Act of Betrayal (3 page)

'But then there's very little about the Caswell family that could

surprise me any more.' He moved, straightening his shoulders, and

Laura felt herself recoil. He saw it, and stopped, the grey eyes

narrowing glacially as they surveyed her. 'But I still seem to

have the ability to surprise you,' he said half to himself. 'How

interesting. Perhaps some further research is called for.' She

said hoarsely, reading his purpose in his face, 'You dare lay one

finger on me, and . . . ' 'You'll do what? Scream for your

uncle?' He shook his head slowly. 'Not this time, darling. He's

too busy chasing a contract to hear you.' As he spoke, he walked

forward, until he was only inches away from her. There was a row

of units right behind her, and nowhere to retreat to. Besides, it

suddenly seemed a matter of honour to stand her ground, as if

this unwanted proximity didn't concern her one bit, although her

breathing had become painful and even difficult. Jason's hand

touched the nape of her neck, his fingers stroking the smooth

skin. Her mouth went dry, and her hands clenched into fists at

her sides. 'This thing,' Jason said softly, 'is an obscenity.'

The elastic band was tugged from her hair, not gently, and the

soft tawny strands fell round her face. It was all she could do

not to cry out. She found herself wondering absurdly where the

waitresses had got to. Surely they would be back at any moment.

Surely . . . She'd cried a lot of tears and spent many sleepless

nights, trying to forget how it had once been between Jason and

herself, and she thought she had succeeded. Now, the first

seeking warmth of his mouth on hers

told her that she was wrong, and every fibre of her being

whimpered in shock. She stood rigidly, resisting the practised

sensual teasing of his mouth, the warm coaxing of his tongue

against the unrelenting contours of her lips. Pain armoured her

against response, and she was grateful for it, because it could

have been so tempting to let the past slide away, and with it the

icy restraint she'd imposed on herself. Sex was the great

betrayer. It made your body impose on your mind. It robbed you of

reason and commonsense. It made you believe there could be 'happy

ever after', and Laura wanted no more of it. But she wasn't

prepared for this gentleness in him, and it bewildered her. She

almost wished he'd shown her some of the brutality of their last

time together. It would have provided a focus for her hatred, for

her disgust. This insidious probing at her senses was less easy

to fight, and it made her afraid, because the memories it evoked

were not of anger or bitterness and accusation, but of their

early days together, and all the promise of them. A promise which

Jason had cynically and blatantly broken. That was what she had

to remember—all she had to remember. Nothing else mattered—no

laughterfilled days, or passion-warmed nights. No moments when

she'd wondered crazily why she'd been chosen to be so lucky.

Because ultimately and heartbieaJiingly, there'd been no luck

about it. She was simply Laura Caswell, a girl who had been

married for her money: Not the first one to find herself in that

situation, and certainly not the last. The thoughts ran wildly in

her brain, bolstering her against the first slow, sweet stirring

of the senses which Jason's kiss was inevitably arousing. He'd

taught her to want him, to want the pleasure which his mouth and

hands and body could give her, and her starved sexuality was

slowly, almost incredulously reviving under the insistent

pressure of his lips against hers. She wanted to open her mouth,

to sink against his body, and feel the hard possession of his

arms round her again. She wanted it so much that she ached

inside—an ache which pleaded for assuagement... With a little

cry, she jerked her head back, bringing up a clenched fist to

scrub furiously at her lips. 'You're disgusting.' 'You think so?'

he asked mockingly. 'Where have you spent the last three odd

years, Laura? In a nunnery?' 'That's none of your business.' How

dare he stand there so utterly unmoved, when her heart was

threatening to choke her with its hammering. 'And may I remind

you that you've lost the legal right to—maul me.' He shrugged.

'Merely an experiment, darling. Nothing to get hysterical about.'

He laughed briefly. 'And there wasn't, was there? It's all quite

dead. Not a single pang of unrequited passion on either side.

So— no reason why we can't behave civilly to each other when we

meet from now on—as we inevitably will. Shake hands forever.

Cancel all our vows. Isn't that how it goes?' He paused. 'We may

never be friends, Laura, but we have to be acquaintances. You can

surely see that?' There was another, longer pause, as if he was

waiting for some kind of reaction, perhaps even an answer to what

he had said. Then he added, 'Anyway think about it.' He turned,

the door gave its familiar monitory squeak, and Laura was alone.

THERE
was a lay-by about half a mile from the factory complex.

Laura drove the car into it, and stopped, slumping limply forward

over the driving wheel. She'd left Caswells at the run, uncaring

about who might see her, or what conclusions might be drawn.

She'd fumbled with the ignition, crashed the gears, and missed

the concrete gatepost at the exit by a whisker. It was a miracle

she'd got this far without an accident, only she'd stopped

believing in miracles. They were on a par with the tooth fairy,

who'd stopped calling a very long time ago. She sat very still,

her hands still gripping the wheel as she sought to control the

deep inner trembling which threatened to convulse her. She kept

hoping she would wake up and find it had all been just another

nightmare—trying, but purely transitory—but she knew that

however many times she might pinch herself, Jason was not going

to vanish like a bad dream this time. He was there. He was flesh

and blood, and for one endless, searing moment, he'd made her

feel like flesh and blood too. She groaned, nausea rising in her

throat, and sat up slowly, fighting her own self-disgust. How

could she have felt like that—even for a second? She knew what

Jason was—who better? she thought bitterly—so what in the

name of God had she been doing to allow him anywhere near her?

She lay back in her seat, staring sightlessly through the

windscreen. Well, it had happened, and while it was shaming to

realize just how close her body had been to betraying her, the

situation wasn't totally irretrievable. Because Jason had not

guessed. She repeated the words aloud to herself, giving each one

its own resounding emphasis—because it mattered. It really did.

She'd been a total innocent when they'd first met, but under his

tutelage she'd blossomed, discovering depths in her nature,

aspects of sexuality which she'd never dreamed existed. Jason was

the first man to whom she'd been physically attracted, the first

one to teach her sensual delight. It was hardly surprising that

she'd imagined she was in love with him, or that she'd been naive

enough to believe that he loved her in return. She'd soon learned

differently, of course—even before that first, crazy, delirious

year had wound to a close. 'Trust me,' he'd urged. 'Laura, trust

me please.' I trusted him, she thought.- I'd have done anything

for him. I'd have followed him naked, if he'd asked me. Only he

never asked. She hadn't let herself cry much during the long

months while she was waiting to be divorced. She hadn't cried a

great deal since, but there were tears now. Laura put her hands

over her face and sobbed. The moisture ran between her splayed

fingers, and down the backs of her hands. She could hear herself

moaning, and the desolation of the sound frightened her into

silence, and ultimately into control again. There was a box of

tissues in the car, and she used them to blot the worst signs of

her emotional collapse from her face. She didn't want to have to

face Celia with red eyes, and a blotched skin. In fact, it

occurred to her, she would prefer not to have face Celia at all

just yet. She sat for a moment, drumming her fingers restlessly

on the steering wheel, then started the car with new

determination. She would go to Alan's house—take him up on one

of the many invitations she'd always steered clear of in the

past. After all, she liked Alan, she argued defensively to

herself. She'd enjoyed their dates together over the past year,

but she'd been wary of allowing their relationship to develop

along more intimate lines, and when Alan had shown signs of

trying to force the pace a little, she'd always drawn back. One

day she might be ready for a serious involvement again, but that

day had not yet arrived. And although to seek him out like this

might not be altogether fair to Alan in view of the ambivalence

of her feelings, it was necessary. She needed the reassurance of

his undoubted regard for her. He was the present tense in her

life. Jason was the past. It took Laura just under ten minutes to

drive out of town to the small village where he lived. One minute

there were suburban houses and neat gardens, and then, as

abruptly as if someone had drawn a line, there were fields and

trees and narrow lanes, with fingerposts pointing out the hidden

life of the countryside. She parked her car on the verge opposite

his small cottage, and crossed the lane to the gate, returning

the friendly nod she received from an elderly man working in the

neighbouring garden. As she walked up the path, she could hear

the sound of Alan's typewriter clicking away through the open

window, and she hesitated for a moment before knocking at the

door. Alan had trained originally as a teacher, but because of

the cuts in education spending, he'cf never managed to secure a

permanent post in an English department anywhere. So, instead,

he'd turned to freelance writing, and was managing to make an

adequate living if not an affluent one, eked out by some private

coaching. Among other things, he wrote a restaurant column for

the local paper, as well as being its drama critic, and In a way

it was through this column that they'd become friends, because

when they'd been casually introduced at a party, Laura had told

him bluntly she didn't always agree with his praise or criticism

of the local eating houses, and they'd enjoyed discussing their

differing opinions. It was clear he was working now, and she was

unwilling to disturb him for such purely selfish reasons, but

just as she was preparing to turn away, he called, 'Come in,

Laura. The door isn't locked.' He met her in the tiny hall,

smiling delightedly. 'Hey—this is fantastic. I was just going

to 'phone you. What brings you this way?' 'Oh, I was just

passing.' She hated lying, and was bad at it. 'Could I use the

bathroom, do you suppose?' 'Of course,' he said briskly. 'It's on

the right at the top of the stairs. And I ' l l make some

coffee.' As she made hurried repairs to the ravages which emotion

had done to her face, Laura wondered wryly whether Alan had seen

she was upset, but been too tactful to enquire about it. On

balance, she decided the dimness of the light in the hall had

probably been to her advantage, and he hadn't noticed a thing.

She hoped not, anyway. She didn't want to have to embark on

lengthy explanations. He was emerging from the kitchen with a

tray as she came downstairs, and she followed him into a

sizeable, cluttered living room. There was a large desk under the

window, and a frankly sagging sofa in front of the empty

fireplace, flanked by a couple of easy chairs which had also seen

better days. But for all that, the room had a cosy welcoming air,

which in Laura's view, the Caswell mansion totally lacked. The

coffee was good too. Alan was fussy about the blends he chose,

and it showed. She accepted the pretty pottery beaker he handed

her with a murmured word of thanks.