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  Her throat felt dry as she stood there just looking at him, and as she looked she realised that Matthew was not just any man in her life, but the man, the man she loved…

  It was a terrifying apprehension, a bitter perception that drove all other thoughts from her mind. Matthew was not available. Whatever they shared was purely a temporary diversion. He was married… married…

  She closed the door again and leant back against it sickly. Then she straightened and walked across the room. He was exhausted, and why not? Since driving up from London the previous day he had never stopped. So—she would not wake him. Not even if he slept all night…

  The telephone shrilled around eight-thirty and she hastened to answer it. To her dismay, it was Jeff, wanting to know if she was all right.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she got out jerkily.

  “Would you like me to come round? I could—easily. I’ve had it with the family.”

  “Oh, no—please!” Darrell was overwhelmingly conscious of the fact that the B.M.W. must be parked outside. “That is—I’m just getting ready for bed, Jeff.”

  “At eight-thirty?” Jeff sounded sceptical.

  “Yes. As—as a matter of fact, I’m going away tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going? London?”

  “Yes.”

  “A pity you weren’t leaving today, then.”

  “Wh—why?”

  “Well, Matt left this afternoon. You could have driven down with him.”

  “Oh! Oh, I see.”

  Darrell glanced guiltily towards her bedroom door, wondering what Jeff’s reaction would be if he knew that Matthew was not on his way to London at all, but here, in her flat. She could guess what he would think, and a wave of self-disgust swept over her.

  “Well, I guess that’s it, then,” went on Jeff resignedly. “Sorry I troubled you.”

  Darrell couldn’t let that go. “You didn’t—trouble me, Jeff. I—I—thank you for ringing. It—it was thoughtful of you.”

  “But you don’t want to know, I know.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. Okay, Darrell, I won’t push my luck. Can I give you a ring after the weekend?”

  “Of course. I’ll be here.”

  “Fine. I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Yes. G’bye, Jeff.”

  Darrell replaced the receiver quietly and then crossed to her bedroom door and put her ear to the panels. There was no sound from within and on impulse she turned the handle and opened the door. Matthew was still lying on her bed, but now his eyes were wide open and staring at her.

  “Oh!” Darrell was almost as shocked as when she had first found him on her bed. “You’re awake,” she murmured unnecessarily.

  “What did he want?” Matthew asked sombrely.

  “Wh—who?”

  “Don’t fool around, Darrell. I know it was Jeff.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes. On the telephone.” Darrell hesitated. “He just wanted to see if I was all right.”

  “He wanted to come round, didn’t he?”

  “I—well, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Is this inquisition necessary?” Darrell glanced back into the living room. “I—er—I beat up some eggs earlier. Would you like an omelette?”

  Matthew propped himself up on his elbows. “No, thanks.” He paused significantly. “Come here.”

  Darrell swallowed convulsively. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want? I mean—a drink? Some coffee? Or another Coke?”

  “I said—come here,” he repeated steadily.

  “I—I –” Darrell wrung her hands together and turned away. “No. No, I can’t.”

  Silence. For a minute, she thought he had accepted this, and then his hands descended on her shoulders and she was propelled back against him.

  “What are you afraid of?” he probed, caressing the sides of her neck with his thumbs. “The situation may be new to me, but the needs of it aren’t.”

  “I’m sure they’re not,” she answered weakly.

  “So why are you playing hard to get?” he asked roughly, and twisting her round in his arms, he kissed her mouth with hard compelling urgency.

  Her clothes were no barrier to the pressure of his body, and lethargy swept over her, parting her lips, moulding her body to his. No man had ever kissed her with such brutal intimacy, caressing her in such a way that the blood thundered through her ears and her senses swam. When her fingers encountered the pelt of fine dark hair that covered his chest down to his navel, he trembled violently, pressing her hands against him and devouring her with his mouth.

  “Now, Darrell,” he groaned against her lips. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  But his words penetrated the fantasy world that was engulfing her, and to her dismay she felt a salty wetness stinging her cheeks. Matthew felt it too, and drew back abruptly to stare into her eyes, a scowl marring his lean features. He wiped a tear from her nose with a curious finger, and then said harshly: “Why in God’s name are you crying?”

  Darrell swallowed her breath as she started to reply and almost choked. “I—I don’t know,” she got out at last, when she was able to speak.

  Matthew stared at her for a few seconds longer and then he pushed her away from him and walked across the room to where he had left his clothes. Darrell stood watching him miserably as he pulled on his trousers and then turned to regard her grimly.

  “Why did you do it, Darrell?” he demanded bitterly. “If it was just a game you were playing, it’s a dangerous pastime. I doubt whether anyone else but me would be fool enough to let you get away with it.”

  Darrell pressed her lips tightly together. “Matt, you—you don’t understand—”

  “You’re damn right, I don’t.” He reached for his shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves. “You’re a continual box of surprises, do you know that? All right, I shouldn’t have come here—I accept that. But I made my feelings clear. You knew…” He broke off. “I just don’t understand why you’ve changed your mind. Is it because I’m married?” He was contemptuous. “I can’t believe that could make such a difference.”

  “Matt, listen to me!” she implored.

  “Why? So you can tell me some imaginary tale about being scared and never having done this sort of thing before?”

  “I haven’t!“ she burst out tremulously, and was devastated by the scepticism in his gaze.

  “Oh, no? But I suppose you’re madly in love with me and that’s why you decided to give way this time.”

  Darrell’s lips parted. “Yes,” she admitted desperately, “yes, that’s exactly how it happened.”

  “God Almighty!” Briefly Matthew raised his eyes heavenward, and then stared at her as if she was mad. “What lengths women will go to—what lies they’ll tell to get their own way!”

  “It—it’s the truth!” she whispered brokenly, already suspecting she was going to despise herself for behaving in this way after he had gone. “Oh, Matt, please—you’ve got to believe me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. If—if you want me—”

  “No!” He raked back his hair, running a questing hand over the darkening line of his jawline. “No, Darrell, and you being a nurse must know better than that. It’s just not possible, as I’m sure you’re aware. You have an original approach, though, I’ll give you that. Lead a guy on, break him up, and then ask to put the pieces together again! My God!” he uttered a short mirthless laugh. “That’s beautiful!”

  “Matt, please!”

  “Please what?” He finished fastening his shirt, and sat down to put on his socks and shoes. “Look—let’s forget it, shall we? Put it down to experience.” He shook his head. “It’s an experience I want to forget, believe me!”

  Darrell was crumbling inside. “You’re—you’re not going?”

  “Aren’t I? I thought I was.” He finished his laces and stood up.

  She made one last desperate attempt to detain him, rushing across to him and sliding
her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest. “Oh, Matt,” she breathed. “Don’t hate me! Please, don’t hate me!”

  There was a moment when she thought she had got through to him, when his hands lingered on her shoulders and she heard his swiftly indrawn breath. But then he forced her away from him, and went past her to get his jacket from the living room. However, at the door he halted and looked back at her, his face contorted with some emotion that was tearing him apart.

  “I don’t hate you, Darrell,” he muttered savagely. “I wish to God I did!”

  And he wrenched open the door and went out, slamming it behind him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Darrell’s mother had arranged a small dinner party for Saturday evening. This in itself would not have troubled Darrell too much in her still numbed state had not one of the guests turned out to be Barry Penrose.

  “Oh, Mummy!” she exclaimed on Saturday morning, when her mother had been forced to reveal her plans. “What on earth did you ask Barry for?”

  “You know why.” Mrs. Anderson regarded her daughter impatiently. “He was terribly distressed when you decided to go and work in the north of England, and as you’ve deliberately avoided him every time you’ve been home, I thought it was high time you met again and made friends.”

  Darrell paced restlessly about the elegantly furnished lounge of her mother’s house. Walls of cinnamon and chocolate brown brocade were a fitting backcloth to the honey-gold cushions and dark antique furniture. “Mummy, Barry and I have nothing to say to one another!”

  “I disagree.” Her mother folded her hands together, as sleek and elegant in her way as the rooms she designed. “It’s obvious that this affair over Susan has upset you more than you’d care to admit, and if you want my opinion, a change of scene wouldn’t come amiss.”

  Darrell stopped to frown at her. “You mean you think I should come back to—to London to work?”

  Her mother nodded. “I think so. Apart from anything else, I see nothing of you these days.”

  “You didn’t see a lot when I was in London,” pointed out Darrell dryly.

  “Maybe not.” Her mother bent to pick up an exquisite ebony figurine, smoothing it between her fingers almost lovingly. “But this period you’ve spent in Sedgeley has made me realise that I’m not getting any younger, and that we should see more of one another than we do.”

  “Oh, Mummy!” Darrell stared at her helplessly. “You’re forty-eight! That’s hardly your dotage!”

  Mrs. Anderson shrugged, putting the figurine down again. “Perhaps not. But I am a lonely woman, Darrell.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Darrell was incredulous. “You’re never at home! You never have time to be lonely! Besides,” she paused, “if you feel like this, why are you pushing me into Barry’s arms?”

  Her mother smiled ruefully. “All right, Darrell, I give in. I felt sorry for Barry, that’s all. You know how he feels about you.”

  “I know how I feel about him, and that’s more to the point,” retorted Darrell shortly. “Mummy, would you have me marry Barry Penrose knowing I’m not in love with him?”

  “In love, in love!” Her mother clicked her tongue irritably. “What is love? I loved your father, and look where that got me!”

  “And you think a marriage between Barry and me would work because I don’t love him?”

  “I didn’t say that. But he is good-looking—and his father does own Penrose Plastics.”

  “Exactly. You think he’s a good catch—financially.”

  “Money’s important.”

  “Not that important.”

  “Without it, you can be pretty miserable. If your father had earned enough to provide adequately for all of us—”

  “He did!”

  “No, he didn’t.” Her mother held her head stiffly. “You forget, Darrell, I’d been used to better things. If all your grandfather’s money hadn’t had to go in death duties…” She moved to the mantelshelf and lifted a delicate Sèvres vase, its mazarin blue ground intricately painted in panels with chubby figures from the eighteenth century. “I have an artistic nature. I—need beautiful things around me. Your father could never appreciate this.”

  “Antiques!” said Darrell scornfully. “How could Daddy afford antiques?”

  “Precisely.” Her mother replaced the vase and turned to face her daughter. “Your father could not afford such things. And besides, his needs in life were purely functional—a room to live in, food to eat, and a woman to take to his bed!”

  Darrell turned away, sickened by this demonstration of her mother’s selfishness. “Well, anyway,” she exclaimed jerkily, “you’re wasting your time with me. I’m not like you. I suppose I must be more like Daddy than I imagined. The functional things would suit me fine, providing I shared them with the man I loved.”

  “Oh, Darrell!” Her mother made a frustrated gesture. “You’re much too impractical!”

  Darrell stared through the window down the road of handsome, tree-screened detached houses, so different from the terraced houses in Windsor Street. Perhaps she was impractical, she thought, but the Lawfords had more wealth in their house than in the whole of Courtenay Road.

  A knife turned in her stomach. How could she visit the Lawfords’ home now, knowing how treacherously she had repaid their many kindnesses to her? The family might not approve of Celine, but she was Matthew’s wife, and they would approve of Darrell’s relationship with him even less. What if Matthew were to come home again and she was there? Could she risk the possibility that her presence might force him to stay away? She knew she could not. So where did that leave her, and what was she going to do about it?

  The idea of coming back to London to work was not appealing, but she realised that Sedgeley would never be the same again. When she first went to work there, there had been Susan, and later on, all the members of that gregarious family. But Susan was dead…

  Mrs. Anderson made a sound behind her, and then exclaimed: “Darrell, what are you brooding about?”

  Darrell turned slowly. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering about what you said—about needing a change of scene.”

  Her mother gasped. “You don’t mean you’re actually considering coming back south to work?”

  “I’m not sure. With Susan dead…” She paused. “I shall miss her terribly. Have you any objections?”

  “My dear child, I never wanted you to go away. That was your idea.”

  “I suppose I could go back to the Princess Mary,” mused Darrell thoughtfully. “Matron was quite sorry to lose me.”

  “Then why don’t you go and see her this weekend—today!” suggested her mother eagerly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  Darrell’s expression was tolerant as she regarded her mother. “You see this as the ideal opportunity to throw Barry and me together again, don’t you?” she exclaimed.

  Mrs. Anderson sighed. “Of course not. I was thinking of you, darling, that’s all. Besides, there are far more suitable men in London than Barry Penrose.”

  Darrell thought her mother’s suggestion over, but much to Mrs. Anderson’s disappointment decided to wait and see how she felt once she got back to work again. It was too precipitate, making other arrangements, handing in her notice. And deep down the idea of breaking all ties with the Lawford family, and through them with Matthew, tore her to pieces.

  The dinner party was a minor success. Mrs. Anderson had invited her neighbours, the Garricks, Laurence Meynell, her accountant, and Barry. Nicholas Garrick owned a string of garages in and around London, and although Darrell found his conversation rather limited, his wife, Dulcie, was secretary to a television producer, and she had a fund of anecdotes ideal for any occasion. Laurence Meynell was a bachelor in his middle fifties. From time to time, Darrell had expected her mother to announce that they were going to get married, but experience had taught her that Edwina Anderson was never likely to risk the extinguishing of her personality by another man ever again
.

  Barry was so patently delighted to see her again that Darrell was made guiltily aware of her own lack of enthusiasm at seeing him. Why couldn’t she feel that tingling awareness of her own femininity in his presence as she did when Matthew was around? What was there about Matthew that melted her bones and aroused such a wanton longing for him inside her? Barry was just as good-looking, his clothes fitted him equally well. But his eyes were not Matthew’s deep-set eyes, they did not have the same penetration, the same directness that could strip her of any defence she might raise against him. Barry didn’t move like Matthew moved, Barry’s fulsome compliments were not Matthew’s words, and no amount of wishing could make them so.

  “How long are you staying?” he asked Darrell after dinner, when they had a moment alone. “Your mother told me about Susan. I’m sorry.”

  Darrell glanced across at her mother talking to the Garricks. “I’m going back to Sedgeley tomorrow evening,” she said.

  “Tomorrow!” Barry was aghast. “Can’t you stay for a few days?”

  “I’ve been her since yesterday,” Darrell pointed out quietly. “And I do have a job to do.”

  Barry sighed. “I see.”

  “I’m sorry, Barry.”

  “So am I.” He shifted his coffee cup from one hand to the other and raised the goblet of brandy her mother had set beside him to his lips. “You haven’t changed your mind, then?”

  “Changed my mind?” Darrell flicked another glance towards her mother. “No. Was there any reason that you might think I had?”

  Barry pushed his empty coffee cup on to a low table, and shook his head. “No. No, I guess not.” He looked down at her desperately. “What’s wrong with me, Darrell? What is there about me that repulses you so?”

  Darrell gasped. “Nothing! Don’t be silly, Barry. You don’t repulse me. It’s just that—”

  “You said before you went away that there was no one else.”