Dragons Lair. Sara Craven
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Davina was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try. At least it’s better than doing nothing—than just waiting for Gethyn to make the first move.’
Philip Greer tapped his upper lip thoughtfully with his forefinger. ‘Tell him too that there could be another tour in the offing. Oh, it’s quite true,’ he added hastily, meeting Davina’s quizzical look. ‘There have been a number of overtures in the past few months. I’ve just been waiting for the psychological moment to put it to Gethyn. I had to sell the last one to him, as a matter of fact, but you probably know that.’
Yes, Davina thought, as she walked slowly back to her own office. She had known that. But not until afterwards—after she had agreed to marry Gethyn. And then it had been altogether different because the trip to America was going to be their honeymoon—not the handful of nights in the suite of a luxury hotel which Uncle Philip was giving them as a wedding present. She had been as excited as a child at Christmas at the prospect, thrilled to the core as well because Gethyn had told her that if she hadn’t wanted to go with him, he would have called the whole thing off. It gave her a wonderful feeling of power, a feeling of being necessary. It had been a delusion, of course, as she quickly found out, but for that brief time she had never been happier. She had dreamed of the places they would see together—New York, San Francisco, even New Orleans.
‘And Niagara Falls,’ Gethyn had said, grinning. ‘Isn’t that where all self-respecting honeymooners go?’
Only by the time he had left for the States—alone—the honeymoon was already over.
Davina closed her door behind her, and sank down in the chair behind her desk, reaching automatically for the manuscript on top of the pile in front of her. She began to read it, forcing herself relentlessly to concentrate, but it was useless. It was the story of a failed marriage, and even in the first chapter there were words, phrases, scraps of dialogue which struck a painful chord in her own memory. At last she pushed it almost desperately to one side and buried her head in her folded arms on the desktop.
When had it all started to go wrong? she asked herself. Hadn’t her mother sown the first seeds of doubt, even before the wedding ceremony had taken place? She had come into Davina’s room on the morning of the wedding and watched her as she packed a suitcase.
Davina had just been smoothing the folds of a filmy drift of nightgown when she had caught sight of her mother’s expression in the dressing-table mirror, her eyes hooded, her lips thin with distaste.
‘Mother,’ she had said, gently enough, ‘please try to be happy for me.’
‘Happy?’ Her mother’s laugh had been almost shrill. ‘Happy that you’re rushing headlong into marriage with a complete stranger? You may think you know all you need to know, but you’re a child. What do you know of men—of what living with a man means? I was fortunate. Your father was a kind man—considerate, undemanding. But he won’t be like that. You’d better enjoy your innocence while you can. It won’t be yours much longer. Wait until you’ve been alone with him, tonight, and then talk to me about happiness!’
She had turned then and gone from the room, leaving Davina staring after her with startled eyes and parted lips. She had resumed her packing, but the golden glow which surrounded her had dissipated somewhat. It was the nearest her mother had come, or ever would come, she realised, to discussing the sexual relationship with her. She had always sensed instinctively that her parents’ marriage had been lacking in certain aspects. Widowhood, she had often thought wryly, suited her mother far better than being a wife had done. But this was the first time Mrs Greer had ever spoken openly on the subject, and made her disgust plain.
And later when she arrived at Caxton Hall and saw Gethyn waiting for her, tall and unfamiliar in his dark suit, her mother’s words had returned to her mind with paralysing force, freezing the smile on her lips. Even while the registrar was marrying them, she could feel Gethyn’s eyes on her, questioningly. Afterwards Uncle Philip had taken them to the Ritz and they had drunk champagne, and she had found herself acting the part of the radiant bride, laughing that little bit too much, smiling until her mouth ached. And all the time knowing that he was watching her, and not wanting to meet his eyes in case she read in them a message she wasn’t ready for yet. But she had to be ready, that was the whole point. She was his wife now and very soon now they would be alone and he would take her in his arms and everything would be all right. She held on to that thought with quiet desperation. She was just being stupid —bridal nerves. That was all it was—it had to be.
After all, in the past weeks there had been times when she had clung to Gethyn, glorying in his desire for her, but armoured at the same time, she realised, by the iron self-control he seemed to be able to exercise where she was concerned. Now there was no longer any need for that control. She belonged to him.
She sat beside him in the taxi as they drove to the small flat he was renting to fetch his own case, not touching him and thankful for the taxi-driver’s cheerful presence. She would liked to have made an excuse and waited for him in the cab, but he made it quite clear he expected her to accompany him up to the flat. She stood silently while he unlocked the door and then walked ahead of him into the small living room. This was all strange too, she thought, even though it was where they would be living when they returned from the hotel until they left again for the U.S.A. She wandered round the room while Gethyn collected some things from the bedroom. It was difficult to imagine herself sitting in either of the fireside chairs reading while Gethyn worked at the table behind her. She peered into the kitchenette where she would soon be cooking the meals and a feeling of total inadequacy began to invade her.
It was as if some romantic veil had been suddenly torn from her eyes and she was seeing life as it really was for the first time. Where had they gone—all those hours she had spent with Gethyn, wandering round art galleries, browsing through bookshops? He had taken her to dinner, to the theatre, walked with her along the Embankment and through the parks. Sometimes he had kissed her, and she put a hand almost fearfully against her lips. It wasn’t a great deal on which to base a relationship as intimate as marriage, yet this was what she had done. What did she know about him really—except where he had been to school and university and the titles of the books he had written? She knew his parents were dead and that he was an only child like herself, and preferred Italian food to Chinese. She shook her head almost dazedly.
She heard a board creak behind her and turned to find him leaning against the bedroom door jamb watching her. He had discarded his jacket and loosened his tie and looked completely at home, which she supposed he was. She was the stranger here. The little fish, suddenly and disastrously out of water.
‘Come here.’ His tone was gentle enough, but there was an underlying note of command, of ownership even, which made her mouth dry.
She tried to smile. ‘The taxi will be waiting.’
His brows rose lazily. ‘I sent the taxi away. We can call another when we’re ready. Now, come here.’
Her reluctance must have been obvious for by the time her lagging steps had got her across the room to him, he had straightened with a jerk and was frowning.
‘It’s a little soon for second thoughts, isn’t it?’ he asked sarcastically, and she flushed.
‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Of course you know,’ he jibed. ‘Any resemblance between you and the loving girl I kissed last night is purely coincidental. My God, I don’t think you’ve touched me voluntarily all day.’ He took her by the shoulders, his eyes searching hers. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘It’s all been a bit of a strain, that’s all. And Mummy was being—difficult this morning.’
Gethyn murmured something under his breath that she prudently failed to hear. Then his grip had tightened, compelling her towards him.
‘Hello, wife,’ he said quietly, and bent and kissed her on the mouth. She made herself remain passive under his touch, waiting for that familiar warm tide of feeling to engulf her, but there was nothing. It