A Fever In The Blood Page 16

  Moving away from the door, she ran unsteady hands up the sides of her neck to cup her cheeks. Then, with a feeling of utter weariness, she flopped down on the sofa again.

  She knew she ought to be contemplating what she was going to say to her father that evening, but she didn't have the strength. Besides, everything she did nowadays had a curious sense of unreality to it, and sometimes she wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dream­ing.

  But it was no dream. She was here, in this small apart­ment in London, owned by Maggie Auden, the daughter of Mrs Auden, who had been her parents' housekeeper for years. She and Maggie had been friends, ever since they were children, even if that friendship had been sometimes strained by Diana's obvious disapproval. Of a similar age—Maggie was actually two years older than Cass—the two girls had shared many confidences over the years. And Mrs Auden had never objected when her employer's daughter had sought company, and some­times comfort, in the kitchen at Eaton Chare. Of course, after Maggie went away to university, and Cass got mar­ried, their friendship had begun to drift. Their lives were so divergent, and Cass had never been able to tell anyone what a disaster her life with Roger had become. She had been too ashamed.

  But when she arrived back in London a week ago pride was no longer a problem. Sick and hopeless, des­perate for consolation, she hadn't hesitated before phon­ing Maggie, and once again her friend had been there for her.

  Naturally, she had not been able to confide everything to Maggie. So far as the other girl was concerned, she had gone to Italy to give herself time to think about her relationship with Roger—which was true—and now she was back in London again, still undecided about her fu­ture.

  To Maggie, there was no contest. If Roger had been unfaithful, Cass had every right to want a divorce. So far as she was concerned, she and her mother had never cared for Roger Fielding, and they had both been sur­prised at the precipitation with which Cass had married him. After all, she had hardly known him before she went to Bermuda, and having sex with someone was hardly a reason for matrimony these days.

  Cass had known she was right but, without involving Ben, she couldn't explain her reasons for behaving so recklessly. But she did take the blame for what had hap­pened, and when Maggie pointed out that Roger must have been pretty desperate to propose in those circum­stances, she said that because she had been a virgin he had obviously felt compelled to do so.

  Maggie had pulled a wry face at this, but she had kept her own counsel, and during the past week Cass had known a brief respite from emotional tension. Her prob­lems hadn't gone away; they were still as acute as ever. But living with Maggie was so far removed from her normal existence that she was able to practice a kind of self-hypnosis, and numb herself to everything else.

  At least, during the day that was so. Night-time was another matter. Oh, she slept. Some sleeping tablets Maggie had very reluctantly got her from the chemist had seen to that. But her sleep was punctuated with vi­olent dreams, and she always awakened in the early hours of the morning, weak, the sheets soaked with sweat, and the pillow tear-stained.

  And that was when the painful memories would not be denied. And they were painful, excruciatingly so. Not least, the scene that had erupted when they had got back from Verrazzino, and found Ben's mother waiting for them…

  It was getting light as they drove down the twisting track to the villa. The sky was pale yellow, and streaked with cotton-wool clouds that would melt away as soon as the sun gained any heat. There was moisture on the grass, and the delicious smell of mimosa, mingling with the pine scent that coated the wooded hillside. It was so beautiful, Cass wanted to weep. But crying was an indulgence she couldn't afford right now.

  'Are you all right?'

  They were the first words Ben had said to her for hours, and she turned her head to look at him. 'Are you?'

  'No.' His hands tightened on the wheel. 'Are you sure you won't think again?'

  'About staying?' Cass's lips twisted. 'I don't think so.'

  'But why?' His question was tormented. 'Cass, this may be the only time we'll have together. Don't throw it away!'

  'I have to.' She turned back to the view. 'You expect too much, Ben. I'm not that good an actress. Your— your mother wouldn't be deceived for a minute. Oh, lord!' She broke off abruptly. 'There she is!'

  'Oh, no!'

  Ben's reaction was weary, and Cass knew an over­whelming need to comfort him. But she couldn't. Apart from anything else, he wouldn't want her to. Not with Sophia waiting for them, and able to see every response. But it did seem the final ignominy, and Cass wondered what on earth she hoped to achieve.

  Sophia was waiting in the garden, a woollen cardigan about her shoulders, protecting her arms from the chill of the dawning day. Cass, who hadn't even noticed the coolness of the air until that point, suddenly felt shivery. But she guessed it was more a psychological reaction than any real consequence of the cold.

  Ben parked the Porsche in its usual place, and then gave Cass one final entreating look. 'Change your mind.'

  It was the hardest thing Cass had ever done, but she shook her head. 'I can't.'

  'OK.' The muscles of his face clenching into a tight mask, Ben didn't argue with her. He thrust open his door and got out. 'Hello, Mamma!' He greeted his mother in Italian. 'You're an early riser. It's barely five a.m.'

  Sophia didn't immediately answer him. Instead, she strode towards him, and while Cass watched with un­believing horror she delivered a stunning blow to his cheek. 'Bastardo!' she choked, the stream of words that followed it, too unspeakable to be repeated. 'Where have you been? What have you been doing?' Her eyes darted back to the car, as Cass was struggling to get out. 'How dare you take her with you. I will never forgive you. Never.'

  Ben said nothing. He just stood there, facing his mother, rubbing his reddening cheek with one hand. He was wearing a curiously remote expression, as if his mother's words, and the blow she had delivered, meant nothing to him. He seemed indifferent to her questions, or her vituperation, and his attitude disturbed Cass as she came to stand beside him.

  'It was my fault,' she said, steeling herself to face his mother, and Sophia looked at her contemptuously.

  'I can believe it.'

  'It was.' Cass cast Ben a worried look, and when he didn't respond she was forced to go on. 'It was late when we left Verrazzino, and then I insisted on going swim­ming.'

  'Swimming?'

  Sophia almost screamed the word, and as if the shrill­ness of her voice had at last got through to him Ben intervened. 'Don't bother to explain yourself, Cass,' he said flatly. 'Whatever you say, she won't believe you. Go on, go to bed. This isn't going to resolve anything, and you must be exhausted.'

  'You're tired, too…' began Cass unsteadily, but his hand in the small of her back was pushing her towards the villa.

  'Go to bed,' he advised harshly, ignoring Sophia's bitter protest. 'I can handle this. Please, go! Don't say anything more.'

  Cass had wanted to stay with him. She had wanted to tell Sophia exactly what had happened, and who she blamed for this whole sordid mess. But, of course, she didn't. Ben looked so weary, so haggard, so utterly un­like his normal self, that she felt compelled to obey him. But that didn't block her ears to the terrible row that followed, or give her any respite from the raw anguish of her thoughts.

  However, after more than an hour, when an ominous silence had fallen on the villa, she tiptoed down the stairs and found Ben alone in the salone, and she discovered it was too late also to have a change of heart. When she crossed the floor to his side, her bare feet making little sound on the tiled floor, he refused point-blank to let her stay on at the villa.

  'You were right,' he said, his voice totally devoid of emotion. 'You can't stay here. I was crazy ever to sug­gest it. Go back to England, Cass. That's where you belong.'

  Her friend came home as Cass was getting ready to go out. Maggie worked as a researcher at a museum in Kensington, and this apartment near Holl
and Park was close enough for her to walk to work. She looked sur­prised when she saw the other girl had washed her silky hair and put on the suede suit she had worn to travel in. Since Cass had taken up residence at the apartment, she'd dressed in nothing but jeans or casual trousers and sloppy T-shirts, and she had certainly not worn lipstick or a delicate green eyeliner.

  'You phoned your mother, then?' Maggie remarked, tossing her shoulder-bag on to a chair, and Cass nodded.

  'Yes. She came round this afternoon. I—er—I've agreed to go and see Daddy. Do you think I'm doing the right thing?'

  Maggie grimaced. She was a small girl, plumper than Cass, with a mass of curly chestnut-coloured hair. At this time of the year, her face was covered with freckles, and as she seldom wore make-up she almost never looked her age.

  'I suppose you have to,' she said at last. 'I know Mum said Mr Scorcese has been very worried about you.'

  'Yes.' Cass was still doubtful. 'I told Mummy it was you who suggested I make the call.'

  Maggie pulled a face. 'I bet that endeared me to her,' she said, pulling a pack of beefburgers out of a plastic carrier with 'Marks & Spencer' emblazoned on the side. She smiled. 'You're not worried about seeing him, are you? He is your father, after all. And I'm sure he really loves you.'

  'Hmm.' Cass sighed. 'I wish you could come with me.'

  'I don't think that would be wise.' Maggie was sym­pathetic. 'Just—tell them how you feel. They can't make you stay with Roger. Tell them how he threatened you in Ben's apartment. I bet you didn't tell your mother that.'

  'No, I didn't.' Cass shook her head. 'It sounds so— so melodramatic, somehow. What if they don't believe me? What if Roger's already given them his version? Oh, Maggie, I wish—I wish—'

  '—Ben was here,' finished her friend shrewdly. Then, colouring, she looked away. 'I'd better put these under the grill,' she added, indicating the burgers. 'I don't sup­pose you want any supper, do you? You'll probably be having something infinitely more sophisticated.'

  Cass didn't contradict her, even though food was the farthest thing from her thoughts at this moment. What did Maggie mean? What must her friend be thinking? If only she could tell her the truth, how much simpler life would be…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CASS had left her keys at the house in Knightsbridge when she'd first left England, so Mrs Auden had to let her in when she arrived at Eaton Chare. 'Why, Cass!' she exclaimed warmly, giving the girl a swift hug after closing the door behind her. 'It's so good to see you again. It must be all of six weeks. We've all been so worried about you.'

  'Have you?' Cass managed a faint smile. 'Well, Maggie's taken good care of me.'

  Mrs Auden shook her head. 'You should have come home,' she said reprovingly.

  Home? Cass wondered what the housekeeper would say if she told her she didn't have a home. Not really. She couldn't go back to the house in Knightsbridge, and she had the feeling that Diana, at least, would not wel­come her back here.

  'Anyway, your mother's in the library,' said Mrs Auden now, and Cass wondered if she only imagined the rather anxious expression that crossed the housekee­per's face as she urged her towards the stairs. 'Er—come and see me before you go.'

  The first-floor library at Eaton Chare served the dual purpose of providing Guido Scorcese with a comfortable room where he could work, and a pleasant space where he could entertain his business colleagues. However, on other occasions, like now, for instance, it could be used as a place to gather for drinks before dinner, and when Cass opened the door she had no suspicion that her mother might not be alone. She was early, and Mrs Auden's announcement that her mother was waiting for her had made her think that her father wasn't yet home. But the sight of Roger Fielding, lounging in one of the buttoned leather armchairs that flanked her father's desk, sent her backing out of the room, and only her mother's impatient summons prevented her from rushing out of the house.

  'Cass, for goodness' sake!' Her mother, who had been standing unobserved beside the long windows that over­looked the square, came quickly after her, catching Cass's arm before she started down the stairs again. 'Cass, please! I will not have this kind of behaviour in my house! Now, Roger has come here at my invitation, to speak to you. At least have the decency to hear what he has to say. He is your husband, after all. He does have some rights.'

  Cass's nostrils flared. 'Mummy, you tricked me—'

  'I didn't trick you.' Diana's voice was low and indig­nant. 'Your father will be here shortly. I just thought it might be a good idea if you and Roger had a chance to talk before Guido arrives. This is your problem, you know. Not your father's.'

  Cass gazed at her mother with weary eyes. 'Do you think I don't know that?'

  'Very well, then.'

  'Oh, all right, Mummy.' Cass gave in. 'But I don't want to see Roger alone. I'd like you to stay with me.'

  'Oh, really, Cass—' Diana was beginning irritably, when Roger himself came out of the library.

  'Please, Cass,' he said, his tone vastly different from that which he had used in Ben's apartment. 'I've been almost out of my mind with worry. You don't know what it's been like, knowing you've been ill, and not being allowed to see you. You're my wife, for heaven's sake!' He exchanged a quick look with Diana, and then went on, 'Your mother knows how I feel. She's been a real brick. That's why she arranged this meeting. She's prepared to give me another chance.'

  Cass held up her head. 'Well, I'm not.'

  'I don't accept that.'

  'I don't care with you accept.'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake,' Diana protested, 'at least give him a chance to tell you how he feels!' She paused. 'Look, I've got to go and speak to Mrs Auden about supper. You two have a chat, and when I get back—'

  'Mummy—'

  'Stop being childish, Cassandra.' Diana was losing her temper and it showed. 'I will not allow you to make a fool of me like this. I insist that you speak to Roger. If you refuse, I shall tell your father, and Roger, where you're staying, and they will take it from there.'

  Cass knew she was beaten. If Roger or her father found out where she was staying, her brief spell of free­dom would be over. Besides, she couldn't do that to Maggie. It wasn't fair to her to be forced into the middle of what was, essentially, a family argument.

  The library was delightfully cool after the somewhat muggy warmth of the evening outside. Its booklined walls retained heat in winter, and repelled it in summer. Consequently, the temperature was invariably pleasant.

  Not so the atmosphere, however. Particularly this eve­ning. Allowing Roger to close the door behind them, Cass felt a distinct sense of chill, and she guessed that Roger's reasonable manner had been for Diana's ears alone.

  'So,' he said, walking round her as she stood uneasily in the middle of the floor, 'you decided to come back.'

  Cass took a breath. 'I'm here, aren't I?'

  'But you're not living at home.'

  'If you mean the house in Knightsbridge, I don't con­sider that my home any more,' replied Cass steadily.

  'I see.' Roger halted in front of her. 'So you're de­termined to go through with it, then?'

  'Leaving you, you mean? Yes.'

  'Even if it means losing your father, too?'

  Cass trembled. 'I won't lose my father.'

  'No?' Roger's lips twisted.

  'No.'

  'Not even if I tell him why you're doing this?'

  Cass swallowed. 'I intend to tell him myself.'

  'Do you?' Roger's expression was almost admiring. 'Well, I'll certainly be interested to hear how he reacts to the fact that his son and his daughter are more than just good friends.'

  Cass went pale. 'What do you mean?'

  'Do I have to draw you a picture?' Roger returned to the chair he had been occupying earlier and crossed his legs. Evidently, he had delivered his bombshell now, and was quite prepared to enjoy her consternation. 'I may be gullible, Cass, but I'm not a fool. I saw the way Ben looked at you when he found me at the apartm
ent, and it wasn't at all the way a man looks at his kid sister. If he could have killed me and got away with it, he would have done it.'

  'Don't be ridiculous!'

  It was all Cass could think of to say at that moment, but Roger knew he had struck a raw nerve, and he cap­italised on it.

  'It's not ridiculous. It's sick!' he retorted coldly, his eyes never leaving her revealing features. The colour, which had previously drained away, was now returning to stain her cheeks a vivid scarlet. 'How long has this been going on, I wonder? How many other trips have you made to Florence without my being aware of them?'

  'None! That is…' Cass cast about for a means to de­fend herself, desperate now for some way to allay his suspicions. 'You can't honestly believe there's any truth in what you're saying. I—I've known Ben since I was a child.'

  'Which makes it all the more reprehensible,' retorted Roger harshly. 'Oh, yes, your father is not going to enjoy this story. It explains everything. Not least the fact why I was forced to go elsewhere for—'

  'Roger, you can't!' The cry was torn from her. 'You couldn't tell Daddy something like that. It's not true.'

  'It sounds pretty feasible to me,' Roger countered. 'Oh, yes!' He got to his feet abruptly, and paced excit­edly about the room. 'You know, you may have done me a favour. This could be exactly the lever I needed.'

  Cass felt as if she couldn't possibly take any more, but she had to ask, 'What lever? What are you talking about?'

  'This story,' said Roger, halting in front of her again and smiling maliciously. 'What do you think the gutter Press would make of it, hmm? Oh, I can see the head­lines now!'

  And so could Cass. And they appalled her.

  With a feeling of utter degradation, she sank down on to the side of her father's desk. 'So what's your price?' she asked unsteadily. 'What do I have to do to make you give up this—this crazy idea?'