Cruel Legacy (26 page)

had never met her but she'd yearned to do so; she could imagine what she would be like, how much she must love her son and the bond there would be between them.

Philippa had been wretchedly miserable after Blake had gone, her misery compounded by the arrival of her A level results and her father's irritated refusal to even so much as discuss her desire to go on to university.

'Daddy is quite right,' her mother had told her. 'If you had won a place at Oxford, at one of the good women's colleges, Somerville, for instance, things might be different, but those new modern universities... Daddy is only doing what's best for you, Philippa,' she.had added. 'And I think you might try to appreciate that fact, to appreciate just how lucky you are instead of being so difficult.'

Unwisely Philippa had continued to argue, even being rash enough to say, 'Blake says that everyone should make use of their intelligence; he says that the only real independence comes from being self-sufficient; he says that everyone, man or woman, should be able to...'

'Philippa, I'm afraid I'm not really interested in what that young man has to say. In fact I believe he has had rather too much to say. That type always do.' She had given Philippa a thin smile.

'This is exactly the sort of thing your father means when he says that university is not the place for you, that it will expose you to the wrong kind of influences... to people... men like Blake...'

'Michael likes Blake,' she had protested. 'They're friends.'

"The acquaintanceships a man may make are entirely different from those suitable for a young girl,' her mother had informed her. 'Your father and I might have tolerated Blake Hamilton's presence here in our home for Michael's sake, but it was obvious right from the start the kind of person he was.'

Philippa had wanted to protest, to object, but she could hear her father's voice in the hall and knew from bitter experience that she would have no chance of winning any argument with the two of them ranged against her.

After all her high hopes, this was turning out to be the worst summer of her life. Misery filled her as she remembered how she had pictured talking to Blake, being with him... discussing her future with him, seeing the pleasure and approval in his eyes, watching the realisation dawn in them that she was now grown-up. She had even visualised exactly where 'it' would happen... in the garden, not the formal, carefully cultivated part, but the tangled wild area beyond the tall yew hedge where field poppies grew in the untidy grass and the stumps of the stricken elms which had been cut down three summers ago provided seats that were close enough together and tilted at such an angle that she would have had to lean very close to Blake when she was talking to him. So close that she might just possibly have slipped off her seat, necessitating Blake's reaching out to catch hold of her...

Her stomach muscles had clenched when she had visualised this particular moment, the way he would look at her, the way his expression would change, the way he would hesitate for a moment, looking deeply into her eyes before brushing her hair off her face and then, as though completely unable to hold back any longer, bend his head to kiss her, gently at first, and then later...

A delicious
frisson
of fear and excitement had run through her at the thought of being kissed by Blake. But now Blake was gone and sometimes, when she tried to conjure up his image, to re-create the intensity and magic of that anticipation, all she could actually feel was a sense of loss and panic. On the morning of her birthday she searched the post, hoping that there might be a card from him, because after all he had sent her one when she had sat her exams, wishing her good luck; but there wasn't one.

Her parents had planned a small dinner party to celebrate the event, inviting those of their friends who had suitably aged children of their own.

Philippa hated every second of it, but most especially when her father stood up and made a brief speech and then handed her the keys to the car he had bought her as a birthday present. She had been taking lessons for the last ten months and had surprised and shamed Robert, who had taken his test three times, by getting her full licence on her first attempt.

Only Philippa knew that the tears filling her eyes at her father's generous present were tears of misery and resentment.

She didn't want a car. She wanted... she wanted her freedom, the right to make her own choices... her own decisions.

As she listened to the envious comments of her peers she was bleakly aware that the money spent on her birthday present could have quite easily put her through university, and just for a second she fantasised about running away, selling the car...defying her parents. But she simply wasn't that kind of person, the habit of obedience too deeply ingrained.

Michael was due home in four weeks; perhaps, she decided, she could arrange to visit him at the flat once he was back at university. Then she could see Blake and...

And then, totally unexpectedly, her parents were invited away for the weekend, by an influential acquaintance of her father's who, like him, was a keen golfer. No invitation had been extended to Philippa; Robert was away visiting Lydia's family and, despite her mother's reservations, Philippa was to be left at home alone.

The decision to visit Blake wasn't made overnight; at first it was nothing more than a tentative, daring but impossible wish, but it grew stronger. Her imagination even subtly provided her with the ideal excuse for such a visit... an excuse that, once it took root, like the original desire, swiftly became a necessity.

Blake, she was sure, would be able to think of some way for her to get around her father... Blake would convince her parents that she should continue her education, she decided, conveniently ignoring the fact that Blake was the last person her father was likely to listen to.

While her mother fussed about what clothes to pack, Philippa mentally planned. Studying maps, making surreptitious notes, firmly ignoring the small, frightened voice that warned her that no good could come of such deception. Her need to see Blake was paramount, totally overriding everything else.

At night, once she was in bed, she closed her eyes and visualised the look in his eyes when he opened his door and saw her standing there, and her body shivered in anticipatory excitement. He would know, of course, exactly how she felt, just as she would be able to see from his face how much he had missed her... how much he wanted her.

And once she had gone to him, given herself to him, once they had acknowledged their feelings for one another, there would be no going back... Blake would not allow her to go back. She would be his then, and nothing her parents could do would change that.

Her imagination ran on busily; she saw herself rushing home to the flat from her tutorials to get Blake's supper, the plain gold band of her wedding-ring adding a new maturity to her status. She saw herself buying flowers for the flat, while Blake looked on admiringly at the small feminine changes she had made to it. She saw him pleased and proud of her the day she got her degree, sweeping her up into his arms and telling her how much he loved her; she saw him... In the darkness she blushed furiously at the intense intimacy of her thoughts.

Her parents left home early in the morning but Philippa waited almost until lunchtime to do the same, still half afraid that for some reason they might come back.

The journey would only take her a couple of hours, or so she had estimated... What she had not allowed for, though, was taking the wrong exit off the motorway and getting well and trnly lost afterwards, so that it was early evening before she finally turned into the road where Blake lived.

It was a chilly, wet evening, sullen grey rainclouds darkening the sky. She parked the car outside the flat, running through the rain to the door and ringing the bell.

A huge drop of rain fell on her face, smudging her mascara, and she was just trying frantically to rub it away when the door opened.

'Blake...' Tired and emotional, she would have hurled herself into his arms if he had not fended her off.

'What is it...what's happened?' he demanded. 'Is it Mike—has something happened to him... ?'

'Michael?' Philippa stared at him. This wasn't what she had planned...what she had imagined...Blake holding her at arm's length, looking at her so coldly, more concerned, it seemed, with her brother than with her.

Fiercely she tried to banish the small feather of disquiet starting to curl uncomfortably inside her stomach.

'Blake, I had to see you. I need to talk to you...'

He didn't seem to be listening to her.

'How did you get here?' he demanded.

'In my car...' Wearily she gestured to the car parked by the kerb.

'Your car... ?'

'Yes...they...Daddy gave it to me for my birthday.'

'Oh, yes, I suppose I should have guessed.' The sardonic tone of his voice made Philippa flinch a little. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold and very unsure of herself. He didn't seem the same Blake somehow.

'Look, you'd better come in and tell me what all this is about,' he told her, frowning as he turned away from her and opened a door off the hall.

The sitting-room that lay beyond it was sparsely furnished and pin-neat; a book lay open on the desk, an anglepoise lamp illuminating it.

'Oh, I'm sorry—were you working?' Philippa apologised awkwardly.

Blake's mouth twisted. 'Typical Philippa,' he commented. 'Showing us all how well she's been brought up, how nice her manners are... how good she is. My God, you aren't real!' he exploded suddenly with such violent intensity that Philippa tensed against it. 'You can't be,' he added as he turned round and stared angrily at her. 'You arrive on my doorstep talking some nonsense about needing my help and then you '

'I do need your help,' Philippa told him. 'Daddy won't let me go to university...'

'Surprise, surprise,' Blake responded cynically. His mouth curled downwards when he saw her face.

'Oh, come on—you must have known it would happen... The car, I take it, is your reward for toeing the line, for doing what he wants...

'What are you really doing here, Philippa—what is it you really want from me? Or can I guess?'

He was beginning to frighten her now; he wasn't like the Blake she knew at all.

'I—I've already told you,' she stammered. 'I... I wanted to talk to you... to ask for your advice.'

'My
advice?'
The harshness of his laughter hurt her ears. 'So you want my advice, do you? Very well, I'll give it to you. My advice is that you stop trying to deceive yourself and face up to reality, but then
you
don't like reality, do you, Philippa?
You'd
much rather be Daddy's little girl, shielded from all the unpleasant things in life like having to make decisions and having to do without a new dress every week, pearls round your neck and everything else he provides you with. That's what you really want, isn't it, Philippa... ?'

'No, of course it isn't,' Philippa denied. His attack shocked and hurt her. She'd had no idea he could be like this, speak to her so brutally... as though... as though he didn't even like her, never mind...

Tears started to fill her eyes but she tried to blink them away.

'I
do
want to go to university, but...'

'But what?'

'But I can't,' she told him shakily. 'Not without my parents' support.'

'Why not?' Blake demanded curtly. 'Other people do...other people work to finance their education, but of course you could never do anything like that, could you, Philippa...?'

He took hold of her hand and examined her pretty freneh-polished nails, stroking the softness of her skin, but there was nothing loving and tender in his touch, nothing remotely approaching desire.

'No,' he said under his breath, more to himself than to her, or so it seemed to Philippa. 'No, you couldn't------------'

'Yes, I could,' Philippa cut in painfully, hating the way be was looking at her, the contempt she could see, hear and almost feel in his attitude towards her. 'I could work... I could...' Her voice died away as she saw the way he was looking at her, saw her dreams being destroyed in front of her, consumed in the ice-cold fire of his anger, crumbling beneath the crushing weight of his rejection of her.

'Blake...'

There was no mistaking the appeal in her voice, even she herself could hear it, and she flinched from it, mortified by what she was revealing but helpless to stop it.

'No...' Blake told her thickly, shaking his head. 'Oh, no...no. No, you don't, Philippa...' And then, with a harsh frown, he took hold of her, crushing her against his body so hard that the impact of his muscles against her body actually hurt, the sensation of the soft dark hair on his bare arms touching her own skin, the maleness of him overwhelming her to such an extent that she immediately panicked, fighting to break free of him, subdued only by the fierce pressure of his mouth as it took hers in a bruising, punishing kiss that was nothing like the tender, almost reverential embrace she had imagined.

The kiss was hot and hard and angry, bruising her lips, forcing their compliance, the thrust of his tongue parting them for his to take marauding possession of her mouth. Her breasts hurt from the pressure of his muscles against them, her legs were shaking, her whole body in a state of semi-shock.

The tears she would not allow herself to cry ran down inside her throat instead, clogging it with their salt taste.

'What is it.. .what's wrong?' Blake demanded, his lips against her ear. 'This
is
what you came here for, isn't it...? This is what you wanted... ?'

'No,' Philippa denied desperately, trying to break free of him, but he refused to let her go.

'Don't he to me,' he taunted her. 'I've seen the way you look at me... the way you watch me... the hunger in your