Authors: Sara Craven
solemn for a party. I must say you're looking exceptionally
gorgeous tonight, Morgana, like some sexy . mediaeval princess. I
bet old Rob's having to fight the other guys off.'
He laughed, but Morgana noticed that Elaine did not share his
amusement, even though she stretched her lips in a dutiful smile.
Her eyes as they studied Morgana were sour and faintly surprised,
like a jealous swan observing the unexpected transformation of an
ugly duckling. Elaine, after all, was not used to hearing other girls
openly admired when she was present.
'Not exactly,' Morgana returned, her own smile stilted. She liked
Jimmy, but then most people did, because although not always
tactful, he was invariably amiable.
'Where did you find the dress? Not in Polzion, surely,' Lucy asked.
'
'Not quite.' Reluctantly Morgana found herself recounting the
dress's history, and its role in her grandparents' courtship.
'Quite a romantic story,' Lucy commented condescendingly when
she had finished.
Elaine's voice cut across her harshly. 'I don't see anything very
romantic about being so hard up for cash that you're forced to wear
a second-hand dress to a party.'
In the shocked silence which followed, Morgana felt hot colour
flood into her face. She saw Rob start forward, his pleasant face
stiff with anger, and put a hand on his arm.
'Rob, it's all right,' she said softly and urgently. 'I—I think I'd like
to go home now, please.'
Jimmy made an embarrassed protest, but she was adamant.
Elaine's malice had soured the evening for her, as the other girl had
fully intended it should.
She sat still and silent in the car while Rob fulminated beside her.
'Honestly, darling, I don't know what came over her. She isn't
usually like this, believe me.' He sighed. 'I shall have a few words
to say to her tomorrow!'
'No, please don't,' she begged. 'She dislikes me quite enough as it
is. A lecture from you would only make things worse.'
Rob gave her a swift glance, his brows drawn together in a frown.
'But she doesn't dislike you,' he objected. 'She has no reason to.'
Morgana shrugged. 'Emotions aren't always rational. We—we just
don't get along. Surely you must have noticed.'
He looked uncomfortable, and she guessed that he had indeed
noticed, but, man-like, hoped the situation would go away if he
didn't mention it.
After an awkward pause he said, 'You don't really know each
other, of course, If you did . . .'
We'd be as sisters, Morgana silently supplied, with a wry twist of
her lips.
She said gently, 'You mustn't hope for too much, Rob.'
'Oddly enough I don't want my only sister and the girl I love at
each other's throats,' he retorted rather sullenly.
'No,' she said with deliberate lightness, resisting the impulse to
retort that most of the hostility was on Elaine's side, and always
had been. 'I can see it might create problems.'
'I'm being serious,' he said crossly.
'I know you are.' Morgana paused. 'Perhaps you want to reconsider
some of the things you said to me earlier in the evening.'
'That's the last thing I want.' His tone was vehement. 'I want you to
marry me, darling, and soon. Elaine's attitude will alter altogether
when she knows you're going to be her sister-in-law.'
'But I haven't said I will yet!' She was faintly alarmed. 'Rob, you
said you'd give me time to think.'
'You can have all the time you need,' he said with a new
confidence in his voice, and she realised he had no doubt about
what her ultimate answer would be. She sank back into the seat,
feeling utterly dismayed, unable to come to terms with this sudden
change in his attitude towards her, the apparent intensifying of his
feelings. _
When they reached Polzion, he said hopefully, 'Coffee?'
Morgana said apologetically, 'Not tonight, Rob. I— I'm rather
tired.'
'That's what you always say,' he complained moodily. He reached
for her, pulling her into his arms. She allowed him to kiss her, but
there was no response to him in her. She felt as if every warm,
breathing sensation in her had been numbed, and she could sense
his bewilderment and disappointment as he realised her.
She stood at the front door and watched until his car was out of
sight, smiling and waving. She felt she owed him that. Then she
relaxed with a deep sigh and let herself noiselessly into the house.
She glanced towards the drawing room door, hoping against hope
that her mother might still be up, as she often was, but the room
was in darkness, apart from a few embers which still smouldered
in the grate. She turned away from the doorway and went slowly
upstairs to her room.
She put on the light, closing the door behind her, and leaning
wearily against the panels for a moment. Then, as she glanced
towards the dressing table, ,she gave an involuntary gasp. Two
unlit candles in brass candlesticks had been placed there, flanking
the mirror, and a large rosy apple on a plate reposed in the middle.
'Elsa,' Morgana thought grimly, not knowing whether to laugh or
cry, and strongly tempted to do both. She'd hardly been more than
a child when Elsa had first told her of the old Hallowe'en
superstition whereby a girl who stood in candlelight, brushing her
hair and eating an apple, would see the reflection of her future
husband in the mirror. She didn't have to eat the apple, of course.
She could put it under her pillow and dream of her lover instead.
For several years she had carried out one ritual or the other with
naive eagerness, but the only face which had ever looked back at
her was her own, and the apple under the pillow had given her a
crick in the neck, so gradually she had let them lapse.
So why had Elsa nudged her to revive them this year of all years?
'She's probably been reading the cards and seen Rob's proposal,
and is hoping to push me in the right direction,' Morgan told
herself without amusement. She was sorely tempted to rid her
dressing table of the whole caboodle with one sweep of her arm,
but guessed the ensuing clatter would wake the whole house and
convince everyone that there were burglars at the very least.
She pulled off her cap and veil and tossed it down on the chair,
pushing her fingers through her hair. The unlit candles seemed to
mock at her, accusing her of cowardice.
She thought, 'It's just a silly superstition, and I'm not going along
with it. I'm too old to believe in such nonsense. I'm not a child any
more. Elsa should be ashamed of herself.'
But even in her own ears, her words lacked conviction. And the
apple looked delicious, she had to admit. There wouldn't be any
harm in eating a little of it, she argued to herself. After all, her
supper at the Templetons' had been interrupted, and she was still
hungry.
A small inner voice which said that it would be far more sensible
to go down to the kitchen and fetch a sandwich and a glass of milk
she ignored. She picked up the box of matches which Elsa had left
conveniently to hand and lit the candles.
There was something about candlelight, she thought dreamily, as
she switched off the main light. It created its own pools of
brilliance, and its own shadows too. She reached for her hairbrush
and began to stroke it across her hair while with the other hand she
picked up the apple and took her first bite. Its flavour was sharp
but juicy, like all the other Hallowe'en apples she had ever tasted,
and suddenly the years rolled back and she was a child, thrilled,
hopeful and a little frightened too, peering into the shadows of the
mirror, waiting for them to lift for one second of infinity and show
her a glimpse of the future.
She bit into the apple again, and she was Eve—all woman, all
tremulous longings, waiting for her lover to come to her. The hand
drawing the brush through her hair grew languorous, and a slow
tingle of pleasure ran from the nape of her neck to the base of her
spine.
The candle flames flared upwards suddenly as if in a sudden
draught, and she stood motionless, the apple falling from her
nerveless fingers and rolling away across the carpet, as she looked
into her mirror and saw, beyond reason and beyond doubt, Lyall's
face.
MORGANA wanted to scream, but the sound choked in her throat,
emerging as a kind of moan. At that moment, hands warm and
hard and all too human descended on her shoulders, swinging her
round.
'It's all right,' Lyall said roughly. 'I'm not a ghost that you've
conjured up.'
'What are you doing here?' In spite of herself, her voice quivered.
He lifted an eyebrow. 'At the risk of sounding repetitious, this is
my home—or one of them.'
'But no one knew where you were. We weren't expecting you.'
He gave her a sardonic look. 'You're not actually admitting that
you might have missed me?'
'No, I'm not,' she said angrily. 'It makes no difference to me where
you are or what you're doing, but other people have different
views. Elaine Donleven, for instance.'
He shrugged. 'Where does she come into this?'
'Tonight is Hallowe'en,' she reminded him. 'You were supposed to
be taking her to the Templetons' party.'
He smiled faintly. 'I wasn't aware I'd made any kind of promise
about it—my plans were far too uncertain for that. I'm afraid the
lovely Elaine tends to take far too much for granted—probably
because she's so lovely.'
'Well, she was very upset,' said Morgana, wondering rather
helplessly why she should be fighting Elaine's battles for her.
'Oh, really?' he said cynically. 'How very uncharacteristic of her.
I'd have said she'd have immediately looked round for an
alternative escort.' He paused. 'Well, am I wrong?'
'No,' she said reluctantly, aware that he was still holding her
shoulders. She moved restively, and he released her.
'I'm sorry if I frightened you,' he said conversationally. 'I assumed
you'd hear the door opening, but you were much too intent. What
spell were you casting tonight?'
Morgana flushed, feeling a total idiot. 'No spell at all,' she denied.
'No?' He bent and retrieved the apple, handing it back to her.
'Finish your supper,' he suggested gently.
'I'm not hungry.' Suddenly she felt close to tears. 'And it's only
Elsa's foolishness anyway.'
'It's more than just foolishness if it prompts you to stand around in
the dark frightening yourself to death,' he said. 'If it's any
consolation to you, you also startled me.'
'I don't see how,' she muttered.
'I was downstairs in the drawing room just now. I looked up,
Morgan le Fay, and there you were standing in the doorway. For a
moment I thought your grandmother's portrait had come to life.
Where on earth did you find that dress?'
'It was in the bottom of one of the trunks, so I decided to wear it to
the party. It Seemed like a good idea at the time,' she said wearily.
'I'd say it was still a good idea.' Lyall looked her over slowly, and
she felt her body grow warm under his all-encompassing gaze.
'Have you any idea what you look like?'
'Oh, yes.' Deliberately she tried to make her voice cool, and even
slightly amused. 'A sexy mediaeval princess was one comment, but
I feel just mediaeval at the moment, so if you're quite satisfied that
I'm not a ghost perhaps you'd get out of my room, because I want
to go to bed.'
He said quite gently, 'So do I,' and reached for her.
Morgana was too startled to struggle or even protest as he gathered
her to him. His hands burned through the thin silk of the gown, and
she could feel the texture of the suit he was wearing, the imprint of
every button and fastening on his clothes on her skin as is she had
been naked.
He kissed her hard and deep, bending her backwards so far that she
thought her spinal column would snap. She tried to say 'No,' but
his invasion of her mouth was too total, too ruthless. Speech was
impossible, the simple act of breathing nearly so.
When his mouth left hers to travel the length of her slender throat,
it was a reprieve, but only a short-lived one, she thought dizzily.
The movements of his lips on her skin were devastating,
plundering a response she could neither understand nor control.