Folly's Child (43 page)

‘It's time you were asleep, Harriet,' she said, easing herself away. ‘Mummy has to go now'. She always used the English ‘mummy' rather than the Americanised ‘mom.'

For a moment Harriet clung to her then Nanny moved briskly forward.

‘Come along now, Harriet, be a good girl and let your mother go.'

‘No!' Harriet wailed.

‘Yes,' Nanny said firmly.

Paula fought back a nightmarish fear that she might be trapped for ever by chubby arms and sticky, pouting lips. She hurried out of the nursery.

‘It isn't really a very good idea to over-excite her at this hour,' Nanny said disapprovingly, following her. ‘She should be asleep. Most children her age are.'

‘She is not most children though, is she?' Paula said.

She had half-closed the door when she thought she heard Nanny retort: ‘You're not much of a mother, are you, Mrs Varna? Only coming here to disturb her when you want to show off.'

Paula froze. She hadn't heard people talking about her lately and she had thought perhaps they had given it up. Now Nanny was at it. She pushed the door open quickly, expecting to discover Nanny lurking on the other side and whispering maliciously, but to her surprise she saw that the woman was moving around Harriet's bed, tucking her in.

She's a crafty one, Paula thought. She must have moved away from the door like greased lightning. She guessed I'd overheard her, I suppose.

Feeling uncomfortable she went downstairs to wait for Hugo. Then as she entered the garden room she stopped short, her pulses racing, as she saw a tall tuxedo-clad figure silhouetted against the French windows.

‘Greg!' she said, excitement and sudden fear making her voice sharp. ‘What are you doing here?'

He turned towards her, smiling lazily.

‘I'm sorry if I startled you, Paula. The maid let me in. I stopped by to see if we could go to the party together.'

She was at a loss for words suddenly. How could he do this to her – turn her from an assured woman to a gauche girl simply by his presence?

‘You're on your own, I suppose, now that your girlfriend has gone off to Paris,' she said foolishly, and instantly regretted it.

‘I'm never alone unless I choose to be,' he said, eyeing her with amusement. ‘I though you might be pleased to see me.'

‘Yes – yes, of course. But we're not going to the party yet. Hugo is having dinner with his mother – it's her birthday.'

‘Yes, I know. I talked to Hugo at the showroom this afternoon.' His smile was disconcerting.

‘Oh! Then why …?' She broke off, her cheeks growing hot. She already knew the reason he was here.

‘It was you I came to see, Paula. I hardly ever see you on your own.'

Her knees felt weak. She was trembling. Oh, he'd played these games before many times. But they had never before been alone together in a house with only a maid, a nanny and a tiny child. Greg had known Hugo would not be here – he had just admitted it. Could it be that this time …?

‘Would you like a drink?' she asked. Her voice was brittle; she hoped he would not notice how nervous she was and how fearfully, tremblingly excited.

‘A drink? Yes, why not. That would be nice.'

She crossed to the cabinet and his eyes followed her. Suddenly she thought she could not trust herself to pour the drinks without spilling them.

‘You get it,' she said. ‘And you can make a G and T for me while you're at it.'

She watched him pour the drinks, thinking how wonderful he looked in his tuxedo. Beneath its perfect cut she could see the ripple of his muscles and she went weak again. When he passed her the glass she took it and sipped quickly, holding the glass tightly as if she was afraid she would drop it.

‘You are looking very lovely tonight, Paula,' he said, his eyes appraising her, deep and teasing. ‘But then you always do! As I believe I've told you before, you really are the most fascinating woman.'

‘Greg …' She didn't know what to say; she was utterly tongue-tied.

‘Fascinating,' he repeated. He set his glass down on the broad mantelpiece and smiled at her, a slow, tantalising smile. ‘Come here, Paula,' he said.

For a moment she gazed at him, scarcely able to believe she had not misunderstood him. Breath caught in her throat; she felt faint with fear.

So many times in imagination she had lived this moment and gone beyond it; so many times she had dreamed what it would be like to have his lips on hers, not briefly as they had been in the past but with passion and possessiveness; to feel every part of him with her hands and her body; to belong to him utterly and completely. In that private place within herself she had lived with the dream, now, faced with the reality she was suddenly afraid that he might not. Could the dream ever translate – did she even really want it to?

As she hesitated, frozen to paralysis, his smile widened, those deep eyes of his issuing even more irresistible a command that his words. ‘Come here, I said.'

And as if he were working her like a marionette, pulling the strings that controlled her legs, she felt herself going towards him.

He did not move until she was standing close beside him, simply watched her with those hypnotic eyes seeming to look right inside her. Then he put out a hand to clasp her about the waist. Where his fingers touched they felt like dry ice through the thin silk, burning her skin and sending out small electric shock waves.

His mouth was hard on hers, brutal almost. No one had ever kissed her like this before, with such careless mastery. Her cool beauty had always affected her lovers – Hugo included – so that they treated her with something like reverence even at the height of their passion. There was nothing reverent about the way Greg was kissing her. He had played her for too long and knew that his games had driven her wild with desire. Now his hand moved possessively the length of her spine, tucking in beneath her buttocks and crushing her against him. She felt his hardness against her and went weak again so that she thought if he released her her legs would buckle and she would sink to the ground. But all the while the very core of her was yearning towards him.

With one hand he caught the green silk where it rippled over her shoulder, pulling it down. She heard the fabric tear and did not care. She was naked now to the waist; his greedy hands took her small breasts, squeezing until a scream gurgled in her throat. When she thought she could bear it no longer he released her, finding the zipper at the back of the dress and deftly sliding it down. The green silk slithered down her legs. Beneath it she wore only a wispy G-string – anything more would have shown ridges beneath the clinging dress – and her legs were still sufficiently tanned not to need tights. He took the fragment of silk and tore it off, then held her away, looking at her.

Paula felt her head roll back on her neck in a gesture of abandon and she sobbed softly, her whole body on fire with longing.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted her up and lay her down on the rug. She writhed in an agony of desire as he towered over her, fully dressed. Then he knelt over her, unzipped his trousers, and with one quick thrust was inside her.

She arched towards him, oblivious of everything but her own need. Never before had she been so totally possessed. Too soon it was over. He rolled away from her, casually almost as if what he had done to her was no more important than stubbing out a cigarette he had just smoked. He stood up, zipping up his trousers, and after a moment, embarrassed now by her nakedness yet still experiencing a tumult of conflicting emotions, she scrambled up too, reaching for her dress and holding it in front of her.

‘Greg.' She held out a hand to him, pleadingly. She honestly did not know what it was she was seeking – gentling, reassurance, or simply to have him do it all again – but he made no attempt to touch her. His expression now was almost contemptuous.

‘You'd better get dressed, Mrs Varna, if you don't want your husband to come home and find you like that.'

‘But …'

‘We have a party to go to, remember.'

‘Oh … yes …' She had forgotten it completely.

His hand shot out, imprisoning her wrist and pulling her towards him again. ‘Just remember – you're mine now,' he said softly. His face, inches from hers, was smiling, but it was not a nice smile.

‘When will I see you again?' she whispered.

‘I'll let you know.' He kissed her again as if to imprint the brand of his ownership on her. There was no warmth in it, no tenderness, but even as she realised it her own body betrayed her and she clung to him as a child being abandoned at the school gates clings to its mother. ‘Now for God's sake get dressed,' he said harshly, disentangling himself.

There was nothing for it but to do as she was told. The torn seam of her gown gaped from armpit to waist.

‘I can't wear this …'

‘Go and change then.'

She scooped up her G-string and ran upstairs. Fortunately she did not meet any of the staff and the door to the nursery was closed.

In her dressing room she stuffed the ruined gown into a drawer out of sight and pulled out another one, in silver lamé. Then in the bathroom, she straddled the bidet on shaking legs. She was beginning to realise the chance she had taken, making love with Greg here in her own house, with an unlocked door. Anyone could have come in – the thought made her go cold. Yet even now she could not regret it. ‘You're mine now', Greg had said. Her knees went weak again as she remembered it. The lack of tenderness and concern she preferred to forget. She had waited too long for this moment – and she knew that whenever and wherever he wanted her she would always be ready and eager for him.

As she went back downstairs she heard Hugo come in. Her heart hammered. Wouldn't he know … just by looking at her? But he smiled up at her from the hall, quite unaware.

‘You're ready then?'

‘Yes – just. I got held up. Greg's here …' To her own ears her voiced sounded a trifle breathless but Hugo seemed not to notice.

‘Greg? Oh good. We can all go together then.'

‘How was your mother?' she asked, delaying the moment when she had to face Greg again.

Hugo looked surprised. It was unlike Paula to ask.

‘She's getting frail. It's heartbreaking to see. She was always such a strong woman. But I think she enjoyed her birthday. Honey, I'm sorry it clashed with your party …'

‘It's all right,' she said, sliding past him, not wanting him to touch the flesh Greg had so recently possessed. ‘You're here now.'

Greg was standing on the hearth where she had left him, glass in hand. Not by a single flicker did he betray what had taken place. Only when Hugo's back was turned did his eyes meet hers, amused eyes, full of secret meaning.

How she got through the party, Paula would never know. She was on auto-pilot, she supposed, a pre-set pattern of social behaviour she had rehearsed over and over again so that now she could follow it even though her mind was whirling and she still felt like a jelly. Exchanging small talk, laughing, dancing, picking at the pressed caviare and smoked salmon canapes, sipping champagne, a little too fast, her eyes kept searching for Greg and whenever she caught sight of him she felt as if she were on the verge of having an orgasm. He was circulating, chatting with this society woman, dancing with that Hollywood actress, and jealousy burned in her fiercely. Was he going to ignore her all evening? Then, just when she thought that he was, there he was beside her, taking the glass from her hand and smiling at Hugo.

‘I can steal a dance with your beautiful wife, can't I?'

‘Of course,' Hugo replied with all the ease of an unsuspecting old friend.

Greg led her on to the floor and as their bodies moved in unison it was like a parody of their love making.

‘Come to my apartment tomorrow. I'll be home at three,' he said, his head and upper body a respectable distance from hers while his hips touched and pressed insistently.

She nodded imperceptibly. There was no way she could have refused. She knew she would move heaven and earth to be there.

At the end of the dance he returned her to Hugo.

‘You don't take your wife out often enough,' he chided.

‘Work, friend, has to come first.'

‘And your mother – and the rest of it – I know.' Greg was smiling easily. ‘But Paula needs some fun. You'll have to employ me as her walker.'

‘A second Jerry Zipkin, you mean?' Hugo grinned, looking over the heads of the dancers to where the rotund little man who was New York society's favourite one-man escort service was entertaining the lady he had partnered tonight. ‘I didn't know you had ambitions in that direction, Greg.'

‘I haven't – as far as most of these overdressed ladies are concerned.'

‘Overdressed? That's my creations you are maligning!'

‘Sorry – slip of the tongue. No, the gowns are fine, I guess. It's the faces I can't stand – skin as taut as a …' His eyes flicked to Paula, wicked, teasing eyes, before he finished, ‘as taut as a pair of surgeon's gloves.'

Hugo laughed, totally unaware of the meaning behind the innuendo.

‘I haven't seen much evidence of you being landed with only the glamourous grannies. You've numbered a nubile beauty or two amongst your conquests tonight if I'm not much mistaken, so don't expect my sympathy!'

Paula could not look at him. She felt as if she were blushing all over. But her heart was beating with excitement and her pulses were echoing it. Tomorrow … tomorrow … She did not know how she could bear to wait.

Over the next months their affaire continued, as erratic and disturbing as his persual of her had been.

Why now? she asked herself when she paused to draw breath. Why after waiting so long had he moved in so suddenly and possessed her? Because his relationship with the Texas Rose had come to an end, presumably. But she preferred not to think about it too deeply, simply revel in what they were sharing, this crazy intense tempestuous affaire. Since that first time, which Paula was convinced Greg had planned as carefully as he planned everything he did, they made love whenever and wherever they found themselves alone together – in his apartment, in the bathroom of some house when they were at the same party, in her own suite. The danger seemed to act as an aphrodisiac to Greg, and Paula was almost past caring if they were caught or not. At least if Hugo found out then she and Greg could be together openly; it would be an end to those other times, the ones she found unbearable when he left for days on end with no explanation, not contacting her. For in spite of the fact that she was so totally obsessed with him that she could think of nothing beyond when they would be together again yet still she could not be sure of him, He wanted her – there was no doubt in her mind about that – he possessed her and made her his in ways she would never have dreamed possible – yet he was also master of himself as well as her, sometimes withholding himself with total self-control, sometimes ignoring her just as he always had so that she felt she would scream with need of him, frantic for a smile, a gesture, never mind more, that would tell her he was aware of her very existence.