Act of Betrayal (9 page)

incoherently under his breath. Jason looked over his shoulder at

Laura, sitting tensely upright on the back seat, her hands

clasped in her lap. 'Wishing you'd gone with Celia?' Yes, she

thought, for all kinds of reasons . . . She said aloud, 'Not at

all. I feel rather responsible . . . ' He gave her an irritated

glance, and turned on the ignition. 'Why? You didn't pour whisky

down him as if it was going out of fashion, or keep filling his

glass in there. He did it all by himself, and he's surely old

enough now to know his own limitations and be careful.' Laura

flushed. 'Yes.' 'Yes,' he repeated with derisive emphasis. 'Now,

I'm relying on you to give me directions to wherever he lives in

sufficient time for me not to have to brake, or swerve, or do

anything else we might live to regret. Do I make myself clear?'

She glared at him. 'As crystal,' she said bitterly. Long before

the short journey was over, Alan had fallen asleep, his head

lolling and his breathing stertorous. It was a relief when they

finally slid to a halt outside the cottage. She said, 'Will he be

all right?' 'He'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, but I

think he deserves that.' Jason's voice was impatient. 'Can you

bear to give me a hand with him?' Between them, they tugged and

heaved Alan out of the car. He half woke up, and started a sotto

voce complaint about something or other, as they halfhelped,

half-carried him up the narrow path. Jason looked at her. 'Key?'

His brows arched interrogatively. Laura shrugged helplessly. 'In

his pockets, I suppose.' A thought struck her. 'Although he said

once that he keeps a spare one under a loose tile in the porch.'

'How original,' Jason said blandly. ' I think we'll try for that

one, don't you?' Luckily it was there. Laura retrieved it

hastily, and thrust it into the lock. The door opened, and she

stood aside while Jason took Alan into the hall. He said,

'Where's his bedroom?' 'Upstairs, I suppose.' 'You mean you don't

know?' he jibed, and she felt the colour race into her cheeks.

Her voice shook. 'This is exactly the second time I've been

here.' 'Don't tell me you've reverted to courting in cars,

Laura.' He shook his head reprovingly. 'That's very adolescent.

And in a Mini, bloody uncomfortable.' She was about to tell him

scorchingly that she and Alan were not courting at all, when she

realised just in time the trap she'd nearly stumbled into,

Instead she summoned a smile as cool as his own. 'How I conduct

my affairs is my own business. I don't need your advice or

approval—thank God,' she added piously. 'Don't give thanks too

soon, darling, because I haven't finished with you—not by a

hell of a long chalk.' His voice was bleak. 'Now for the sake of

argument, we'll assume the bedroom is up these stairs. You take

his feet.' Somehow, they got him up the narrow flight and into

the room opposite the bathroom. There were clothes strewn about,

and piles of books, and a neatly made double bed. Laura ignored

the mocking glance Jason sent her as they heaved Alan on to it,

face downwards. She said worriedly, 'Should we—just leave him

like this?' He sent her a bored look. 'I'll wait downstairs if

you want to undress him. But I should warn you he'll be in no fit

state to appreciate your attentions in the way the deserve.'

Laura said between her teeth, ' I didn't mean that and you know

it. But should we call a doctor or ...?' She lifted her shoulders

in a helpless little shrug. 'He's in no danger,' Jason said

shortly. 'Does he make a habit of this?' She shook her head. ' I

don't think so. Certainly I've never seen him like this before. I

didn't realise how much he'd had.' 'With some people, it doesn't

need much. Maybe he's one of them. Anyway, he's out for the count

now.' His smile was thin. 'Poor little Laura. What a

disappointing end to your romantic dinner.' ' I f foursomes can

be said to be romantic. I'm sure Celia wouldn't agree with you.'

'She probably wouldn't,' he agreed. 'She does rather demand one's

exclusive attention. I wonder if she's worth it?' 'And I'm

certain you're going to find out.' Her smile was a little ragged,

but it was there. 'Maybe you shouldn't keep her waiting any

longer.' 'I've no intention of making her wait at all,' he said

pleasantly. ' I imagine she wouldn't thank any man for a

protracted wooing. She scarcely falls into the shrinking violet

category.' Unlike you. The words, unspoken, seemed to hang in the

air between them. Then Jason turned on his heel and walked out of

the room, and she heard his feet on the wooden stairs. She

followed. On the second step from the bottom, her skimpy heel

skidded on the narrow tread, and she fell forward with a little

startled cry, her balance lost completely. His reflexes panther-

sharp, he caught her, his arms closing round her, dragging her

against the hard lean warmth of his body. For a second, or

perhaps for infinity, he looked down into her anguished face, the

grey eyes gleaming silver suddenly, then her mouth was possessed,

plundered, ravaged by the passionate brutality of his kiss. Her

lips parted in helpless surrender. She kissed him back, exploring

his mouth as demandingly as he was seeking the moist warmth of

hers. His hands were pulling at the smoky dress, dragging it off

her shoulders almost down to her elbows, baring her to the waist.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes brilliant with a

fevered desire, a hectic flush staining the high cheekbones. He

said in a stranger's voice, 'AH evening. Oh Christ, Laura, every

second of all evening . . . ' And on his lips the blasphemy

sounded like a prayer. His head bent, and his mouth took full

erotic possession of what his hands had uncovered. He was

consuming her, she thought dazedly; draining the lifeblood out of

her through her heated skin. A thousand little pulses all over

her body were beating out the single word 'now—now—now' in an

incessant, drugging rhythm. And then she heard, with her

conscious mind, the muffled sounds of movement from above which

reminded her that they were not alone. She heard Jason whisper an

obscenity, and then she was free, swaying on her feet, her body

languid with need, but free. His hands reached for her again, but

only to drag her dress back into place. He said, 'We shouldn't be

here.' Her voice shaking, she said, 'Where can we go?' His voice

slowed to a drawl. 'Home, darling. Where else? Celia has coffee

waiting for us, remember?' The shock of it was like a knife,

slicing through flesh, bone and marrow. Her whole being seemed to

shrink in humiliation as she realised she has offered herself to

him and been rejected.

SHE awoke sometime in the night with a feeling of oppression.

The bedroom seemed dark and oddly close, the air very still.

Then, away in the distance she heard the sour threatening rumble

of thunder and knew why she had woken. She hated storms,

especially the unexpected ones, swelling up from nowhere in the

dark of a summer night. As a child, she'd always pulled the

bedclothes over her head, and lain there, trembling and stifling,

hoping and praying that the lightning wouldn't find her. Too late

to hope that now, she thought, staring into the blank darkness.

Jason had come back into her life with all the fierceness of a

summer storm, and the defensive wall she had erected round

herself with such care had crumbled, showing her mercilessly how

vulnerable she still was where he was concerned. All she could

do—all she had ever done—was lie still and wait for the storm

to pass. She sighed, twisting restlessly on her pillow as the sky

was suddenly illuminated, and that ominous rumble deepened

relentlessly. And in almost the same instant, the first sting of

rain flung itself against her window. Laura' groaned and pushed

the covers aside. She always slept with the casement open in

summer, but she would have to close it now unless the cushions on

the window seat were to be drenched. As she knelt there,

wrestling with the catch, lightning streaked across the sky

again, and for a moment the houses opposite, and the garden and

drive below were trapped in a glare more powerful than a

searchlight, revealing the sleek lines of Jason's Jaguar, still

parked near the shrubbery by the front door. She stayed where she

was, staring downwards through the streaming rivulets of rain,

telling herself she was imagining things, waiting for the next

betraying lightning flash. But there was no mistake, no trick of

the imagination. The car was solid fact. She slid off the window

seat and went across to the door, opening it a fraction. The

whole house was still and dark. No-one but herself had been

disturbed by the storm, it seemed. There were no lights on

anywhere, no sound of voices to indicate that Celia still had a

visitor. She found she was gripping the door handle so tightly

that her fingers were aching. Surely Celia couldn't be so

indiscreet such an utter fool . . . She closed the door again

silently, and stood, her arms wrapped protectively round her

body. The answer to that was—Celia acted only as seemed best to

Celia. She had never been openly promiscuous, or at least Laura

had never been aware of it, if so, but she was no blushing violet

either. Celia might be her junior by over a year, but it had

always made Laura's head spin to think how much older in wordly

wisdom her cousin had always been. By her own blithe admission,

her first lover had been one of the ski instructors at her

expensive and supposedly sheltered Swiss finishing school. While

I, Laura thought wryly, was still a trembling virgin. -r-,, She

went quickly across the room, and got back into bed, pulling the

covers around her as if the shivers running deeply through her

slender body were of physical origin and could be dispelled by

the comfort of a blanket. She closed her eyes, squeezing her

eyelids tightly, trying to banish the images of Jason with Celia,

their bodies locked together in the ageless ritual of lovemaking.

There were times when imagination could be anguish, when memories

crucified. Only a few hours ago, she thought—only a few hours .

. . But if she was coldly realistic, that was probably what it

was all about. Jason had been as aroused as she had been by those

too brief, abortive moments of passion. If Celia offered the

satisfaction his body needed, then he would take it, using her as

casually and cynically as he had always used his women. She

turned, punching her pillow into shape as the thunder unleashed

its fury overhead, and the rain lashed at the windowpanes.

Perhaps it would have been better if she'd been able to be like

Celia, to have treated her own virginity as a slight

inconvenience to be discarded as soon as possible, to have

discreetly taken any man she fancied ever after. In those

circumstances, she and Jason would have met, enjoyed a brief

affair together and then passed on, leaving each other virtually

unscathed. Staring into the darkness, she remembered how it had

all begun. With Julie Frant's party. She hadn't been keen to go,

but Julie had been persuasive and persistent. 'You never go

anywhere,' she said plaintively. 'Come on, Caswell, be a devil

for once in your life. Stop thinking about how to create the

perfect Hollondaise and live a little.' Laura had given in and

accepted the invitation, but she'd regretted it almost as soon as

she'd arrived at the party, held in the large basement flat which

Julie shared with another girl. The lights were dim, the

atmosphere smoky and the music loud. Laura found herself a glass

of white wine, and retired to a corner, wondering how soon she

would be able to slip away. Julie's boyfriend Edward was a

sculptor, and taught at a local polytechnic, and many of the

guests were also involved in the arts to a greater or lesser