A Trial Marriage. Anne Mather
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some distance from the town itself. She would have welcomed Minstrel’s company, but for once Della had decided she would exercise the poodle, and had given Rachel permission to do what she liked for the afternoon. Perhaps she had seen Jake taking his solitary walks, Rachel speculated miserably. Perhaps Della hoped she might encounter him while she was out with the poodle.
It was colder now, and although the chill air was refreshing, Rachel was shivering by the time she boarded the bus back to town. She remained in her seat long after the bus had stopped at the harbour station and eventually the conductor came along the aisle to ask her whether she was feeling well.
‘What?’ Rachel stared at him without comprehension for a moment, and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh—oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry!’
Colouring hotly, she followed him off the bus, and was aware that his eyes followed her as she hurried along the esplanade towards the hotel. She entered the lobby with her head down, and started violently when a hand closed firmly round her suede-clad arm.
‘Rachel!’ Jake’s low voice was disastrously familiar, and she looked up at him defensively, unconsciously arming herself against his unwelcome attraction. ‘Are you all right?’
He was no less disturbing to her peace of mind, and she was frightened by the knowledge that he could do this to her without any apparent self-involvement. She had never before experienced the emotions he could arouse in her, and the desire to throw herself into his arms was as potent as it was foolish. His fingers gripping her arm were painful, but she revelled in the sensation.
‘Rachel!’ When she made no immediate effort to answer him, he spoke again, glancing impatiently round the lobby, aware that no encounter in such public surroundings went unnoticed. ‘Rachel, where have you been?’
‘Walking.’ She tried to pull herself together. ‘I—how are you? It’s a cold afternoon, isn’t it? My hands are froz——’
‘Rachel!’ He said her name again as if he couldn’t bear this time-wasting small talk between them. ‘God, we can’t talk here! Come with me! We’ll walk along the front.’
But now Rachel found the strength to pull herself away from him, and moving her shoulders in a careless gesture, she said: ‘I’m sorry, Mr Allan, I can’t stop now. Della will be wondering where I am. I’ll see you some other time, I expect——’
‘Rachel!’
The smouldering darkness of his eyes had its usual effect on her knees, but she forced herself to move away from him, keeping a polite smile glued to her lips. She must not make a fool of herself now, not here, and she was very much afraid she might if he said anything more.
The distance to the lift stretched before her like the Gobi desert, but at last she was within the enclosing portals of the small cubicle which would lift her to the comparative safety of her own room. The last thing she saw as the doors closed was Jake standing where she had left him, staring after her, a curiously vulnerable expression on his lean features, and the tears overspilled her eyes.
Fortunately Della was downstairs, taking tea, and only Minstrel was there to share her misery. He was remarkably understanding for once, sensing her unhappiness and nuzzling against her comfortingly.
She managed to make some excuse to Della not to join her for dinner that evening, and had a sandwich brought up to her room. Exercising Minstrel was another matter, but although she looked about her nervously as she crossed the lobby with the poodle, there was no sign of the man who had accosted her earlier. Carl Yates was at the reception desk when she returned, however, and while she wished she could avoid him his undoubted admiration was a salve to her bruised spirit.
‘Mrs Faulkner-Stewart has got all her arrangements made for tomorrow evening,’ he told her casually, after making the excuse of fondling the animal to hinder her progress. ‘That means you’ll be free for the evening, doesn’t it?’
‘I expect so,’ Rachel answered cautiously, disentangling the poodle’s lead from around her jean-clad legs. ‘Stand still, Minstrel!’
Carl straightened. ‘I wondered if you’d come out with me,’ he murmured, low enough so the girl at the reception desk could not hear him. ‘How about it?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I—well, I don’t go out much,’ she said awkwardly.
‘Perhaps you should,’ he suggested, his usual assurance daunted. ‘You need a change.’
Rachel made an apologetic gesture. ‘I’m sorry. I—I’m not sure what Mrs Faulkner-Stewart will want me to do.’
‘Then let me know,’ remarked Carl at once, seizing on her indecision. ‘We could go to a club I know. Have a meal … dance. There’s no need to make a booking at this time of the year.’
Rachel wanted to refuse, but something stopped her, and with a half-reassuring smile she left him, walking away towards the lift without giving him chance to say anything more.
Della was waiting for her next morning when she entered the suite to take Minstrel for his pre-breakfast gallop along the beach. It was unusual for the older woman to be up and dressed so spontaneously, but the reason for her eagerness was soon made apparent.
‘About tonight’s dinner party——’ she began, and Rachel resigned herself for a long monologue. ‘There’ll be eight of us in all. The Colonel, of course, and Mr and Mrs Strange. Then, there’s Miss Hardy and Mrs King …’
Rachel tucked her trembling hands into the pockets of her jeans. She scarcely knew the Stranges, who were the second half of the bridge four. An elderly couple, they always seemed engrossed in their game, and paid little attention to anyone who didn’t play. But the names of the two women who had seen her with Jake still had the power to send a shiver of apprehension down her spine. Nevertheless, it was Della’s next words which caused her the most distress:
‘And finally myself … and Mr Allan! Yes,’ this as Rachel’s lips parted involuntarily, ‘he’s agreed to join us. Isn’t that wonderful? I expect we’ll have a bridge tournament later, now that we have eight players.’
Rachel turned away, pretending to search for Minstrel’s lead, anything to conceal her tormented expression from Della’s probing gaze. How could he, she thought despairingly, how could he? And why now? When in the past he had avoided contact with anyone?
‘Well?’ Della expected some response. ‘Haven’t you anything to say? Like—congratulations, for example?’
‘Congratulations?’ Rachel echoed blankly, schooling her features. ‘I’m afraid I——’
‘You know what a recluse Mr Allan has been,’ exclaimed Della irritably. ‘Don’t you think it’s significant that he’s agreed to join my dinner party?’
‘Oh, I see.’ Rachel strove for control. ‘I—well, yes. You—you’ve been very fortunate.’
‘That’s what Miss Hardy said,’ remarked Della, frowning. ‘Although I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that myself. After all, it’s obvious he’s a man of the world, well used to the society I can offer. It’s natural that as two—sophisticates—in what is without question an unsophisticated gathering, we should have certain things in common.’
Rachel grasped Minstrel’s lead like a lifeline. ‘You—you could be right,’ she managed tightly. ‘I gather you won’t be—needing me this evening.’
‘No. No.’ Della could afford to be expansive. ‘You go ahead and do whatever you want to do, my dear.’ She paused. ‘I’ll want you to do my hair beforehand, of course, but after that …’
Rachel nodded. ‘All right. Now, shall I take Minstrel for his walk?’
Della looked as if she would have liked to say more. She was probably put out by a lack of interest on her part, thought Rachel wearily, but she couldn’t pretend an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Her whole being throbbed with