blank—as cold and impersonal as ever.

He walked towards her, studying her face as he did so. Laura felt uneasy under his disconcerting gaze, but lifted her chin determinedly, waiting for the inevitable tirade. What was wrong now? she thought tiredly. No matter how hard she tried she could not please him these days.

‘Is something bothering you, Laura?'

His voice was unexpectedly gentle, and Laura wondered at this sudden change. But what could she tell him—how could she say, 'I love you, Brad. I want you to love me.' She bit her lip anxiously as he silently waited.

‘N-no,’ she lied. 'There's nothing.’

He frowned. ‘Don’t hedge, girl. I can see for myself the change in you. You’re not ill?’

‘No. I tell you I’m all right.’

He stood before her desk, his hands planted firmly on the smooth, dark wood. Reluctantly her eyes were drawn to his; she saw that he too looked tired and drawn. It was funny she hadn’t noticed before.

‘It must be Philip,’ he was saying. 'I knew he was a cad right from the start, Gains your affection and then ignores you. Have you heard from him since Monday?’

Laura shook her head, wondering whether it was time to end this nonsense about her being engaged. Then, realising that at least it was a means of escape as far as Brad’s enquiring mind was concerned, she decided against it. No, but I expect he’s busy in the evenings. He owns a nightclub, you know.’ If she expected her words to startle him she was disappointed, for he merely raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘And he wouldn’t disturb me in the daytime because he knows I’m working.’

‘Hmph,' snorted Brad. ‘Some excuse, that! If he loves you as much as he makes out he’d ring every day.’

'I really don’t see what concern it is of yours how I conduct my private life,' said Laura coolly.

‘It is when your work suffers. Don’t forget I pay you to do my typing and I expect a reasonably accurate job.’

'I'm sorry,' retorted Laura primly. ‘I’ll try and see that I make no mistakes in future.’

He gave her one last penetrating look before disappearing into his study, and Laura tried to settle down to work. But Brad’s conversation played on her mind and she found it impossible to concentrate. She wished she had not seen that look of concern. It was easier to bear his intolerant manner if she knew he did not care. Why, oh, why had she got herself into such a situation ?