THE RELUCTANT BRIDE (18 page)

“
Tell
me about your father,” said Rod. They were in his apartment,
the first time she had been there since the night he had cooked pasta
for her. She had avoided being there alone with him ever since but
tonight her mood was strangely passive and she had not resisted when
he suggested a nightcap.

“
He
was an importer,” she said. “Mostly carpets and rugs, but
other things too, such as paintings and sculptures. He had an
instinct for finding beautiful things all over the world.”
Beautiful women too, she added to herself. “He was very
successful, made a lot of money. Enough to buy White Gables, for
instance, when I was only a baby.”

“
When
did he die?”

“
Oh,
he's not dead! At least, I don't think so.”

“
Then
what happened? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

She
was silent for a long time.

“
It
might help to talk.” Rod's words were gentle and encouraging.

“
I've
never spoken to anyone about him. Not even m mother very much. You
see, she loved him, even at the end – and still does, I'm
sure.”

“
So
do you.”

She
looked at him, startled. “Oh no. I hate him.”

“
Hate
and love are very close.”

“
He
doesn't deserve to be loved.”

“
Tell
me about him,” Rod said again and, slowly at first, she began
to talk.

“
He
liked women, you see. There were always other women, right from the
beginning of their marriage. French women, Italian, Arabian, South
American – wherever he went he collected them like he collected
his carpets and rugs. I never knew, of course. I was too young. But
my mother knew – and he must have known that she knew. Even my
name -” She choked and grabbed for another of Rod's
handkerchiefs.

“
It's
a pretty name.”

“
I
hate it.
He
chose
it. He'd spent some time in Italy, just before I was born. It was
obviously the name of one of his mistresses.”

“
You
don't know that.”

“
I
do. I feel it.”

Rod
poured another glass of wine and pushed it towards her. She picked it
up and gulped a mouthful.

“
How
did it end?” he asked.

“
He'd
been to Brazil. Naturally he met a woman over there. She had some
sort of business marketing Brazilian artifacts. We found out later
he'd put quite a lot of money into it. Anyway, he didn't come home
when he should have done. He stayed an extra week, then another week,
eventually more than two months. When he did come back he seemed
different. Sort of closed in, abstracted, irritable. He spent a lot
of time with his solicitors, with the bank. My mother thought he was
having financial problems, I heard her asking him, but he denied it.
Then one day when my mother and I were away somewhere for the day, he
disappeared. When we came home we found two letters, one for her and
the other for me.”

She
took another sip of her wine, more slowly this time. “I think
my mother knew, before she got the letter. I think they'd already
talked about it.”

“
What
did your letter say?”

“
Oh,
that he would always love me, he would never forget me – a lot
of rubbish in that vein.” She looked at Rod, her eyes dry now.
“I was sixteen, still at school. My mother was already
beginning to suffer with arthritis. When he'd gone we found that he
hadn't even provided for us. The house had been remortgaged and all
but a few thousand pounds had been withdrawn from the bank.”

“
It
must have been hell for you both.”

“
The
worst part was finding out how little we'd meant to him.”

“
I'm
sure that's not true.”

“
Oh,
it's true,” she said bitterly. “If he'd loved my mother
he could never have hurt her so badly with all those women. And if
he'd loved me – how could he have – just walked out
without even a proper goodbye?”

“
Poor
Gabriella.” Rod left his chair to sit beside her on the long
beige sofa. “Don't think about it any more tonight.”

Drained
and exhausted, she let her head droop against his shoulder. When he
put his arm around her, cupped her face and raised her lips to his
she offered no resistance, yearning still for the comfort that
tonight he seemed able to give her.

“
Poor
Gabriella,” he murmured again, his mouth moving over hers.

She
wasn't sure when the comfort changed to something else but gradually
she became aware of an excitement building within her as they kissed
more and more deeply, and as his hand slipped within the collar of
her blouse and moved down towards her breasts an urgent tingling
filled her. When she felt his warm mouth against her bare nipple she
thought she had never experienced such exquisite pleasure.

“
Rod,”
she whispered. “Rod.” There was a fire within her body
and a languor within her limbs that drove out all fear of the man and
if at that moment he had ordered her to his bed she would have gone
without hesitation.

When
he pulled away she felt a wrench of disappointment that was almost a
pain. There was a dark flush to his face and his breathing was deep
and fast. She was sure that he had been as aroused as she was. Why
had he stopped?

“
This
is no good,” he said when his breathing had slowed.

She
stared at him without comprehension.

“
I
can't take advantage of you like this. I know that if you hadn't come
back to White Gables, if you hadn't been so upset about your father,
you wouldn't have let me come near you with a – with a barge
pole!”

She
opened her mouth to contradict him but the heat was leaving her and
caution taking its place.

He
reached forward and rebuttoned her blouse, smoothed her tousled hair.
He touched a finger gently to her lips. “I've bruised your
mouth,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

She
wanted to turn her mouth into his hand and kiss it but she didn't.

“
Come
on,” he said. “I'll take you home.”

She
lay awake for an hour or more as she relived the evening with Rod. He
had been so kind when she told him about her father. And later –
she touched her lips and breasts, feeling an echo of desire course
through her, marvelling that she had reached the age of twenty four
without experiencing such an overwhelming emotion. And when two
people experienced it together …

Yet
it had been Rod who drew away, and somehow that pleased her most of
all, because surely it proved that she had been wrong. If he was as
unprincipled as she had believed, wouldn't he have seized his
opportunity?

She
had been wrong about so many things, she realised now, and thought of
her father with renewed bitterness. At an age when she was probably
at her most emotionally sensitive he had shattered her illusions and
she had lived a warped existence ever since, believing that the only
safe relationship between a man and a woman was a passionless one
which made no demands on either side.

Poor
Bernard. She had been completely blind to his needs. God knows how
much she had hurt him.

Poor
Rod, too. Just because in his dark charm he bore some physical
resemblance to her father and because, like him, he was attractive to
women, she had condemned him untried. Was it possible, she wondered,
that marriage to Rod might not be hell after all? He had so many good
qualities, although she had stubbornly refused to credit him with
them until now. His wit and intelligence. His good humour. His
tenderness, the concern he had shown for her mother. The wide range
of interests that made him such a good companion.

She
yawned. From tomorrow, she resolved, things would be different. Rod
would find he was dealing with a new person. Oh, she wasn't going to
make a fool of herself, throw herself at him. She blushed,
remembering the evening – had she in fact done just that? But
he would find her more prepared to meet him half way. A fresh start,
she thought, yawning again.

She
slept dreamlessly and awoke feeling refreshed and eager for the day
ahead. Catching sight of herself in the mirror as she buttoned the
jacket of her navy suit she was suddenly struck by the dullness of
her appearance. I look like a lift attendant, she thought with
dissatisfaction. She loosened her hair from its usual smooth roll and
looped it in various positions. But it was still boring.

“
I'm
going to get my hair done,” she told her mother over breakfast.
“Can you phone Jenny for me at nine and tell her I'll be an
hour or so late?”

She
saw the suit on her way to the salon that she visited once every six
weeks or so for a shampoo and trim. For a few moments she watched the
boutique owner assembling the suit on a model that lay with severed
arms and legs in the tiny window. It was a colour that she had never
worn, a light singing red, the colour of a ripening tomato. Quite
unsuitable for the office.