A Haunting Compulsion Page 10

  ‘She’s a doctor, Miss Williams, at the Infirmary in Newcastle. She’s a clever girl, and I think we were all surprised when she accepted our Colin.’

  ‘Colin’s not an idiot, Dad!’ Angela exclaimed, with some asperity, and her father laughed.

  ‘No, he’s not,’ he admitted goodnaturedly. ‘But running a string of racehorses can’t be compared to practising medicine, now can it?’

  ‘No. Owning racehorses is more profitable,’ retorted Angela, and her father shook his head.

  ‘I think Barbara should think again,’ remarked Alice, unexpectedly entering the discussion. ‘A woman’s place is with her husband and his wishes should come first. That’s why so many marriages fail nowadays. Too many women want to have their cake and eat it.’

  ‘Oh, I think a woman should pursue a worthwhile career, if that’s what she wants,’ put in Rachel firmly. ‘A lot of marriages fail because the wife is bored, and looks elsewhere for diversion. It’s better to share your wife with her work, rather than with another man.’

  ‘A sage comment,’ remarked a lazy voice from the doorway; and Angela’s squeal of delight saved Rachel’s blushes.

  ‘Jaime! Oh, Jaime, there you are!’ She left her chair to fling herself across the floor at him, and his murmur of protest was stifled by the intimate pressure of her lips. ‘Darling! How are you?’ she added huskily, as he endeavoured to keep his balance against the door frame. ‘You are a beast, you know, frightening us all like that.’

  Rachel averted her eyes from the sight of Angela’s dewy look of supplication. With Jaime’s arm around her, as much to support himself as to embrace her, Rachel acknowledged candidly, Angela was nevertheless making a meal of her opportunities, and her scarlet-tipped fingers rested against the pleated front of his shirt, her arm linked familiarly with his.

  ‘I didn’t know you cared,’ Jaime was remarking now, nodding across at her father and mother. ‘How are you, Bernard?’ he greeted the older man politely. ‘Hello, Alice. You look well.’

  ‘It’s you we’re worried about,’ exclaimed Angela, in the silly girlish voice, that Rachel was beginning to dislike more and more.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about him,’ put in Robert dryly. ‘He’s got more lives than a cat.’

  ‘Well, he’s like a cat, aren’t you, darling?’ Angela insisted coyly. ‘Only not the tame domestic variety, a big sleek panther—’

  ‘Would anyone like a drink?’ suggested Robert, getting to his feet, and Rachel looked up at him gratefully.

  ‘Yes,’ she said succinctly. ‘I’d like to try some of that contraband whisky, Rob. That is, if you’ve got any left.’

  ‘Oh, I think I might be able to find you a drop, Rachel,’ he assured her kindly, and as he went to examine the contents of the drinks cupboard, Jaime eased himself into an armchair.

  ‘War wounded,’ he observed mockingly, by way of an apology to Angela, but she perched herself possessively on the arm of the chair beside him and conducted a conversation with him in low, inaudible tones.

  Rachel glanced towards them impatiently, reluctantly aware of how attractive Jaime looked in the black pants and maroon velvet jacket he was wearing. With his hair smoothly combed and his tie expertly knotted, he looked much different from the last time she had seen him on his bed, but the memory of that lingered, and mocked her affirmed detachment.

  When he turned his head and found her watching them, he bowed his head almost imperceptibly, and she looked down quickly at her hands. Dear God, was she going to have to add jealousy to the list of emotions he had inspired in her, and if so, what on earth was she going to do about it?

  Robert supplied her with a generous measure of Scotch, and she drank the raw spirit eagerly. Its potency was numbing, as well as deliciously warming, and by the time she reached the bottom of the glass she was feeling infinitely more optimistic.

  Robin and his wife had joined them by this time, and as everyone wanted to see the baby, Nancy was in her element. In a cowl-necked dress of apricot jersey, she looked the epitome of fulfilled womanhood, and Liz and Robert were obviously very thrilled to show the Hyltons their granddaughter.

  ‘I see Angie baby hasn’t wasted any time,’ remarked Robin, seating himself beside Rachel on the couch. ‘Did you know that she’s been after him for years, but in spite of his marriage, and her two broken engagements, she doesn’t seem to be any further forward.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Rachel spoke carelessly, and then wished she hadn’t as Robin’s brows arched inquisitively. ‘Oh, well, I only meant she seems to know him—’

  ‘Intimately?’ supplied Robin dryly. ‘Don’t you believe it. Jaime wouldn’t get himself involved with a psycho like her.’ He grimaced. ‘Not after Betsy, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rachel looked bewildered, and Robin shook his head.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said flatly. ‘Forget I said it. Hey, that’s a pretty dress you’re almost wearing.’

  Rachel parried his habitual efforts to make a pass at her, then the doorbell rang again to herald the vicar’s arrival, and more drinks were circulated. In the general mêlée, Rachel had no time to consider what Robin might have meant by his remark, and as the evening wore on it lost its significance.

  The Mannings arrived, and with them their son Patrick, who turned out to be an amateur musician. He had brought his guitar with him, and as Robert had rolled back the carpet in the hall for dancing later, it promised to be an entertaining evening.

  Rachel’s head was already feeling a little muzzy by the time they sat down to dinner. With every new arrival Robert had produced a round of drinks, and as Angela continued to monopolise Jaime, Rachel took refuge in her glass.

  At dinner, she was seated between Patrick Manning and the vicar, with Jaime diagonally opposite. He was sitting near the end of the table, with Angela between him and his father, while Liz had Robin at the other end of the table, and Nancy only two seats away. None of the women, Rachel observed, had been placed beside their husband, and she presumed Liz’s arrangement of putting Jaime with Angela was designed to make it easier for her. But it didn’t; it made it harder. And harder still when Jaime met her eyes, without a trace of warmth in his.

  The meal was the traditional one, with an enormous roast turkey and a flaming plum pudding, and hot mince pies to finish. There were various wines served with the food, and brandy to add to the coffee, and Rachel was hardly surprised, when she got up from the table, to find that the room was spinning.

  She offered to help Liz and Maisie carry the dishes away, glad of the exercise to clear her head, and by the time she returned to the sitting room, Patrick was playing carols on his guitar. Everyone was joining in, she noticed, squeezing unobtrusively into a corner, and with the lights lowered, and only firelight to illuminate the room, it was a very Christmassy scene.

  ‘What do you think of Angela?’ whispered Nancy, beside her, free now that Lisa had been settled down for the night in the Armstrongs’ bedroom. ‘Robin says that she’s a model, but I can’t think of what,’ she added cattily. ‘Unless it’s nail varnish!’

  Rachel’s lips twitched. ‘Have you met her before?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Nancy grimaced, evidently regarding Rachel with less hostility since their chat during their walk that morning. ‘I used to think she fancied Robin, until I saw her with Jaime.’

  Rachel’s stomach fluttered uncomfortably. ‘Do you think Jaime fancies her?’ she asked, then chided herself for allowing the amount of alcohol she had consumed to dictate what she said, but Nancy was not perturbed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured, shrugging her shoulders. ‘But that’s not always important, is it? I mean—if a girl fancies a man, he’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t he?’

  Rachel gasped. ‘You mean—you think that any man would—’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ said Nancy. ‘After all, it’s not the same for a man, is it? Just a—fact of life.’

  Rachel said no more. Nancy was pro
bably right, she decided bitterly. After what Jaime had said to her that afternoon she should know better than to argue. But that didn’t stop the awful aching feeling inside her, or relieve the tension that was tying her up in knots.

  When Patrick stopped playing, and the lights were restored, Robert put on the record player and set the ball rolling by leading Mrs Manning on to the hall’s polished floor. It encouraged the Conways to join them, and Bernard Hylton gallantly partnered Liz.

  ‘D’you want to dance?’

  Rachel looked up in surprise to find Patrick in front of her, looking rather bashful at having to invite her in front of Nancy.

  ‘Oh, I—if you like,’ she responded, offering him her hand, and he pulled her up confidently and steered her out into the hall.

  Unlike everyone else, he was not wearing a dinner jacket, but his rather raffish good looks complemented the jeans and sweater he was wearing. He was younger than she was, Rachel guessed, barely twenty-one or two, and evidently out of his element in this kind of gathering.

  ‘I’m not much good, really,’ he confessed, when they reached the edge of the dance floor. ‘This kind of gig isn’t my line, but I’m willing to take a chance if you are.’

  ‘I’ve never had a better offer,’ said Rachel with a soft laugh. ‘I’m no ballroom dancer either, so we should suit one another.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Patrick grinned and pulled her close, and they moved in slow rhythm with the music. It was a slow foxtrot, or so Robert had announced, but they were all the same to Patrick, and when the beat changed to a waltz they hardly altered their step.

  It was only when Robin interfered with his father’s planning and put a modern group on the record deck that Patrick came to life, and Rachel was relieved her skirt had a slit in the side, as he started to spin her around.

  ‘Good old rock-an’-roll,’ he said, as he pulled her against him. ‘You’re good, do you know that? Hey, this is great!’

  ‘I had a good teacher,’ said Rachel breathlessly, whirling on her heels, then became aware that their exhibition was attracting everyone else’s attention. As well as the older couples, Jaime and Angela had come to stand in the doorway leading from the sitting room, and Rachel wondered giddily whether he had heard what she had said. Jaime had taught her everything she knew about dancing, both disco and modern, and she had to force herself to concentrate on Patrick as she felt Jaime’s eyes upon her.

  When the music stopped she was breathless, and her head was still whirling. It had been an exhilarating experience, but now that it was over she wondered if she had been exactly wise to participate.

  ‘You need a drink,’ said Patrick firmly, imprisoning her within the circle of his arms. ‘I know a nice little corner where we can share a beer and you can tell me your life story. And later on, if there’s time, I’ll tell you mine.’

  Rachel was feeling hot and uncomfortable, and she pushed futilely at his sweating chest. ‘Really, I don’t think that’s at all a good idea,’ she said, trying to free herself. ‘Let me go, Patrick. I don’t feel very well.’

  ‘Aw, c’mon!’ Patrick bent his face unpleasantly close to hers. ‘I’m not threatening your virtue or anything. I just want us to spend a little time together. We’re the only young people here, I think we owe it to each other.’

  ‘Patrick—’

  ‘My turn, I think,’ inserted Jaime curtly, cutting between them with grim determination. Without too much effort he set Rachel free, then countered Patrick’s aggression with a hard-eyed smile.

  ‘The lady’s tired,’ said Patrick, facing him out. ‘She wants a drink.’

  ‘Later,’ said Jaime, his hand descending on Rachel’s arm, and the younger man had little choice but to accept the situation.

  Rachel, for her part, was amazed at how relieved she felt to see Jaime. He had left Angela, where Rachel had last seen them together, and was supporting himself unaided, though he favoured his left leg. Remembering the gash she had seen in his thigh, Rachel was both shocked and reluctantly anxious, and after Patrick had departed with ill grace she turned to thank him.

  ‘Dance,’ said Jaime grimly, pulling her towards him, and she gazed up at him uncomprehendingly as his arms slipped around her.

  ‘You—you can’t,’ she protested, looking down at his leg, but Jaime just ignored her as they moved in time to the slow rhythm.

  ‘You want to start a fight?’ he enquired, keeping a couple of inches between them, and Rachel fingered his lapel.

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘If Manning thought I was being heavy-handed, he might conceivably turn nasty.’ Jaime shrugged. ‘So we dance. For a few minutes anyway.’

  Rachel sighed, pursing her lips as she looked up at him. ‘And won’t your girl-friend mind? Your deserting her for me, I mean?’

  ‘Who? Angela?’ Jaime grimaced. ‘I guess she thinks she has nothing to worry about.’

  Rachel gazed at him resentfully. ‘I suppose you told her she hasn’t. So long as you’re holding me at arm’s length, anyway. What’s the matter? Am I contaminated or something? Or are you afraid of what I might do to you?’

  Jaime’s eyes were cold. ‘I think you’ve had too much to drink,’ he declared flatly. ‘I watched you swallowing those Scotches before dinner. I knew then you were asking for trouble, but of course you knew better.’

  ‘How would you know what I was doing?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You were too engrossed with Angela. Drooling all over her, you were. It was disgusting!’

  ‘Was it?’ He was contemptuous. ‘Well, I suggest you mind your own business in future, hmm?’

  ‘I will. Oh, I will!’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Jaime stopped abruptly and glanced round. ‘Well, it seems that your errant swain has disappeared. I guess we can call it a day, don’t you?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Rachel was hurt and indignant, but as Jaime turned away she had to reach for him again with urgent fingers. The room was revolving slowly around her, and she panicked as a terrible nausea rose into her throat.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHAT IS IT?’

  Jaime looked impatient as he turned back to her, but at the sight of her pallid face, his irritation fled. With a muffled oath he stepped in front of her, shielding her from the rest of the dancers, and looked down at her frustratedly as she swayed unsteadily before him.

  ‘I feel awful!’ she moaned, pressing her hot face against his shoulder, and with a sharp expellation of his breath he put his arm around her.

  ‘Come on,’ he said grimly. ‘You can make it up the stairs. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself down here, do you? Not in front of Patrick—and Angela!’

  Rachel was vaguely aware of Liz hurrying towards them as they walked towards the stairs, but Jaime gestured her to stay away. Then she felt the cooler air fanning her forehead as they mounted to the first landing, and saw the lamplit corridor wavering ahead of her.

  Jaime pushed open the door of her room, and the sickness she had been steeling not to break got the better of her. Dragging herself away from him, she staggered dizzily into the bathroom and disgraced herself completely in the rose-patterned basin.

  She seemed to lean there for ages, while retching racked her body, and the dizziness slowly subsided. But it was replaced by a terrible feeling of humiliation, that was not helped when she turned and found Jaime leaning against the door frame, watching her.

  ‘Here.’ He passed her his handkerchief as she straightened, and she wiped her mouth without looking at him. ‘Are you feeling better? You still look as white as a sheet.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Rachel kicked off her shoes and padded past him into the bedroom. ‘I’m sorry I had to involve you in all this.’ She sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Apologise to your parents for me.’

  ‘I think Liz got the picture,’ remarked Jaime dryly, rubbing his leg painfully as he came into the room. ‘It’s after eleven o’clock anyway. The party will soon be over
. My parents don’t go in for all-night festivities.’

  Rachel looked up at him unhappily. ‘Your leg! You must be in agony! You haven’t even got your stick.’

  ‘I’m not exactly incapacitated,’ retorted Jaime wryly. ‘Now, are you going to be all right?’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, suddenly aware of their isolation in the lamplit room. She stood up abruptly, to dispel the illusion, and then lost her balance ignominiously, so that he had to save her from falling.

  ‘Come on,’ he said huskily, ‘I’ll help you.’ His hands found the zip at the back of her dress. ‘Relax, I’m not going to touch you. I just want to make sure you don’t do yourself an injury.’

  Rachel hadn’t the strength to obstruct him, and besides, she was beginning to feel very sleepy, and she couldn’t wait to put her head on the cool pillow. She let Jaime remove her dress, then stretched lazily on the creamy silk sheets while he took off her tights.

  ‘I’ll leave you to do the rest,’ he said harshly, tossing the shreds of nylon aside, and Rachel looked up at him below heavy lids.

  ‘I—I haven’t thanked you,’ she said, but he pressed his hand down in a gesture of dismissal.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll leave you now. I—well, if you need anything, just shout. Somebody’s bound to hear you.’

  ‘All right.’ Rachel wanted to detain him, but she knew it would be crazy, so she raised herself on her elbows and smiled. ‘I—I am grateful anyway.’ She paused. ‘Say goodbye to the Hyltons for me.’

  ‘You’ll see them tomorrow,’ retorted Jamie abruptly, opening the bedroom door. ‘Didn’t my mother explain, they usually stay the night? So that Bernard doesn’t drink and drive.’

  ‘Oh!’ Rachel’s mouth tightened. So Angela would have her chance. ‘All right, then. See you in the morning!’ and she curled into a ball as he went out the door.

  Funnily enough, as soon as he had gone her tiredness left her. Maybe it was the knowledge of knowing that Angela was going to spend the night in the house that had aroused her, but whatever it was, she was fully wide awake.