No Gentle Possession Page 4

  Laura shrugged, lifting hot plates from under the grill. ‘Well, when they were younger they knew one another. And even after Howard got married, they used to occasionally have a drink together, that sort of thing. But then the business developed, Howard was away a lot, and eventually they moved to London. Of course, Howard’s first wife is dead now, and he’s married again. Some ex-fashion model, or something. I remember reading about it seven or eight years ago. Your father was disgusted about that, too, I remember. Howard’s wife had been dead scarcely a year at the time.’

  Karen listened with interest, wishing her mother would go on. But Laura was going through to the dining-room now, putting plates and dishes on the table, and Karen had, perforce, to help her. Then, her father was called through to join them, and to her mother’s obvious relief the conversation turned to more general topics.

  It was Wednesday, and Karen’s parents usually went to play bridge at the home of some friends on Wednesday evenings, so after they had gone Karen decided to wash her hair. It was snowing quite heavily now, and she didn’t think Ray would come round after all.

  However, just as she was finishing rinsing her hair, the doorbell rang. Hastily wrapping a towel turban-wise round her head, she pulled on her navy quilted dressing-gown and ran downstairs. She pulled open the door to a flurry of snow, and then smiled as Ray Nichols stepped swiftly inside.

  Closing the door, she exclaimed: ‘I thought you weren’t coming. Do you realize it’s after nine o’clock!’

  Ray raised his dark eyebrows at her towel-swathed hair. ‘What a greeting!’ he commented, ‘although …’ He surveyed her more thoroughly, noticing the dark blue gown with approval. ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’

  Karen pointed to the living-room. ‘Wait in there while I put some clothes on,’ she said, and Ray bent to kiss her lips before complying.

  His kiss was warm and gentle, and Karen responded without effort. He was an attractive young man, a little above medium build with square muscular shoulders and dark curly hair.

  ‘Why bother?’ he asked, when he lifted his head. ‘I like you the way you are.’

  Karen tugged the securing towel off her head, and her hair fell in wet coiling strands to her shoulders, black, and as silky soft as a raven’s wing. ‘And what do you think my father would say if he came back and found me like this?’ she demanded.

  Ray shrugged. ‘Who cares? Sooner or later, he’ll have to accept it, won’t he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean – when we’re married,’ replied Ray quietly.

  Karen stared at him in amazement. ‘Are you proposing, Ray? Here? In the hall?’

  ‘What would you have me do? Get down on my knees?’ Ray shook her gently. ‘Karen, you know how I feel about you. It’s been obvious for months. And I think you feel the same.’

  Karen’s lips parted. It was strange that this evening, which had held so many surprises already, should still hold one more.

  ‘I don’t know, Ray,’ she was beginning, when he put his hand over her mouth.

  ‘Please, Karen, don’t say anything yet. Think about it.’

  Karen sighed. ‘All right.’ She glanced round awkwardly. ‘Will you – er – go into the living-room? I won’t be a minute.’

  Ray hesitated, and then taking off his overcoat he slung it over the banister before opening the living-room door. Karen made her way thoughtfully upstairs. She ought not to have been surprised. She had been aware of Ray’s feelings for her for some time. All her friends had commented upon it. But for all that, now that he had proposed, now that it had actually happened, she didn’t know how to answer him.

  She put up a hand to her wet hair. If she was really honest with herself, she would admit that the reason she was so unprepared for this today had little to do with Ray himself. It had to do with what had happened seven years ago, and with what her father had told them when she came home this afternoon.

  She dressed in close-fitting velvet slacks and a purple sweater, rubbed her hair almost dry and left it hanging loosely about her cheeks, and then went downstairs again. In the living-room, Ray was relaxing in her father’s armchair before the blazing fire, idly watching an American film thriller on the television.

  She closed the door and he looked across at her with caressing eyes. Patting his knee, he said: ‘Come here!’

  Karen hesitated, and then walked slowly across to him, allowing him to pull her down on to his lap. She rested against him, and he nursed her like a child, his eyes drifting past her again to the television. Karen felt a sense of restlessness assail her. Although she and Ray had been going out together for almost two years, he had never once attempted to make love to her, other than the sometimes passionate little kisses they exchanged on greeting and parting. Not that she wanted him to seduce her, quite the contrary, but after listening to the sexual exploits of her friends she had the feeling that Ray was perhaps a little too cool. Maybe he was one of those men who didn’t need that kind of stimulation, she pondered curiously, and then half smiled. That was the trouble with this generation, she thought. They were so brainwashed by films and television that they were constantly trying to psycho-analyse themselves, instead of accepting what they had and being grateful and letting nature take its course. It was debatable whether the modern idea of discussing everything was right. To those who did not share in that free-thinking revolution, there could be restlessness and dissatisfaction, just as Karen was feeling now.

  Abruptly, she sat up, and Ray looked up at her in surprise. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Karen hunched her shoulders. ‘Nothing, I guess.’

  Ray frowned. ‘Yes, there is. What is it? Is it what I asked earlier?’

  ‘Well – yes and no!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Karen paused. ‘Ray, don’t you ever get restless? I mean, aren’t you ever tempted to – well, make love to me?’

  Ray stared at her in amazement. Then he coloured. ‘No,’ he muttered roughly. ‘I want to marry you.’

  ‘I know that.’ Karen sought about for words. ‘It’s just that – well, I sometimes think you’re a pretty cold fish. I mean, you never go in for petting or that sort of thing, do you?’

  Ray struggled up out of his lounging position. ‘Come on, Karen,’ he said. ‘That’s no way to talk. Imagine what your father would think if he could hear you now.’

  Karen sighed ‘I’m only talking. I’m not doing anything wrong. I don’t even want to do anything wrong. I just wondered, that’s all.’

  Ray snorted. ‘Well, it’s just as well I’m not the sort of chap to take you up on it, that’s all!’ he said sharply.

  Karen slid off his knees. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said, walking towards the door, and he made no move to stop her. Indeed, when she glanced back she saw that he was once more engrossed in the television.

  Karen taught English and history at Wakeley Comprehensive School. She had been there for the past three years, ever since leaving university in fact, and she enjoyed her work tremendously. She was a popular girl with both staff and pupils, and as Ray taught at the same school they had a lot in common.

  The following afternoon, Karen had some shopping to do before going home, and Ray dropped her in the High Street. Although he lived some distance from Karen’s home, he invariably drove her back in the afternoons, and she was grateful. The buses, particularly at this time of the year, were notoriously unreliable.

  Karen collected her mother’s books from the library, bought herself some tights and cosmetics, and then walked briskly along towards the bus stop. The snow of the previous day had melted in the town centre and the pavements and roads were slushy and wet. Avoiding the edge of the path because of the filthy mess thrown up by the traffic, Karen’s attention was caught by a sleek green sports limousine that was nosing its way along the High Street behind a heavy goods vehicle. The driver was unmistakably familiar, and she shrank back into a shop doorway, which was quite ridiculous really as in t
he deplorable weather conditions and the crowded pavements there was no possible chance of him noticing her.

  Nevertheless, the small incident shook her, bringing it home to her forcibly that it would be comparatively easy to encounter him in a small place like Wakeley. Still, she consoled herself, he was hardly likely to go far without his car, and Leeds was much more his environment than anywhere else around here.

  During the next few days, Karen had to get used to hearing her father talk about Alexis Whitney. Daniel was always grumbling about things the new manager was doing, but underlying that anger she sensed an anxious thread of concern, as though her father was afraid his methods were about to be supplanted. It became obvious that whatever his reasons for coming to Wakeley, Alexis was not prepared to sit back and allow his work to be done for him as Jeff Pierce had been inclined to do, and in consequence the whole section had felt his presence.

  Karen knew her mother was concerned about the effect it was having on her husband, but there was nothing either of them could do. Daniel had refused to accept the situation with any degree of resignation, and began working longer hours, keeping his department constantly on its toes.

  The weather continued very cold and Karen hated getting out of bed in the mornings. Not that she was prone to colds or sickness; on the contrary she seemed to thrive on the conditions, but her father did not. The way he was driving himself had weakened his resistance and one morning when Karen came down to breakfast she found her mother arguing hotly with him.

  ‘You’re mad!’ she was saying, as Karen entered the dining-room. ‘Mad! You’ll give yourself pneumonia!’

  ‘I’ll be all right. Stop fussing, woman!’ said Daniel hoarsely, and Karen looked at him with concern. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, there were splashes of hectic colour in his cheeks, and his nose was sore from constant use of his handkerchief. He was obviously full of cold and when he started to cough she looked at her mother exasperatedly.

  ‘Surely he doesn’t intend to go to work!’

  Laura shrugged, looking anxious. ‘Try and stop him!’

  ‘Stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘I’ve got a cold, that’s all. Everyone has colds at this time of the year. It’s all this bad weather.’

  Karen folded her arms. ‘You look as though you’ve got ‘flu to me!’ she stated. ‘Go back to bed, Pop. You look terrible!’

  Her father got to his feet, pushing aside his unfinished plate of bacon and eggs. ‘Lord spare me from women!’ he muttered, raising his eyes heavenward. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that a couple of aspirin won’t cure. You can get them for me, Laura, while I put on my coat.’

  Laura made a resigned gesture and turned away to do his bidding, while Karen shrugged and then dropped down into a chair at the table. She was buttering some toast, which was all she wanted, when her father came back, wearing, his coat, a muffler round his neck. She looked up at him worriedly.

  ‘You will take care, won’t you, Pop?’

  Daniel’s expression softened. ‘Of course I will. I’ve told you, it’s just a cold.’

  But when Karen arrived home from school that afternoon she found the doctor just leaving the house. Giving him a polite smile, she followed her mother indoors and then exclaimed: ‘Is it Pop? What’s happened?’

  Her mother gave her a resigned look. ‘Nothing drastic. Your father was taken ill at work this afternoon, and that Mr. Whitney insisted he came home. Ian Halliday brought him in his car.’

  ‘Oh!’ Karen’s lips parted. ‘What did the doctor say, then?’

  ‘It’s ‘flu, just like you said. He was a fool to go anywhere today. Anyway, he’s really done it now. The doctor insists that he stays in bed for at least three days.’ She stifled a chuckle. ‘You should have seen his face when Dr. Thomas said that.’

  Karen took off her coat. ‘Well, I’m relieved it’s nothing more serious.’

  ‘So am I. If he hadn’t come home it could have developed into pleurisy or pneumonia. It’s no use. He’s not a young man any more, and he can’t play around with his health.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see him.’

  Karen left her mother and ran lightly up the stairs. Entering her parents’ bedroom she found her father lying with his eyes closed looking somehow vulnerable. A surge of compassion welled up inside her, but then his eyes opened and it fled as he said harshly:

  ‘What a mess this is!’

  ‘You’re only where you belong,’ Karen declared lightly. ‘Good heavens, you weren’t fit to go to work.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I don’t need a manager to tell me what to do!’

  ‘I’m sure – Mr. Whitney only did what he thought was best,’ she remarked cautiously.

  ‘Best for him, you mean.’ Her father moved restlessly in the bed. ‘Sending me home like that. Calling the doctor.’

  ‘Did he do that?’ Karen was surprised.

  ‘ ’Course he did. You don’t think I’d have let your mother call him, do you?’

  ‘Perhaps he knew that,’ murmured Karen quietly.

  ‘Huh!’ Her father sounded bitter. ‘Anyway, I’m out of the way now for goodness knows how long! He’ll be able to do as he likes and no one to stand in his way.’

  ‘Oh, Pop! I’m sure you’re exaggerating.’

  ‘What do you know about it? And I’ve told you before, don’t call me Pop!’

  Karen sighed. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No. I don’t want anything.’ Her father began to cough hoarsely, and she watched him helplessly until he lay spent upon the pillows. ‘All right, all right,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll have some tea.’

  Karen hesitated only a moment longer and then left him. In this mood there was no reasoning with him.

  After the evening meal, her mother said: ‘I promised I’d go down to Lucy’s this evening. She’s got a pattern for a dress and she asked if I’d help her cut it out. Do you think your father would mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Karen shook her head. ‘Besides, I shall be here. I’m not going out. I expect Ray will come round later.’

  Her mother looked at her uncertainly. ‘Well, he’s asleep at the moment. If I go now, I might be back before he wakes up.’

  Karen gave her an exasperated smile. ‘Darling, no one’s going to need you for a couple of hours. Go on, go and chat to Lucy; tell her all about Daddy.’

  Laura smiled, taking off her apron. ‘It would be nice,’ she admitted.

  ‘There you are, then.’ Karen lounged into a chair near the fire. ‘Actually, I have some books to mark and I want to work out tomorrow’s schedules.’

  Laura nodded. ‘All right. But I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  ‘Fine.’ Karen glanced up as her mother left the room and then settled down to reading a fifteen-year-old’s idea of the reasons behind the collapse of every empire since the days of Kubla Khan. Once she got up and switched on the record player, seducing herself with the rhythmic sound of a jazz piano.

  When the doorbell rang she felt a sense of impatience. It was nearly nine o’clock and she had felt convinced that Ray would not come this evening. He knew she had work to do.

  Glancing down at her crumpled velvet pants and loose white smock, she sighed. Oh well, she thought resignedly, she hadn’t time to change now. Running a smoothing hand over her straight hair, she went to the door and swung it open.

  But it was not Ray Nichols who stood on the doorstep. It was a man, certainly, but he was taller and leaner, and the shafted light from the hall glinted on silvery lights in hair that was unmistakable.

  Karen’s heart thumped heavily. Sooner or later, she had known that this would happen, and now it had she felt totally inadequate. He was so much more attractive now than he had been seven years ago, lines of experience adding maturity to his features. And his holiday in Austria had given him a tan which was quite startling when his hair was so pale. But he didn’t have the usual skin that went with such blondness, and he suffered none of the
difficulties experienced by people with fair skin. Oh God, she thought weakly, to think she had once gone out with him, and once planned to go away with him for the week-end, alone …

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘GOOD evening,’ he was saying now, in that lazily attractive voice she remembered so well. ‘I just called to see – my God!’ He stared at her in astonishment, and she felt the hot colour run up her cheeks.

  ‘Good – good evening, Mr. Whitney.’

  His eyes narrowed, strange, amber eyes, like the eyes of a cat, with thick black lashes. ‘I was right!’ he said, almost to himself. ‘We had met before, hadn’t we?’

  Karen thought quickly. ‘I – er – of course. We met about a month ago in Grüssmatte.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ he said, frowning. Then he shook his head. ‘No matter.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘The name – I should have guessed.’

  Karen shivered. ‘It’s very cold, Mr. Whitney. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You could invite me in,’ he remarked dryly.

  Karen was about to refuse, but then good manners stopped her. He was her father’s superior, after all; the son of the mill owner, even if Howard Whitney had gone on to bigger and better things.

  ‘Very well,’ she stepped back. ‘Won’t you come in? My father’s in bed, of course.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Alexis stepped into the small hall which was immediately dwarfed by his presence. Karen felt disturbingly aware of him, and walked quickly ahead of him into the living-room. Gathering together her books which had been strewn all over the couch, she said: ‘Please, sit down. Would you like a drink? There’s only whisky, I’m afraid.’

  Alexis unbuttoned his coat, but he didn’t sit down. He stood on the hearth looking about the room, looking at her, until she felt hopelessly out of her depth.

  ‘Whisky would be fine,’ he agreed quietly. ‘Tell me: how is your father?’

  ‘Possibly better in health than temper,’ she replied, pouring whisky into a glass from the sideboard cabinet. ‘Do you have anything in this? Water – or ice?’