For the Love of Sara Page 12

  She was close against him, but she wanted to be closer. K The warmth of his body was a potent intoxicant, and the scent of his skin mingled with the other scents of shaving lotion and tobacco. Her legs were giving out under her, and the effort of pushing herself away from him was almost too much for I her. But she made it, and stood, breathing heavily, her hair I loose and silky about her flushed face.

  "I hate you, Joel Kingdom!" she stormed furiously, dragging her unbuttoned shirt across her pointed breasts. "Get out of here! I wish I never had to see you again!"

  Joel, who since her abrupt withdrawal had been sitting with his hands hanging loosely between his legs, got slowly to his feet, and thrust his shirt back into his pants. There was a I faintly glazed look about his eyes, but his mouth hardened I when he encountered Rachel's indignant glare.

  "I'm sorry I can't oblige you on the second count," he K commented ironically, picking up his jacket and pulling it on. I "As for the first - you're fooling yourself, Rachel. You don't hate me." His mouth curled contemptuously. "But, God forgive me, if you go through with this, I'll hate you!"

  I Rachel lay awake long into the night. Her body ached and she refused to admit the reasons why. Some wanton part of her yearned for Joel and the satisfaction of the senses he could give her, and she desperately tried to escape the torture of I these forbidden thoughts. She had never permitted herself to think of that night they had spent together, always cloaking it in its subsequent veil of treachery and humiliation, but , tonight, after those disturbing minutes in Joel's arms, the memories would not be denied. It only he had wanted to i marry her ... But happiness like that was a mirage with a , man like Joel Kingdom. She understood that he wanted her, that she could arouse him without too much difficulty; but a relationship built on the shifting sands of physical attraction was not what she wanted. She had loved Joel - loved him with all the wealth of tenderness and passion of which she was capable. And he had taken her love, and destroyed it...

  The next morning Rachel told Sara that she was taking her shopping. She did want to buy the little girl some new clothes, but her primary motives were to escape from the flat before Joel had time to appear.

  "Won't we be seeing Joel today?" Sara asked, rather disappointedly, as they walked down to the bus stop, and Rachel felt an impatient sense of frustration.

  "No," she replied firmly. "Mr. - er - Joel has his work to attend to. He hasn't the time to spend with us."

  "But last night he said he would come and take me to the Zoo today," complained Sara sulkily. "How do you know he won't come while we're out?"

  "I don't know that," retorted Rachel, and then tried to reason with her. "I expect Uncle James will take you to the Zoo, if you ask him to."

  "I don't want to go with Uncle James!" replied Sara, and even refused to go upstairs on the bus as was her usual habit.

  The shopping expedition was not a success. Sara had to be coerced into trying clothes on, and even then her pale features and turned down mouth made pretty dresses and pants suits look less than attractive. For once, the fact that she was small for her age was an advantage. Assistants took her for a three- or four-year-old, and excused her on those grounds. But Rachel refused to be put off and when they eventually returned home after having lunch in town, Sara was the indifferent possessor of three dresses, two pants suits, some underwear, a new anorak and a rather extravagant suede coat for special occasions.

  There was no sign of Joel, much to Rachel's relief, and Sara seemed resigned to the fact that for today at least she was not to see him. However, as Rachel got her ready for bed, she said:

  "I've decided I'd like Joel to live with us after you and that man get married." Rachel was taken aback. "Don't be silly, Sara."

  "Why is it silly? You'll be his mummy too, won't you? Why shouldn't he live with us?"

  "I explained all that before, Sara," retorted Rachel shortly. "Joel Kingdom has - has a home of his own. Besides, we'll be living in Greece."

  "Where's Greece?"

  "Sara, I told you. It's a long, long way away, where the sun shines all the time."

  "I don't want the sun to shine all the time."

  "Well, I'm afraid I can't do anything about that." "You could stay in England. I'd like to stay in England." "Mr. King - that is, Uncle James - wants to live in Greece. He has an island - I told you. The water's lovely and warm, I and you can go swimming."

  "I can't swim."

  "You'll learn."

  "I don't want to learn."

  "Sara, I warn you - "

  "Well! Why have we to go and live in stuffy old Greece? Why can't you marry Joel instead and live in London?" Her eyes brightened. "Ooh, that would be super, wouldn't it? He'd be my daddy then, wouldn't he?" "Sara!"

  Rachel almost screamed the word, and Sara stared at her curiously. "What's the matter? Why are you looking like that? Just because you're always arguing with him doesn't mean you can't be friends. Joel said that."

  "Sara, please." Rachel tucked her into her bed and straightened, her nerves stretched to a fine pitch. "I don't want to hear any more about Joel Kingdom, do you understand? I am going to marry Uncle James, and we're going to live in Greece, and that's the end of the matter. Do I make myself clear?"

  Sara looked sulky, but she nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Mummy."

  "Good. Now - goodnight."

  In the living room, Rachel did something she had never done before. She poured herself a stiff measure of whisky and carrying it to a chair, sat down and began to drink it. The strong spirit caught her throat and caused her to cough, but she persisted until it was all gone and then she poured herself another.

  After three whiskys, she was violently sick, and her futile attempt at getting drunk was just an undignified fiasco. However, the painful retching had exhausted her, and to her relief she remembered little after her head touched the pillow that night.

  The next day, Rachel awoke with a splitting headache which she assumed was a hangover from her attempted drinking of the night before. She didn't feel at all like getting up and making breakfast, and Sara's downcast little face didn't help. Clearly the child had not forgotten their exchange of words the previous evening, and although she didn't actually mention Joel's name, every time there was some sound outside the flats she rushed to the window to see what it was. In fact after a time Rachel found herself listening for the doorbell or the telephone and she was rather surprised when Joel did not contact them. She had not expected him to give up so easily, and while she told herself that she was glad, he had promised to see Sara again, and she was so easily upset. It wasn't a very pleasant day outside either, so they stayed in the flat, and Sara finally went to bed in a rather tearful mood.

  When there was no word from Joel by the afternoon of the following day, Rachel began to feel concerned. Sara lay around

  the flat, too listless even to play with Helga, refusing even to accompany Rachel when she ran down to the store on the corner for some bread. The television was on, but she paid little attention to it, her cheeks paler and more waxen than ever. In a little over twenty-four hours she was due to go into hospital again for her treatment, but Rachel was very much afraid she would not want to go. She had never known her so depressed, and her resentment turned against Joel. He could have contacted the child, she thought bitterly. And yet what good would it do for Sara to depend on him for anything?

  After tea that evening, Rachel suggested a walk. Regent's Park was not too far away, and the fresh air might put a little colour into Sara's cheeks.

  But Sara refused to go. "You go," she said indifferently. "I don't feel like walking."

  "But, Sara, you haven't been out for two days!"

  Sara looked up at her through stormy dark eyes. "And Joel hasn't been here for three days!" she declared, her lips trembling. "What did you say to him? Why did you send him away?"

  Rachel pressed her palms together. "I - I didn't send him away," she protested. But was that entirely true? Hadn't she indeed told him that she wi
shed she never had to see him again? "I expect he's busy, Sara. I - he'll come back."

  "Will he?" Sara didn't sound convinced. "Well, I'll stay in. He might telephone, mightn't he?"

  Rachel sighed. "Sara, this is silly. Joel Kingdom is nothing to do with us."

  "I liked him. He liked me. I know he did."

  "I'm sure he did, darling, but that doesn't mean..." Rachel cast about in her mind for something to say. "Sara, you've got to think about the future. In a few weeks, we'll be going abroad, and then - "

  "I've told you, I don't want to go abroad."

  Rachel refused to answer this, pacing impatiently about the room. Sara propped herself up on one elbow on the couch and looked at her mother.

  "You could ring him," she said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. "Couldn't you, Mummy? Oh, will you, Mummy, will you?"

  "No." Rachel regretted the way Sara's fleeting brightness was instantly extinguished. "Sara darling, I can't."

  "Why can't you? Don't you know the number?"

  That would have been a simple lie, but Rachel couldn't tell it. Besides, Sara was too intelligent. She would know that there were ways of finding it out.

  "Sara, he might have people at the flat. Visitors. He may be working..."

  "Heron could answer the phone."

  Rachel shook her head. Sara had all the answers.

  "And what do you expect me to say to him?" she exclaimed, frustratedly.

  "Tell him - tell him I want to see him. I do, Mummy, I do!"

  Rachel walked restlessly across the carpet. Ring Joel and tell him that Sara wanted to see him? It was ludicrous! Particularly after the way they had parted ...

  "I can't do that, Sara."

  Sara's eyes filled with tears. "You mean you won't, you won't!" Two hectic splashes of colour appeared on her cheeks, and Rachel knew she was working herself up into hysteria.

  "Sara, be reasonable - "

  "Go away. Go away, and leave me alone! I don't want to see you. I want to see Joel, I want to see Joel!"

  Rachel's hands balled into fists as she stared at her daughter's shuddering body, and something seemed to snap inside her.

  "Oh, all right, all right," she exclaimed tautly, and crossing the floor picked up the receiver and dialled the number before indecision could prevent her. In all these years, she had never forgotten Joel's number, and that knowledge would have troubled her if she had given it a second thought.

  The bell seemed to ring for ages before the receiver was lifted at the other end. Rachel had already decided that Joel was out, and when Heron gave their number and enquired who was speaking she was tempted to slam the receiver down again.

  But Sara's tear-stained face forced her to identify herself and ask to speak to Mr. Kingdom.

  "I'm afraid Mr. Kingdom is resting and cannot be disturbed, Mrs. Gilmour," Heron stated politely and apologetically. "Can I give him a message?"

  Rachel ground her teeth together. Resting - and not to be disturbed! She felt sickened by the knowledge. Who was there with him that he had not to be disturbed?

  "No," she said, watching Sara's face all the time she was speaking. "No, there's no message."

  When she replaced the receiver, Sara sat up. "What is it?" she demanded. "Where is he? Why didn't you speak to him?"

  Rachel forced herself to speak casually: "He - he's in bed. I don't think - he's very well."

  She was hardly prepared for Sara's reactions to this "Why? What's the matter with him? Is he ill? Can we go and see him?"

  "No, Sara."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we can't." Rachel spread her hands. "Look, Heron will tell him I rang when he gets up. If he wants to contact us, he will."

  "I don't believe you." Sara was tearful again. "You're just saying that!"

  "I'm not." Rachel didn't know how to convince her. She supposed in another child - a healthy child - Sara's behaviour

  could be construed as the result of too much spoiling, but the truth was it wasn't like her to behave so disobediently, to throw tantrums over nothing. She genuinely cared what happened to Joel. What a pity that concern was so misplaced.

  "Why don't you like Joel ?" the child was asking now. "Why don't you want to go and see him?"

  "Sara, we can't do anything until he - until he's better."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we can't."

  "When will he be better?"

  "How should I know?"

  Sara slid off the couch and came over to her. "Please, Mummy, couldn't we just go to his apartment and see him? I'd be ever so good. I wouldn't make any noise or anything. We could just say we were worried about him. We could take him some flowers."

  Rachel bit back the retort she was tempted to make. "Where would we get flowers at this time of the evening?"

  "Well, some sweeties, then."

  Rachel was nearing the end of her tether. It was all so simple in Sara's eyes. Joel's manservant had said he was resting, therefore he must be ill! Rachel glanced irritably at her watch. Halt past six! She couldn't - she wouldn't believe that that was the truth.

  She saw Sara's appealing little face staring up at her and suddenly came to a decision. Perhaps she should take the child to Joel's apartment. Heron was there. He would have his orders. If Sara heard it from him, she might begin to believe that Joel was not the god she imagined him to be.

  "All right," she said reluctantly. "We'll go to the flat. But if Heron refuses to let you see Joel, you have to accept it, do you understand?"

  Sara's lips quivered. "He won't do that, will he?"

  "I don't know. I can't tell you. You'll have to wait and see."

  Rachel spoke deliberately offhandedly. Better that she should be prepared for the cracks in his armour.

  They took a taxi to Breton Towers, that luxurious apartment building overlooking Regent's Park where Joel occupied the penthouse. It was a painful experience for Rachel returning there. She recalled her last interview in Joel's apartment with acute distress and humiliation.

  They took the lift to the penthouse floor and Sara reached up to ring Joel's doorbell. The chime-like sound echoed through the apartment, and Rachel's muscles stiffened in nervous anticipation.

  But nothing happened. No one came to answer the door, and no sound ensued from within the apartment. Rachel looked down at Sara's troubled face and determinedly rang the bell again. Heron had taken long enough to answer the phone. Perhaps he had been given orders not to open the door to anyone. Well, that was just too bad!

  After the third attempt, Sara's face began to crumple. "He's not in, is he?" she asked tearfully. "He isn't really poorly at all. Heron was just saying that, wasn't he?"

  Rachel didn't know how to answer her. The disillusionment was evident, it was what she had wanted, but now she wanted to spare her the inevitable distress.

  "It's possible that Heron has had to go out," she murmured awkwardly. "Mr. King - that is - Joel might be asleep. Have you thought of that?"

  Sara sniffed. "He would have heard the doorbell, wouldn't he?"

  "Yes. But he might not come to answer it. He couldn't know it was you, could he?"

  The sound of the door behind them being opened brought them both round with a start, and Rachel's instinctive exclamation was drowned by Sara's excited: "Joel! Oh, Joel, you are in! Mummy thought you might be!"

  Joel leaned heavily against the door, supporting himself with obvious effort. Two days' growth of beard darkened his jawline, and the lines around his eyes gave him a haggard look. He was wearing only a hastily pulled on towelling bathrobe, and beads of perspiration dampened his forehead. His hair was tousled and it was obvious that he was not at all well.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered, raking his hair back from his forehead. "I wasn't expecting visitors, and Heron's gone out."

  Rachel gathered her composure. "We're sorry, too, Joel," she exclaimed, encompassing Sara in her apology. "I - Sara wanted to see you. She was - worried about you."

  Joel stepped back
against the wall behind him, swaying slightly. "Won't you come in?"

  Rachel caught her lower hp between her teeth. "Perhaps we'd better not," she demurred, ignoring Sara's gasp of dismay.

  "Please - come in!" Joel winced as a spasm of pain crossed his face. "I - I'll be all right. I've got an almighty headache, that's all."

  Rachel looked at him uncertainly. His narrowed eyes betrayed little, concealed as they were by his thick lashes but he was trembling and she knew he wasn't pretending about the headache. It was migraine, of course. She should have guessed. Oh, ye of little faith, she thought, with a grimace of self- derision.

  Taking Sara's hand, she walked into the flat, stepping down the shallow steps into the main living area. It was like stepping back in time except that the thick milky beige carpet was new and toned well with a long curved velvet couch and armchairs in a rich deep red. Beyond the massive plate glass windows, the roofs and spires of London could be seen through the slats in the long blinds.

  Joel closed the door, leaning back against it as he fastened the belt of his bathrobe, and Rachel noticed that his feet were bare.

  Meanwhile, Sara had loosened her hand from Rachel's and was meandering round this new domain, picking up objects here and there, probing into cupboards and shelves, touching a pile of drawing materials strewn on a table beneath the windows.

  "Sara!"

  Rachel's tone was sharply reproving, but Joel made a dismissing gesture. "She's all right," he assured her, rubbing an exploratory hand over the stubble on his chin. "If you'll just give me a few minutes, I'll make myself more presentable."

  "No! That is - " Rachel halted awkwardly. "We don't want to disturb you. I - Heron told us that you were - resting, and-"

  "Heron?"

  Joel looked confused, and Rachel hastened on: "We phoned, about half an hour ago. Maybe a little more." She glanced at her watch. "That was how we knew ..." Her voice trailed away. "We shouldn't have come."

  Joel stared at her for a few disturbing moments, and then comprehension seemed to dawn in his eyes. "You thought - oh, yes, I can guess what you thought," he muttered coldly.