A Distant Sound of Thunder Page 15

  Piers was still asleep, his face still a little pale from his ordeal of the night before, and Rebecca put down the tray before going to the windows and drawing back the heavy plum-coloured drapes. Now she could see that the room was austerely furnished in dark shades and even the carpet underfoot had none of the softness and depth of her own. Piers in sleep looked younger and strangely vulnerable and her heart rose up in her throat achingly. There was no doubt in her mind now. She loved him and she always had.

  The pale light from the windows was disturbing him, and he moved restlessly before opening his eyes. When he saw Rebecca he stared at her disbelievingly.

  ‘Rebecca,’ he said questioningly. Then, as awareness came to him: ‘Rebecca! What in hell are you doing here?’

  Rebecca moved towards the bed, noticing how white the bandage on his arm looked compared to the brownness of his skin. It was the first time, apart from when she was working, that she had seen a man in bed, and awareness of him was like a warmth throughout her body.

  ‘Hello, Piers,’ she said, folding her hands behind her back. ‘I—I brought your breakfast. How—how do you feel this morning?’

  Piers levered himself up on one elbow, the covers falling to his waist. He obviously wore no pyjama jacket. ‘Why have you come?’ he snapped coldly. ‘I don’t need any more professional advice from you.’

  Rebecca twisted one finger painfully. ‘I didn’t come to give you professional advice,’ she said uneasily. ‘I—well, I wanted to talk to you.’

  Piers raked a hand through his tousled hair. ‘Go on then, talk!’ he muttered, wincing as he jarred the dressing on his arm.

  ‘Oh, Piers, you’re not making it very easy for me!’ Rebecca pressed her lips together. ‘I—I just wanted to—to tell you—that—that—I know about—about Jennifer.’

  Piers’ dark eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Indeed.’ His tone was bitter.

  ‘Yes. I—Adele told me you—you were going to marry her but you deserted her for Jennifer—and then—and then—’

  ‘Silence!’ Piers glared at her furiously. ‘Do you think I care what Adele told you? I told you at the time that I had no interest in my sister-in-law’s estimation of me!’

  ‘But—don’t you see—I believed her!’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ His expression was contemptuous. ‘You believed her—and you would not listen to me!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing.’ Piers rubbed one hand over the bandage as though it pained him. ‘You believed her because that is what you wanted to believe.’

  ‘No!’ The word was torn from her.

  ‘But yes. You were—you are—such a timid creature.’ His tone was cruelly derisive. ‘You are afraid to exhibit any emotion! You are confined by your own narrow-minded inhibitions! You are afraid to love without security!’ He gave a scornful laugh. ‘And you come here now to tell me that suddenly you understand—that suddenly you regret what you said—what you did! What do you expect from me, I wonder? What kind of reaction am I supposed to make? Do I say—Rebecca, all is forgiven? Do I say—Rebecca, you have made me very happy? Do I say—Rebecca, I am free now, will you marry me? Non!’

  He slid abruptly out of bed and Rebecca turned tremblingly away, for as he reached for the silk dressing gown which lay at the foot of his bed she saw that he slept without any garment whatsoever.

  ‘You see!’ he muttered savagely in her ear, ‘you turn away your eyes because you are afraid. And believe me,’ his voice deepened, ‘you have every reason to be so!’

  Rebecca pressed her hands together in front of her. She should have known it was useless to come here, to attempt to explain to this embittered stranger that she had been hopelessly unaware that she was merely a pawn in the hands of an unscrupulous woman; vulnerable because she had no confidence in her own ability to attract him. Maybe he was right, maybe she had wanted to believe Adele because the alternative had offered too precarious an enchantment…

  On unsteady legs she moved to the door, but he was there before her, leaning back against it, preventing her escape from this humiliation. ‘One moment,’ he said harshly, ‘I want you to tell me something before I let you go. Do you intend to go on seeing my son?’

  Rebecca linked and unlinked her fingers. ‘As we work in the same building, it would be impossible not—’

  ‘Damn you, that is not what I meant, and you know it!’ His eyes glittered angrily. ‘Does he make love to you?’

  ‘No!’ The word was torn from her. ‘Of course not.’

  Piers’ eyes narrowed. ‘Why—of course not? You are—you always were—a most desirable woman.’ He moved slowly but deliberately towards her. ‘How many men, I wonder, have made love to you since I—’

  Rebecca’s fingers stung across his cheek with angry resentment. ‘How—how dare you?’ she cried chokingly.

  Piers did not seem to notice her outburst. His hard fingers closed over her shoulders, drawing her resistingly towards him, close against the lean, hard strength of his body. She could feel the hardness of his muscles through the thin dressing gown and she struggled to free herself desperately. But her movements only stimulated him more and he bent his head and put his mouth to hers, parting her lips with such determined expertise that for a few moments she lost coherent thought and clung to him. It was incredible to believe that it was three years since he had held her in his arms, for it could have been yesterday and all the agony in between was as nothing when he bruised her neck and shoulders with ruthless passion. Rebecca was on fire for him, but the mounting urgency of his lovemaking sent warning spears of pain along her veins, for she knew that this time he did not intend to draw back…

  With a superhuman effort, she dragged herself away from him, realising as she did so that she must have hurt his injured arm. But all she could think of was the need to get away from him before the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers seduced her to abandon all attempts at escape, and she would submit to his undoubted masculinity.

  She wrenched open the door, not daring to look back at him, and ran wildly down the corridor to the gallery. Only there did she halt and try to assume some degree of composure, although her hair was a tumbled mass about her shoulders and the buttons of her jacket were undone.

  She went to her bedroom, closing the door and leaning back against it weakly. She had been a fool to go to him, but an even bigger fool allowing him to touch her. How he must despise her to treat her so. If only they were not so isolated here, she would walk out of the house now and make her own way back to London.

  * * *

  Eventually she calmed herself. It was after ten now and time she was seeking Paul to find out what he intended to do. She hoped and prayed he would agree to leave before lunch. She did not think she could bear to encounter Piers again.

  Downstairs she found Paul already waiting for her. ‘Have you had breakfast?’ he asked, eyeing her dourly.

  Rebecca bit her lip. ‘No, but I don’t want anything. Are—are you ready to leave?’

  ‘I am,’ asserted Paul insinuatingly. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Is there any reason why I should not be?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘I thought you might insist on seeing my father before you leave.’

  Rebecca’s cheek’s burned. ‘Oh, no! No,’ she denied uncomfortably. ‘Have—have you seen him?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen him,’ Paul nodded.

  Rebecca twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘How—how is he?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘He has some pain with his shoulder. He is going to have Sheila dress it for him.’

  A knife-like pain tore through Rebecca’s stomach. ‘Oh—oh, is he?’

  Paul watched her carefully. ‘Yes. Why not? She’s a very competent nurse. You behave as though he was your patient.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Rebecca turned away. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Don’t you want to see Sheila—and my aunt—to say goodbye?’

  Rebecca pressed her lips together mutinously. ‘No.’

  P
aul shrugged and rose from the armchair where he had been lounging with negligent grace. ‘All right. The car’s outside.’

  Rebecca looked back once as Paul’s car moved smoothly down the drive, but as when she arrived the windows seemed blank and empty and an awful sense of desolation enveloped her. She glanced at Paul and found him staring broodingly ahead through the windscreen. The fog was practically gone and a weak sun was trying to push through the low-hanging clouds. But Paul’s face registered only an inner sulkiness, and Rebecca sighed heavily. It was going to be a long journey back to London.

  They drove through the village, taking the Harpenden road as they had done on their outward journey yesterday. But they did not stop there, and drove on towards the outer suburbs of London, stopping for lunch at a roadhouse on the Slough road. Paul had spoken little since their departure, but after the waiter had taken their order in the restaurant and they had been served with a pre-lunch martini, he said: ‘Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?’

  Rebecca sipped her martini slowly. ‘What about?’

  Paul glared at her. ‘You must know!’ he said angrily.

  Rebecca shrugged her shoulders exasperatedly. ‘From your attitude I should imagine you think you know already,’ she remarked.

  Paul pressed his fist against the table. ‘Aunt Adele only told me what she thought I ought to know.’

  Rebecca controlled the impulse to retaliate angrily; she would not give Adele the satisfaction of knowing she had disturbed her again. ‘What did she tell you then?’ she asked, with assumed complacency.

  Paul sighed. ‘Oh, Rebecca, it’s not true, is it?’ He shook his head looking suddenly very young and very vulnerable.

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told.’

  Paul flushed. ‘She said that—that you and my father were lovers when he was in Fiji.’

  Rebecca clenched her fists in her lap. She felt furiously angry. How dared Adele suggest such a thing? How dared she slander both of them in such an outrageous manner? She swallowed hard, trying to contain her resentment. It wasn’t Paul’s fault that his aunt chose to use her prying against her own brother-in-law. And after all, it might be that Adele really believed they had been lovers…How twisted her mind must be by so much intrigue.

  Now Rebecca looked at Paul and knew she had to tell him the truth. ‘No,’ she said clearly, ‘your father and I were not lovers.’ She watched him intently. ‘Do you believe me?’

  Paul swallowed half his martini and then nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, rather jerkily. ‘Yes, I believe you.’

  ‘Do you?’ Rebecca frowned. ‘I wonder.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Paul looked indignantly at her. ‘I—I’ve told you, I believe you. I know Aunt Adele—exaggerates sometimes.’

  ‘Exaggerates!’ Rebecca lifted her martini and studied it intently. ‘Your aunt is a malicious troublemaker! Believe me, that’s the truth.’

  Paul looked embarrassed. ‘She means no harm—’

  ‘You think not?’ Rebecca sounded incredulous. Then she bent her head. ‘Anyway, there is something I ought to explain. While your father and I were never lovers, we were—attracted to one another.’ She looked up at him candidly. ‘Three years ago in Fiji, I mean.’

  Paul looked flabbergasted now. ‘But—but my father was a married man! Do you mean to tell me that meant nothing to you—to either of you?’ His eyes searched hers disbelievingly.

  Rebecca coloured now. ‘Of course it meant something. Oh, Paul, it’s a long story, but in short your aunt—your misunderstood aunt—encouraged us. She chose not to tell me that Piers—that your father—was married.’

  Paul hunched his shoulders. ‘But my father knew.’

  ‘I know.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘I never guessed. Oh, I knew my parents didn’t get on, of course, but nor did many of the parents of the boys at my school. I guess it’s the current trend. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But I never thought—I never dreamt—that my father was unfaithful to her.’ He looked up. ‘You never knew my mother, of course?’

  Rebecca shook her head.

  Paul sighed. ‘What a situation! No wonder she turned to—to other men.’

  ‘You knew!’ Rebecca was incredulous.

  ‘Oh, yes. Aunt Adele told me…’ His voice trailed away and he looked helplessly at her. ‘You mean—there’s more?’

  Rebecca turned away, looking hopelessly round the restaurant. ‘Oh, no, nothing more,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Paul, let’s change the subject. It’s all over now. It was all over three years ago. Your mother’s dead, your father’s alive. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’

  Paul stared down at the plate in front of him. ‘I can’t leave it,’ he muttered grimly. ‘Who told you anyway?’

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘Tom. Tom Bryant.’

  ‘I see.’ Paul sighed, and then to Rebecca’s relief the waiter arrived with their first course and conversation waned.

  It was late in the afternoon when they arrived back at Rebecca’s apartment and she slid out eagerly saying: ‘I won’t invite you in, Paul. I—I’m going to have a lazy evening.’

  Paul nodded miserably. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

  Rebecca moved awkwardly. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Paul—’

  ‘Please.’

  She shook her head helplessly and then gave in. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘You can come round for a drink in the evening if you like.’

  Paul’s expression lightened. ‘Thanks. Be seeing you!’

  Rebecca nodded and closed the door and watched as he drove away. Then she went into the apartment and locked her door with relief. At last she was in her own home and able to lick her wounds in private.

  * * *

  Three days later she went down with influenza.

  Ever since her return from Sans-Souci she had felt under the weather, but she had put that down to the obvious depression which had engulfed her on her return. However, on Tuesday evening it became patently obvious that something more physical was wrong.

  She had finished work at the usual time and gone back to the apartment to make her evening meal. Paul was coming round later, she had put him off the previous evening, but on Tuesday she could think of no feasible excuse. She felt, therefore, that it was retribution that she should have contracted the chill as she did and found herself unable to ring Paul to make that excuse. He would be sure to imagine she was making it up and it was far better that he should come and see for himself.

  Even so she had not expected to feel so ill on her return home and far from making herself a meal, she put on the electric fire and after changing into slacks and a chunky sweater, she huddled over it, trying to keep warm. But whatever she did, she shivered, and she knew she ought to go to bed.

  Paul arrived soon after nine. Rebecca let him in and he saw at once from her streaming eyes and puffy cheeks that something was wrong.

  ‘Heavens!’ he exclaimed, ‘you ought to be in bed, don’t you know that?’

  Rebecca nodded chokily. ‘Yes,’ she said nasally. ‘But you were coming and I didn’t like to put you off again.’

  Paul smiled gently at her. ‘I see. Well,’ he put a professional hand to her forehead, ‘I would suggest you get into bed right away and I’ll give old Manley a ring and see if he can come over and look at you.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Rebecca was horrified at this suggestion. ‘It’s only a cold, Paul. Nothing serious. But I agree with you, I ought to be in bed. Would you mind?’

  ‘Would I mind what?’

  ‘Going, of course.’

  Paul put an arm about her shoulders comfortingly, ‘Rebecca, I have no ulterior motives for staying, believe me, but I’d prefer to see you into bed before I leave. Where’s the kitchen? I’ll get you a hot water bottle and a warm drink. Do you have any aspirins?’

  Rebecca gave him an exasperated smile. ‘Honestly, Paul, I can manage. Don’t try to practise your bedside manner on me. Besides, I have an el
ectric blanket and an electric kettle, and I can easily plug them both in while I get undressed. It’s kind of you to offer, but no—’

  Paul heaved a sigh. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

  Rebecca spread her hands. ‘Of course I do. In any case, no one could have designs on me tonight. I look ghastly.’

  Paul hesitated a moment longer and then with a dejected shrug he walked to the door. ‘All right, all right, I’ll go. But I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t you dare to get up if you’re no better in the morning.’

  ‘No—no, all right, thank you, Doctor—Victor.’ Rebecca bit her lip. Suddenly her words had brought everything back to her and to Paul obviously from the distressed look on his face.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said, compressing his lips resignedly, and Rebecca saw him out of the door.

  On Wednesday morning her cold was much worse and she was hoarse and had difficulty in breathing. It seemed obvious that she had contracted this on that foggy Saturday evening and she tossed restlessly in her bed before getting up weakly to ring the hospital.

  Matron was very understanding and insisted on sending one of the doctors over to look at her. Doctor Manley was a middle-aged man with children of his own, and he looked at Rebecca over his spectacles rather chidingly.

  ‘It’s these short skirts you girls wear!’ he observed dryly. ‘Little wonder you all catch colds. I’m surprised you don’t catch pneumonia! Tell me, do you have anyone here to look after you?’

  Rebecca sighed, sniffing miserably. She felt terrible and she wished he would just go away and leave her in peace. ‘No,’ she said, breathily. ‘But I’m all right. I can manage.’

  Dr. Manley frowned. ‘How? How can you manage? Who will look after you? Who will get you your medicine when you need it? Provide you with hot drinks— all the little things you need. Meals, for example.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Rebecca drew the covers round her chin.

  ‘No, maybe not at the moment. But you will be.’

  ‘Then I’ll get up…’