Summer's Awakening (51 page)

Summer felt a lump in her throat. Striving to keep her tone level, she said gently, 'We can't be together forever because one day
you
will get married and who knows where that may take you? Back to England perhaps, or to the ends of the earth. But wherever we are we'll never lose touch with each other. We'll write and telephone and visit. I'm only moving out of this apartment—I'm not going far. Maybe to the other side of the Park, or down to SoHo... wherever I can find a place I like at a rent I can afford. We'll still see a lot of each other. You can help me to furnish my place.'

'But I'm not in New York all the time. What about Florida? What about Nantucket? You won't be there.'

'Well... no. But neither will you if you go to college. We were going to be separated then in any case. It's just happening sooner, that's all.'

Although she tried to speak cheerfully, the look on the younger girl's face made Summer feel sick at heart. This was all James's fault—damn him! If
he
hadn't lost
his
temper and behaved unpardonably, this sudden and premature severance need never have happened. Emily herself would have been the one to make the break.

'It must have been a terrible row if you can't say you're sorry and make it up. What did he say to you? What did you say to him?' the younger girl asked bewilderedly.

Summer flushed and avoided her gaze.

'I—I'd rather not discuss it. Anyway, as I've already said, the row was the culmination of frictions which, as you realise, have existed from the beginning. For a time we managed to keep them submerged, but no one can do that indefinitely. There was bound to be a clash sooner or later.'

'I can't understand it... why you don't like him, I mean. He's so nice, Summer... so are you. If I love you both, and you both love me, how can you not like each other?'

Summer sighed. 'It's one of those inexplicable things. Think of all the married couples who adore their children but find they can't live with each other and have to split up. James and I are just incompatible.'

'But he isn't with us very often,' Emily persisted. 'You're with me more than with him. Can't you put up with him for the short time he does spend with us? I don't want to be on my own till I go to college.'

'Probably, if I'm not around, James will try to spend more time at home; and I'm sure Mrs Rathbone will want to see more of you, too.'

'She's nice but she's old. I can't talk to her the way I can to you.'

'What you need is more friends of your own age.'

'No, I don't. I need you,' said Emily. 'Please, Summer—don't go away. James will cool down. So will you. If you only had this row last night, you're both still up in arms with each other. It's silly to act in haste or in a temper. You've often said so.'

The trouble was there was no way of making Emily understand the situation without telling her the truth—which was impossible.

She was too young and idealistic to understand the combination of factors which had triggered last night's débâcle. Summer herself had not understood it at first. Only after lying awake for several hours, her body tormented by unsatisfied desire and her mind in a ferment of angry confusion, had she begun to understand—although not with the forgiveness which understanding was supposed to induce.

It was her reluctant recognition of how much he had made her want him which had been the clue to comprehension. He had needed a woman—any woman. It might be that he hadn't had sex since ending the affair with Loretta. A long time for a man of such powerful animal vitality to live like a monk. Probably his sexual appetite had been gnawing away at him for days; a slow-burning fuse which he would have kept under control if it hadn't been for his outburst of anger and the contact with feminine flesh when he had had to unfasten the necklace for her. What had driven him to make love to her, she had realised, had been straightforward primeval lust; the fierce driving force which kept the human race going.

There was something immeasurably degrading in being made love to by a man who didn't want you, yourself, but only your female body. But it wasn't that she could never forgive. It was that he had made her a party to blind desire. She had wanted what had almost happened. If it hadn't been for Raoul's call, she would have permitted and welcomed James's possession of her. That was what she couldn't forgive. And, having done it once, he could do it again. He must know that. He might never act on the knowledge, but it would always be there in his eyes when he looked at her.

Once he had despised her for being a compulsive eater. Now he would despise her for being a pushover.

'I'm not acting in haste,' she said, in answer to Emily's last remark. 'Striking out on my own has been on the cards for a long time. Now it's been precipitated, that's all. It's come as a shock to you, I know. But try to take it in your stride. You must know how fond of you I am. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. But I have to leave... I just have to.'

Holding her hand at a secluded table in the Palm Court of the hotel which had been a Manhattan landmark for almost fifty years, Raoul said quietly, 'I want you to marry me, Summer. I've been thinking about it for some time. Suddenly, last night at the party, I was sure we were right for each other. Tell me you feel the same way. You do, don't you? Please say you do.'

His tone, his touch, his whole tenderly chivalrous manner were balm to her raw self-esteem. Her impulse was to say Yes. Yet somehow her lips wouldn't form the words he wanted to hear. Some deep, inexplicable instinct made her hesitate to commit herself.

'I—I don't know, Raoul,' she answered with a troubled sigh. 'I am very fond of you... I know that. But marriage is such a big step.' Suddenly, to her own surprise, she found herself adding, 'Perhaps... perhaps we should try living together for a while.'

He looked at her long and intently. It was difficult to gauge his reaction.

At length, he said, 'I thought you wanted your first lover to be your husband?'

'I know I said that at one time. But... circumstances alter cases. My ideas have changed. I think now—'

But her thoughts were in too much confusion for her to explain them to him. She only knew that she had to find some escape from the memory of last night's embraces.

The gravity of his expression made her say, 'Have I shocked you? Are you disappointed in me?'

He smiled then. 'I could never be disappointed in you. Will
you
be shocked if I suggest that we leave this'—with a gesture at the tea he had ordered—'and go to my place?'

Suddenly there was an ardour in his eyes which she had never seen in them before.

'No. I—I should like it,' she answered.

He squeezed her fingers, then lifted her hand to press a kiss on her knuckles. After leaving some bills on the table, he rose and recaptured her hand and led her away. A few moments later they were in the back of a cab, travelling the short distance across town to his apartment.

Raoul fondled her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb and playing with the soft webs of skin between her fingers. It was impossible not to notice the bulge alongside his zipper—after being restrained for so long, he couldn't wait to get her into bed. She wished she felt the same way. But in spite of the erotic things he was doing to her hand, she felt no response. Perhaps it would be better when they were alone and he kissed her.

But it wasn't. The moment the door of the elevator had closed, he took her in his arms and pressed a long, passionate kiss on her mouth. She put her arms round him and opened her lips, but she felt no thrill of excitement.

When the elevator stopped at his floor, reluctantly he raised his head. His face was flushed, his blue eyes were slightly bloodshot, and when he unlocked the door of his apartment, his fingers shook with impatience.

Standing beside him, Summer found herself feeling nervous that, for all his restraint in the past, he might now be too wildly aroused to wait for her passion to match his before he took her. At the moment she felt no reaction at all. The burning desire which James had kindled last night hadn't even begun to reanimate.

To her relief, when they entered the apartment he didn't make straight for the bedroom. By the sofa where once before he had held her and kissed her, he drew her against him. With their arms round each other, kissing, they subsided on to the cushions.

In the moments which followed, Summer strove hard to recapture the feelings he had roused in her last time. But even when he began to undress her, her heart didn't beat any faster.

Although he had fumbled with his latch-key, he was deft and swift in removing her shirt and bra. Soon she was naked to the waist and his hands were exploring her breasts while he told her, in French, how lovely they were, and how often he had wanted to caress them.

She lay in his arms, willing herself to respond. But all the time he was stroking her, and pressing his lips to her neck, and murmuring husky love-words in her ear, she experienced no stirring of pleasure. All she felt was miserably guilty; as if she were doing something wrong... giving her body to a man who had no right to it because... because in her heart she belonged to someone else.

'No... no... I can't,' she exclaimed suddenly, pushing him away.

He misunderstood her outburst. 'Don't be nervous, chérie. I won't hurt you.'

'It isn't that. Please... let me go.'

Not unnaturally Raoul was determined to overcome her resistance. The tussle which followed was in many ways very similar to her struggle with James the night before. Raoul wasn't as powerful as James, but he was a man and, as such, much stronger than she. The difference was that with every moment in James's arms her power to resist him had weakened and her longing to surrender increased. In Raoul's hold she felt no such weakening but rather an increasing desperation to escape. Suddenly, to have his mouth glued to hers and his hot, eager hands on her body was as revolting as if he were a stranger. As she understood the difference between last night's kisses and these, she gave a convulsive shudder and began to weep.

At this, Raoul gave a muffled groan and broke off the kiss to sit up. As soon as he let her go, she crossed her arms over her breasts, instinctively covering herself.

With tears on her cheeks, her lips trembling, she stammered, 'I—I didn't mean this to happen. Forgive me, Raoul... please forgive me.'

At first he ignored her apologies. She could see it was difficult for him, perhaps even physically painful, to control the surging desire which her sudden tears had frustrated. As difficult as it was for her to suppress the uncharacteristic need to weep.

She lay still, watching his profile as he sat, shoulders hunched, glowering at the carpet while his breathing quietened and the fever in his blood died down.

When eventually he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were puzzled rather than angry.

'What happened? What made you change your mind?'

It was impossible to tell him the truth; to confess that in his arms she had found out there was only one man to whom she could ever give herself. To say that would upset him even more. Yet what other explanation was there?

To her astonishment, he said, 'You're in love with James Gardiner, aren't you?'

She gaped at him. What had made him say such a thing when, ever since they had known each other, she had been desperately striving to overcome her feelings for James?

When she didn't answer, he said, 'I've suspected it for a long time, but I didn't want to believe it. The first time I saw you—at the Bernier lecture—I saw how you looked at him. But after a while I thought you might have got over it... as I've tried to convince myself that I'm over Louise.'

He sank his head on his hands in a posture of weary despair.

'You mean you're
not
over Louise?' she ventured uncertainly.

At first he didn't reply. Then he sat up and shrugged. 'I guess not. To be truthful... when we were kissing... I found myself thinking of her. I didn't want to, but it happened. I shouldn't have brought you back here where she and I—'

He broke off, left the sentence unfinished and then, on a note of anger, said, 'What a mix-up life is! You and I are so right for each other. We have almost everything in common. We could build a good life together. Except that neither of us feels whatever it is that makes the difference between affection and love.'