Take What You Want Page 8

  She dreaded the thought of the day ahead. She dreaded the idea of meeting Emma again. To imagine her and Robert together conjured up the kind of pictures in her mind that lacerated her soul. Did he love Emma? Or had he some other reason for marrying her? But what other reason could there be? She wasn’t rich or of influential parentage, like some of the girls he had escorted in past years. She was attractive, but Robert knew dozens of attractive girls. Sophie shook, her head. How on earth was she to go on as though nothing momentous had happened? Was that what Robert expected her to do? Or had his reasons for coming to her room last night been of a more personal nature? Might he be considering breaking off his engagement?

  So many thoughts, so many unanswered questions. She would make herself ill if she continued to plague her brain like this. Already her headache felt worse, and the aspirins seemed to have had little effect.

  Getting up, she went back into the bathroom and took a cold shower. The spray of water was like icy needles against her hot skin and her whole body tingled when it was over. But she did feel quite a bit better, and she quickly dressed in her shirt and jeans while the energy to do so possessed her. She brushed her hair and pinched her cheeks to give them a trace of colour, and was almost satisfied with the result. She no longer looked half dead.

  It was only a few minutes after seven when she went downstairs. No one else was about, and she plugged in the kettle and carried the newspapers into the lounge. The room smelt of stale spirits and cigarette smoke, and she pulled back the curtains, thrusting open the windows. The air was cool and fresh and she took several deep breaths to clear her lungs. Then she settled down on the couch with the papers to wait for the kettle to boil, forcing herself to concentrate on the news of the day.

  The headlines spoke of a rebellion in some South American republic; there was a threatened strike in the car industry, and some well-known politician had been served with a paternity suit. With a grimace Sophie turned to the inner pages, to the local news, trying to feel enthusiasm that the Conwynneth Young Farmers’ Group Social had made almost two hundred pounds for charity. She had been to one of their socials, with Simon, but that had been almost two years ago now.

  An article that did interest her concerned a local historian who was presently engaged in writing another book on Greek mythology. Sophie had always enjoyed reading the Greek legends at school, and in fact she had taken Greek at ordinary level and passed without difficulty. Languages had come easily to her and years ago she had contemplated becoming an interpreter.

  The kettle began to whistle and she thrust down the papers and hurried into the kitchen. She made the tea and then set a tray for her parents, adding the plate of biscuits she knew her father enjoyed. She considered taking tea up to Robert and Simon and then dismissed the thought. If she did that, she would have to take one to Emma, too, and she had no desire to encounter the older girl earlier than was necessary.

  Laura was awake when she knocked at her parents’ bedroom door and tentatively went in. She was lying on her back staring blankly up at the ceiling, but when she saw Sophie a certain amount of relief spread over her drawn features.

  ‘Good morning,’ whispered Sophie, reassured that her father seemed to be sleeping peacefully. ‘Where shall I put this?’

  ‘Over here.’ Laura sat up and cleared a space on the table at her side of the double bed. Then as Sophie set down the tray: ‘How—how are you this morning, Sophie?’

  Sophie straightened. ‘Oh, I’m fine.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘Is that convenient for you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Laura barely glanced at the tray. ‘Sophie, I’m sorry — about what happened – ‘

  ‘It’s all right—really.’ Sophie backed away. The last thing she wanted was to talk about that now. ‘Well, I’ll see you later,’ and she quickly got through the door and closed it securely behind her.

  On the landing she hesitated. Robert’s door was only a few yards away. Ought she to go and speak to him now—ask him exactly what his intentions were? The desire to have the situation made known to her was an irresistible compulsion.

  She stepped lightly across the carpet and turned the handle of his door. It gave easily, opening into the darkened room. But Robert’s bed was empty. It hadn’t even been slept in.

  Sophie stepped outside again, forcing her fingers not to fumble over the handle. Her eyes darted to the door of the spare room where Emma was sleeping and all the familiar sickness from last night welled up inside her again. Oh, God, she thought, stumbling towards the stairs. He must have spent the night in Emma’s bed…

  Downstairs, her tea was growing cold. She picked up her cup and held it to her trembling lips. How could he, she thought desperately, how could he?

  She was so wrapped up in her own misery that she was scarcely conscious of anyone approaching up the garden path until the back door opened behind her. She swung round almost spilling her tea, and caught her breath as Robert came into the kitchen.

  His eyes flickered over her broodingly and then he said: ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I didn’t expect anyone to be about yet.’

  Sophie’s cup rattled into its saucer. ‘Wh—where have you been?’ He was still wearing the grey suit from the night before, and there was a dark growth of stubble on his chin.

  Robert didn’t immediately answer her. He walked over to the teapot and reaching down a cup poured himself some. He added milk and sugar and drank half of it before saying: ‘I’ve been walking.’ He drained the cup and poured another. ‘How about you?’

  Sophie made a helpless gesture. ‘I—I just got up.’ ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Did you?’

  Robert shook his head, looking down at his cup. ‘I didn’t go to bed.’

  ‘Robert’.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘Your father and I were talking until about four, and then I couldn’t stand the atmosphere in here. I had to get out. I walked to High Apsdale.’

  Sophie was aghast. ‘But that’s five miles!’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ Robert ran a hand over his rough chin. ‘God, I’m a mess! I need a shave.’

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ she exclaimed, as awareness of the unfairness of her earlier thoughts brought a rush of guilty colour to her cheeks. ‘What—what were you and Daddy talking about?’

  Robert pulled off his tie. ‘This and that,’ he replied uncompromisingly.

  Sophie twisted her hands together. ‘Me?’

  He swallowed the remains of his second cup of tea. ‘Among other things.’ He stretched his shoulders wearily. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have a lot of time. I need a shower and a change of clothes before leaving.’

  ‘Leaving?’ Sophie stared at him aghast. ‘But—but you can’t be leaving!’

  ‘Can’t I?’Robert looked at her steadily.

  Sophie took a gulp of air, and turned her back on him. ‘You—you don’t have to, you know,’ she got out jerkily. ‘I mean—I know I made a fool of myself last night, but it won’t happen again, I—I can assure you. And your mother was upset…’ She paused.

  ‘Don’t leave on my account. I shan’t embarrass you.’

  There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the ragged sound of her breathing, and then Robert brushed past her to reach the door into the hall. ‘Don’t be a fool, Sophie!’ he muttered savagely, and slammed out of the room.

  After he had left her, Sophie stood for several minutes staring at the panels of the door, and then she, turned rather jerkily and looked round the kitchen. What had he meant? Why was he leaving? And what about his—fiancée?

  She felt confused and disorientated. Surely there had not been some terrible row last night after she had succumbed to exhaustion. Her father couldn’t have asked him to leave, could he? Was that why Laura was awake? Hadn’t she been to sleep—because Sophie had no doubt that if her father and Robert had been up till four a.m. Laura had been up, too.

  She paced the floor restlessly. What ought she to do? Di
d Laura know her son was leaving, or had he come to this decision on his walk to High Apsdale? Where was he going? And when? Before or after breakfast? She wished there was someone she could ask, but right now she felt herself to be the bone of contention between Robert and their parents, and there was no one she could turn to.

  But at least this new development had served to banish some of the self-depression which had filled her. It would come back, but at the moment Robert’s intentions troubled her more. She didn’t want to be responsible for destroying the good relationship he had always had with her father, and nor did she want to feel that through her Laura was estranged from her son.

  What could she do? She had tried apologising to Robert and that had served no purpose except perhaps to make him impatient with her. If she appealed to him to stay for his mother’s sake, might he listen to her? She doubted it. There had been something hard and determined about his set face, and in her vulnerable mental state she was disinclined to trust her own abilities.

  She was standing, undecided, in the middle of the floor when her stepmother entered the kitchen. Unlike Sophie, she was not dressed, but she was carrying the tray Sophie had taken up earlier.

  ‘Your father’s still asleep,’ she explained tiredly, indicating the unused cup arid saucer. ‘I’d rather not wake him yet.’ Sophie nodded and she went on: ‘I’ve just spoken to Robert. He says he’s leaving.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie nodded again. ‘He—he came in just now. He’s been—walking.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Laura set the tray down heavily. ‘Is there any more tea? I could do with another cup.’

  ‘Of course.’ Sophie was glad of the task to occupy her hands. ‘There you are.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Laura took the cup and sank down wearily on to one of the stools beside the breakfast bar. ‘I’ll have this and then I’ll make some breakfast. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Me?’ Sophie shook her head. ‘No.’

  Laura bent to her cup. ‘Nor am I.’ She looked up. ‘Does Robert want any breakfast?’

  Sophie moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘Where is he going?’

  Laura sighed deeply. ‘He’s going to his apartment in London over the weekend, and then to Cymtraeth on Monday morning.’

  ‘But why?’ Sophie burst out. ‘I thought — that is – ‘ She sought for words. ‘Emma’s here!’

  ‘I’m sure he’s aware of that.’ Laura’s tone was dry. Then she shook her head in a confused way. ‘Who knows what Robert is thinking? My God, I never thought it would come to this!’

  ‘To what? What would come to this?’ Sophie stared at her desperately. ‘Mummy, what happened last night?’

  Laura finished her tea and pushed her cup aside. ‘Nothing that need concern you, Sophie,’ she replied flatly. ‘I’ve no doubt everything will turn out for the best. So far as Emma is concerned, Robert has to return to the site a couple of days earlier than he’d planned, do you understand?’

  Sophie’s facial muscles stiffened. She understood. She understood that so far as Laura was concerned appearances must be maintained at all costs, and whatever Robert’s reasons for leaving the status quo would be maintained.

  But what did Robert think about it? What was behind his sudden departure for London? Then her shoulders sagged. Did it matter? Really? If Robert had had anything to tell her, he had had ample opportunity a few minutes ago, and the fact that he hadn’t pointed to a dwindling of interest on his part. It seemed apparent that there had been some kind of argument last night and Robert was leaving to avoid the aftermath. But no doubt in a couple of weeks it would all blow over and things would go on as they had before, with the wedding looming larger on the horizon every day.

  Laura was taking ham ‘and eggs out of the fridge and turning on the grill. The smell of the uncooked food sickened Sophie, and with a brief word of explanation she left the kitchen. She felt lost and desperate, a feeling which was in no way dispelled when Robert came running down the stairs, showered and changed into mud-coloured levis and a cream knitted shirt. Drops of water still sparkled on his dark hair, and although there were lines etched about his eyes and beside his mouth, he exuded an aura of male strength and superiority.

  When he saw Sophie hovering in the hall, he said harshly: ‘Where’s my mother?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’ Sophie wiped her moist palms over the seat of her jeans. ‘Robert—

  Robert, why are you leaving?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I—please—don’t go Robert halted in front of her, looking down at her with eyes darkened almost to blackness by the shadows of the panelled hall. ‘Stop feeling so sorry for yourself!’ he advised her roughly. ‘I have—things to do in London, that’s all.’

  Sophie thrust her trembling hands into the waistband of the jeans. ‘And—and yesterday?’ she managed, with great temerity.

  Robert sighed. ‘I think you’d better try and forget about yesterday,’ he told her heavily.

  Sophie felt frozen inside. Until then she had foolishly harboured some hopes that Robert was leaving because he could no longer face his fiancée knowing he was in love with another woman. Now, hearing him tell her to try and forget those moments by the stream —that intimate dinner for two—their subsequent love-making in the car—was comparable to having him produce a knife and insert it between her ribs and turn the blade with slow precision.

  Something of her horror must have shown in her face, for he said violently: ‘Don’t look at me like that, Sophie, for God’s sake! It’s for your own good! You’re wasting your time With me!’

  And with a muffled oath, he pushed past her and entered the kitchen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE only person who seemed to have slept well the night before was Emma. She came downstairs almost two hours after the Jensen had roared away to London, apparently innocent of any undercurrents in the atmosphere.

  Sophie and her stepmother were sitting in the kitchen, sharing a pot of coffee and deliberately avoiding any discussion of personal issues, when Emma poked her head shyly round the door, apologising for interrupting them. ‘I’m awfully sorry, Mrs.

  Kemble,’ she went on. ‘I’m afraid I overslept. Your beds are so comfortable!’

  ‘That’s all right, Emma. Come in.’

  Laura glanced awkwardly at her stepdaughter as Emma entered the kitchen, and Sophie encountered that troubled gaze. Then she looked at Emma. Emma hadn’t changed. Her manner still jarred on Sophie. Her unassuming shyness, Sophie found coy, and the nervous smile seemed false. Emma was dressed in a simple belted cotton dress, her dark hair framed her small face in bobbing curls, and Sophie thought uncharitably that she was exactly the kind of girl any mother would find it hard to object to. Only Sophie saw the calculation behind the pose. Or did she? She stared miserably down into her coffee cup. How could she be expected to view Emma with anything but jealousy and mistrust?

  ‘Hello, Sophie,’ Emma was saying now, as Laura moved to make some fresh coffee.

  ‘I’m sorry you were ill last evening. Are you better now?’

  Sophie looked up, schooling her features. ‘Hello, Emma,’ she responded tautly. ‘Yes, I’m much better, thank you.’

  Emma sat down beside her. ‘It must have been something you ate,’ she commented, looking happily round the kitchen. ‘Hmm, this is a lovely room, isn’t it? So cosy! I love old houses, don’t you? They have so much more character than modern ones, don’t you think?’

  Sophie made some non-committal reply, and Emma went on: ‘I was just saying to Robbie - Sophie inwardly cringed. Only Emma had ever called Robert ‘Robbie’; ‘—I was just saying the last time he was in town that when we’re married we must buy a cottage in the country for weekends, Mrs. Kemble. Perhaps we could find something here—in Conwynneth. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? With me not having any parents of my own, I do appreciate feeling myself part of a family again.’

  Laura gave her stepdaughter a second glance. Then she returne
d her attention to Emma. ‘Well—er—we love having you, Emma…’

  Emma rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. ‘Where is Robbie, anyway? Surely he hasn’t overslept, too? I didn’t look into his bedroom. I could hear somebody snoring and I didn’t want to disturb ‘That would be my husband,’ said Laura quietly, pushing the coffee jug towards her.

  ‘Do help yourself. As—ef—as a matter of fact, Robert isn’t here.’

  Emma paused in the process of pouring steaming coffee into her cup. ‘He’s not here?’ she echoed disbelievingly.

  ‘No. No, not here.’ Laura forced a smile. ‘He—er— there was some sort of emergency at the site. He had to go back a couple of days earlier than expected and as you were asleep…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘I see.’ Emma finished pouring her coffee and Sophie noticed that her hand was quite steady as she did so. Hardly the reaction of a somewhat shy and nervous person.

  ‘Did he say if he’d be back?’

  Laura shook her head and busied herself collecting hers and Sophie’s dirty cups. ‘I don’t think he’ll get back while you’re here, my dear. But that makes no difference.

  We’ll try to make sure that you enjoy your little holiday.’

  Emma looked up and smiled. ‘I’m sure you will, Mrs. Kemble. And I always enjoy myself here, you know that. Naturally, I’m disappointed that Robbie’s had to leave - ‘

  Her gaze flicked fleetingly towards Sophie, and then back to the older woman again.

  ‘But it’s not as though we haven’t seen much of one another lately. I mean, since he’s been staying here we’ve seen quite a lot of each other.’

  Sophie’s fingers curled into her palms. So that was where Robert had spent his days.

  In London. An awful sense of desolation filled her.

  ‘Of course.’ Laura was speaking now. ‘I knew you’d understand, Emma. You’re such an—undemanding girl.’