Somewhere to Lay My Head

SOMEWHERE TO LAY MY HEAD Lilian Peake

Liam's words came slowly. "So they were all lies he told me about you, all lies. And I believed him, everything he said about you. Well," he added, "everything's over now, finished." Everything's over, finished. The words spun in Alyson's head like a roulette wheel. Her marriage to Liam had been a gamble, a gamble she had lost. Liam had been the winner and he had taken all--her innocence, her heart and all the love that heart contained. Suddenly, she just didn't care any more!

For MARGARET MATTHEWS who has given me so much encouragement

CHAPTER ONE 'MY brother had no money,' Liam Langham said. 'He had none to leave. He left you completely unprovided for.' Alyson was glad that over the past two years she had, of necessity, developed an iron control over her reactions. She knew that the profound shock which her brother-in-law's words had just inflicted would not show. She turned towards him a face as blank as his own. 'He told me just before he died that he had left all his money, everything that belonged to him, to me.' The face into which she looked did not alter at her statement, except that the eyes, a winter grey, hardened momentarily, then returned to their original expressionless state. 'He had no money. He had no belongings, except of course for items which were entirely personal.' Her poise and iron control were beginning to weaken. 'I don't believe you. You can't be telling the truth!' Against her will, her voice rose slightly and she fought , to regain her composure. 'I know' we lived here in your house. I know the furniture we used was yours -' 'As was the food you ate, the car you owned,' the cold eyes strayed from the white face to scan the taut figure from head to foot, 'the clothes you wear.' 'But.' her hands clenched together, her fingers twisting' first one way, then the other, 'Derry told me he had private means.' Liam Langham inclined his head. 'He did, supplied by his brother,' briefly his hand touched his own chest, 'my means.' 'He said an uncle, a wealthy uncle -'

'True. In his mobile days it took Derry, let me see, roughly a year to get through the minor fortune which that wealthy uncle bestowed on him in his will. It was in the middle of that year that he first made your acquaintance. It was quite a year, wasn't it?' Liam Langham lounged back against the desk, grasping the edges with. his hands and crossing his legs one over the other. 'He inherited a fortune, met two girls, one called Meryl Jackson and the other, her stepsister, called Alyson Hardy. He spent money like water on one, then on the other. He became engaged to Meryl, after which he had an accident which crippled him for life.' Liam Langham smiled unpleasantly. 'It's a long story, isn't it? But it's not over yet. He became disengaged to Meryl and became engaged again—to Alyson this time. Then, despite the injuries he sustained as a result of the accident, which would have put any other woman off, Alyson married him. Any other honest woman, that is.' 'Like my stepsister, I suppose you mean,' she said, intending to be sarcastic. He inclined his head. 'Like Meryl, who took one look at him in his wheelchair after he came out of hospital, saw what a mess of a man he had become and threw his ring back at him. Cruel, of course,' he rubbed his chin, 'but honest, wouldn't you say?' 'You call my stepsister honest,' Alyson cried, 'when it was she who was driving the car when they crashed, then, when she saw what she had done to her fiance, walked out on him?' 'Yes, callous but honest,' narrowly, 'unlike you, who married my brother for the money you thought he had. There could have been no other reason.' 'You'll never know,' she replied tensely, 'why I married your brother.'

'You've already told me,' he returned. 'For the money and possessions he said he had left to you.' She swung round, making for the door. As she reached it he said, 'Where are you going?' Alyson stopped and turned. There was no need, she could have ignored his question. But he was the kind of man no one ignored, neither the considerable number of people who worked under his command at his place of work, nor any member of his household—as she was at that moment, and had been ever since she had become Derry's wife. 'Away,' she answered, 'anywhere, as far as I can get from you.' She swung back to the door. 'I told you,' his voice checked her, 'you have no money except what I give you. Even the clothes on your back- -' Again she turned, pulling at the long-sleeved see- through blouse she wore. Take it,' she cried, 'take them all! If I could, 'I'd give them to you here and now.' 'Carry on,' he said, with a slow, lazy smile. 'Who am I to stop a woman undressing in front of me? Especially you, slim but with plenty to offer, good to look at, well- formed -' A swift flush coloured her cheeks. 'Go on,' she returned, 'go over all the intimate details. Unmarried you may be, but there's nothing you don't know about a woman, is there? Derry told me.' His eyelids lowered. 'And what did my brother tell you?' 'About you—your -' she floundered, 'your private life, the women you'd had, even the wives of other men in the firm -'

'Get out,' he said, his voice like ice, his eyes, open now, below zero, 'just get out!' He was her brother-in-law, related through marriage. She knew about; his coldness, his rigid self-control, but beyond that, she knew no mote about him than if he were a stranger. She saw the extent to which she had aroused his anger and was afraid. One thing she did know about him was that, sufficiently aroused, he was beyond anyone's control except his own.

In her suite of rooms it was no longer necessary to mask her feelings. The shock could come out now, like a fugitive emerging when the pursuer had gone away empty- handed. There was no need to steady the shaking hand as it lifted to smooth her hair, or to bite the trembling hp to stillness. My brother had no money. He left you completely unprovided for. Liam Langham's words hit her like exploding bombs, making craters in her mind. She was without any means of her own, no money except for the small balance in the bank account she had shared with Derry. No home, only Liam's roof over her head. No bed to sleep on except the one Liam had provided. Even the shoes on her feet... Alyson turned quickly, tensely, towards the bay window. Out there were the garden and beyond, the Sussex downs. From the front of the house there was a view of the sea, but it was not visible from the suite of rooms which she had shared with Derry. Liam had used his portion of the wealthy uncle's fortune to buy the house. Alyson could not even begin to guess at the amount it must have cost. Which revealed, she thought, just how much money Derry

must have gone through in that mad year of spending in which he had indulged just before his accident. She recalled the jewellery her sister used to flash in front of her eyes. 'Derry bought me this ring,' Meryl used to say, 'and this bracelet.' A week or two later a gold pendant would swing from Meryl's neck. 'Derry again,' she would say. Then came the day when his diamond ring had sparkled on her engagement finger. 'I've done it!' Meryl had rejoiced, 'I've got him to propose. Needless to say, I've said yes.' Meryl, tall, slender and beautiful, had been a photographic model when she had caught Derry's eye. From that moment on, hearing about his money and learning by experience of his willingness to spend it—especially on her—Meryl had not let him out of her sight. Until the day she had driven his sports car with him beside her in the passenger seat. Until the moment she had swerved off the road and hit a tree, crashing the passenger's side full force against its trunk but leaving the driver's side —and the driver—virtually free of injury and damage. Derry had emerged from many weeks in hospital helpless from the waist down, wrecked in body and, as far as his self-confidence was concerned, in mind also. He had changed almost beyond belief. When the engagement ring he had given to Meryl had landed in his lap. and his fiancee had walked away leaving him to his fate, he would, as a meaningful human being, have become a complete writeoff—if it had not been for Alyson, Meryl's self-effacing, compassionate stepsister. Ashamed for Meryl, wanting to make amends for the pain her stepsister had inflicted on the man who, through her own carelessness, had suffered such terrible injuries, Alyson went to Derry's side and stayed there. At first he hadn't wanted her.

'Go away,' he had said repeatedly, 'women disgust me. I'll never trust a female again. You're no different from all the rest. You're her sister, so you repel me. You're only out for what you can get, just like she was.' He had talked to her thus in front of anyone within hearing, strangers, domestic staff—his brother, Liam. Alyson gazed across the unbelievably smooth lawns, lifting her eyes to the gently undulating beauty of the downs and remembered. She remembered how Liam's mouth had curled sardonically as he listened to his brother abuse her, how his cold eyes had rested on her flushed cheeks as insult had followed insult from Derry's relentless lips. How those cold eyes had watched, unsmiling, for the faintest flicker of retaliation in the girl who was being abused, and how contemptuous he had looked when that retaliation had not come. To have let Derry use her as a doormat, as a target for his poisontipped words, had plainly been, to Liam Lang- ham, a matter for his deepest scorn. There could, he had plainly thought, be only one reason why she was allowing his brother to insult her so preposterously. She was out to get the money her stepsister had forfeited when she had pulled Derry's ring from her finger. Alyson stirred, sighed and turned from the window. Listlessly she wandered through the suite of rooms Liam had provided for herself and Derry after their marriage. The whole house had been modernised when Liam had bought it and modern furniture installed. The settee was long, low and upholstered in the finest fabric. A low glass-topped table held a small lamp with a chrome base. Here and there paintings adorned the walls. In the bedroom, the fitments had been built in— wardrobes, drawers, a very feminine dressing-table. Two beds, both large, had been provided. One of these Alyson still used.

Now Derry had gone and she was alone. She was a stranger in her brother-in-law's house. She had been told in irrefutable terms to 'Get out' by her landlord—what else was he now? Had he meant what he said? Was she to leave the house, uproot herself, leave behind this comfort, this security, find somewhere else to live? She had to know.

The evening air ran cool fingers up and down Alyson's arms, making her lift her hands and rub the prickling skin„„She wished she had drawn on a jacket before leaving the house. She had intended seeking out her brother-in-law, but her courage had failed her at the last moment. If he had -- told her, Yes, I meant what I said, she would have had to face the fact squarely—the fact that before many more days had passed she would be wandering, suitcases in hand, looking for rooms, for lodgings, for somewhere to sleep. The rock garden was a mass of early summer colour. Alyson stepped carefully between .boulders and grasses, avoiding the purples and the scarlets and the waving white petals. There were alpine plants whose names she did not know, long stemmed flowers, mass-covered stones still wet from the watering the gardeners had recently given them. Higher up was a bench seat and Alyson made for it. Maybe she could sit there a while, absorbing into her system the tranquillity of the gently moving colour around her and using it to help her in arriving at a decision. There was the crunch of a foot on the gravelled path behind, her. She panicked, taking a too-hasty step upwards. Her foot settled on a damp boulder, slid downwards awkwardly to, join her other foot and she overbalanced.

She pitched forward, hitting her head on the rock on which her foot had slipped. Blood appeared among the wetness and she knew she had broken the skin on her forehead. The sudden pain made her gasp and her palm flew up to cover the wound. It was not difficult to guess at the identity of the person behind her. It could have been a gardener, but it was not. Liam Langham carried around with him his own magnetic field. It had drawn and captured her from the moment she had met him and she was its prisoner to this day. All through her marriage she had acknowledged her brother-inlaw's attraction for her. Now her husband had died, far from lessening, that attraction had grown until it menaced her peace of mind. She might have married Derry, but it was Liam Langham she had loved. The man behind her must have seen the blood on the boulder, too. His hands came out and settled on her hips, holding her still. Her back was to him and the gradient of the rock garden was steep, so that she was above him. 'Alyson, let me see!' The order was given in tones of command, but .she thought, I'll be one of the few who dares to disobey. She struggled free and climbed at speed the rest of the way to the wooden bench. As she turned to sit on it, she hoped he would be so irritated by her behaviour that he would leave her alone, but she hoped in vain. He joined her, caught her chin and forced her head round. By now she had found a paper tissue and lifted it to cover the injury, but he moved her hand and inspected the damage. 'It's nothing,' she said irritably, jerking free again. She did not look at him and held herself taut in case he touched her again. She had known him for over two years, but it was the first time she had ever

had any physical contact with him. His touch was far more devastating to her peace of mind than she had, ever dreamed it would be. 'I came out here,' she said tensely, 'to be on my own, so I wish—I wish you'd leave me alone.' He stretched out his legs and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets as if settling even more firmly on the seat. 'There must have been a reason for your desire for solitude. What was it?' Now was her chance, she told herself, to ask if he meant what he had said. Hadn't that been her intention when she had left the sanctuary of her room? She had to know the answer some time. It was no use pretending the problem was not there and that, if ignored, it would go away. She was silent for a while as she fought her pride. It was telling her to say, You can have your house, the apartment I'm living in, the furniture you bought, the car I used, and which you provided, for me to take your brother around. In a day or two you'll have seen the last of me, because I'm leaving ... It was a bitter battle and her pride was the loser. The paper tissue remained pressed against her forehead. It was something to hide behind, to shield her from her brother- in-law's cold eyes, from his nod when she asked him if he had meant what he said. Her head turned away and she contemplated the fading colours in the dying evening. She forced herself not to shiver as the coolness of the air intensified. 'You—you -' She stopped, breathed deeply once or twice, then went on. 'You told me to get out. Did that mean that you wanted me to go?' The words came out fast, tumbling one over the other.

'So,' it sounded as if he were smiling, 'that was why you sought solitude.' A quick glance told her that the smile was cynical. 'To think about what the future might hold for you, now. the supplier of your needs, the provider of your livelihood—or so you thought—has gone? Was it, perhaps, to consider ways of getting round me, now you know I hold the purse strings, to let you stay?' That her pride could not take. Her fingers pulled the paper tissue from the wound, her eyes sought his. Heirs were on fire, his icy. 'Get round you?' she said, as if it were the lowest act anyone could contemplate. 'Let you continue to "keep" me, accept your money, dance to your tune?' 'You accepted it before,' he said levelly, staring at the house as it receded into the growing darkness. 'That was before I knew it was yours, when I thought— I thought it was Derry's.' 'Yes, you did, didn't you?' She realised her mistake. 'You thought it was Derry's.' He repeated her words softly but with a telling emphasis. 'Which was why you married him.' This time she did not bother to refute his assertion. What was the use? He would not believe her denial. 'You also knew,' Liam went on tonelessly, 'that he was going to die, that he couldn't survive his terrible injuries indefinitely.' It was true that she had known this when she had agreed to marry Derry. 'Don't leave me,' he had pleaded one evening, 'take Meryl's place. I can't face life alone like this. I'm useless, helpless. I want someone to look after me. Marry me, Alyson. That way you'll always be around when I need you, night and day ..

A nurse, that was what she had been to him, a nurse who, because she wore his ring and shared his name, was permitted in the eyes of society to sleep in. his room, look after his most intimate needs. And because she had always done what had been expected of her in life, because to her stepmother she, and not Meryl—her real daughter — had been the one to fetch and carry, do the work and obey the orders, she had agreed to marry Derry. Over the years, Alyson had been conditioned by her stepmother—her father had sat in his armchair, never interfering—to accept the unpleasant jobs that Meryl refused to do. So she did not turn away from the tasks, however exacting, that came her way as a result of becoming the wife of an almost helpless invalid. They had been her lot in life ever since her mother had died and her father had remarried, so why should she shirk them now? Yes, she said quietly to the man beside her on the bench, she had known Derry had been going to die. What she did not say was that she had not guessed it would be so soon. 'You must therefore,' Liam Langham persisted, 'have taken it into your calculations that at some time in the future, not too distant you no doubt hoped, that that "fortune" of which you spoke would fall into your hands.' She shook her head wearily, conscious of the? futility of arguing with this man. The wound on her forehead started to throb and she covered it with the paper tissue again. To her immense surprise and deep mortification, she began to cry. She was twenty-six, a grown woman, yet she was crying like a child. And why? Because she had hurt herself? No, that was not all, and she knew it.

The bang on the head, the wounding and the spurt of blood had acted as a catalyst, crystallising the moment into one of realisation. The truth had hit her, almost literally, between the eyes. Everything had changed. Life could not continue as it had been before. Derry, when he had died, had taken with him the past and the future, leaving behind the uncertain, unfathomable present. It had to be coped with. She must sort out her life and she must do it alone. No use turning to her brother-in-law. He had a will of iron, a brain whose excellence was beyond question. But he had a heart that was colder than the frozen wastes of the Arctic. No good, she told herself again, turning to him for help ... Alyson was ashamed of her tears. For nearly two years, she had exercised complete mastery over her feelings, even telling herself that she had none. Yet here she was, breaking down in front of the man before whom, of all men, she wished to appear poised and controlled. 'Why are you crying?' His voice held no sympathy. 'Because you have at last heard the truth, that you're virtually destitute, that you haven't inherited a load of money, that you aren't the wealthy widow you expected to be? Or,' softly, 'was it the wrong brother who died?' Her head turned swiftly, the crying momentarily silenced. In the light of the rising moon, the tears glistened on her pale face. He saw the shock, the near-horror which parted her lips and invoked an involuntary gasp. He frowned, puzzled at first, then becoming strangely restless. He rose and stood with his back to her. The house had lost its colour in the moonlight and for a passing second a ghost seemed to walk in front of it—his brother as he used to be, agile, charming, overflowing with life and vitality. No brain-power to speak of, but a drive and a fascination which few women could resist.

'You didn't know my brother very well before his accident, did you?' Liam said, without turning his head. 'No. I—I didn't move in his circles.' 'Your stepsister did.' 'My stepsister and I are as different in personality as a kitten from a mouse. Or hadn't you noticed?' He ignored the sarcasm. 'Yet you married him.' 'You know why.' Her voice was hard, the tearfulness controlled now. 'You've told me so many times. For his money, you said.' He let the coins in his pocket trickle through his fingers. 'So you look upon yourself as a mouse?' 'Would you rather I'd have said a rat?' He turned at once, as shocked as she had been at his words earlier. Her defiant face was lifted to his. He turned to her now, looking down at her, studying the regular features, the short, chestnut coloured hair which curled gently, framing her rounded face, the blue luminous eyes which held secrets that intrigued, the uncertain, almost perfect mouth. 'Well,' she challenged, glad that in the moonlight he could not see the colour that had risen at his scrutiny, 'do I look like a woman who would marry a man for his money?' She wished she could see his face, but it was in shadow. 'For a woman who was married to my brother for eighteen months,' he said musingly, 'a man who boasted of his conquests, of his virility both before and after marriage, you look unbelievably innocent.

Notice,' he went on sarcastically, 'the word "unbelievably". It's important.' 'So,' her heart was throbbing, 'you don't believe your eyes…' 'Where a woman is concerned, I never believe my eyes. The more angelic they look, the more self-seeking and scheming they are. And tarnished-—with over-use.' He could not have missed the sharp indrawn breath. He had intended to sting, to give pain, and he had succeeded. But old habits asserted themselves, her iron self-control returned, enabling her to withstand his cynicism without retaliation and to stay silent. After long moments, during which she was aware, despite the darkness, that he studied her bent head, Liam turned away again. For a while his hands moved within his pockets, then he grew still and it was like the unnatural silence before the tumult of an approaching storm. At last he spoke. The tone of his voice was flat and directed, not towards his companion, but towards the house. He stared at its shadowed shape and said, 'My brother had one last wish which he confided to me before he died. He asked me to become responsible for your welfare.' There was a heavy pause. 'He asked me to marry you,' He heard the smothered gasp but went on, his tone tinged with cynicism, 'He said that, despite the fact that, I quote, he had "taken the bloom off the flower", you were really quite a bargain where the female of the species was concerned.' There was not a sign of life from the girl to whom he had spoken. It was as though she had stopped breathing. 'He said,' Liam Langham went on, 'that he owed me something for all I'd done for him, acting ,as banker without charging interest or

demanding any return of my money. He could never have hoped to repay me in life, so he was taking the only other possible action— leaving me his wife in his will.' There was a hint of mockery in his voice now. 'It all depends, my brother said,' Liam went on, 'on how much I resented having a "secondhand woman" wished on to me for life. Except,' he swung round and faced her at last, 'that, as Derry said, the majority of women are "secondhand" these days. And even the phrase "for life" is not necessarily true any more.' There was a long silence, broken only by the intermittent buzz of the insects coming to life for the dura tion of the dark hours. There was the slam of a door, a voice raised, another answering with laughter. The injustice of it, Alyson thought, sitting huddled at the farthest end of the bench. The injustice of all that he was saying! It fired her to defiance, to rise to the challenge. 'Over-used,' she quoted back at him bitterly, 'tarnished, secondhand. Didn't you dismiss me with disgust? You couldn't really consider taking to yourself as a wife a woman so defiled and so tainted? A man in your exalted, executive position,' she persisted, hurting herself in her desire to goad him, 'with your financial resources, your responsibilities? You wouldn't seriously consider lumbering yourself with a wife who was such a liability -' 'I'm asking you to marry me,' he cut in, 'I want an answer. Yes or no.' 'Oh, God,' she said, hiding her face in her hands, 'what do you want me to say? If I refuse I'm off your conscience. You would have done your duty by your late brother and that would be an end of it. And I would—I would have to—to make my own plans, move out, find work, find a place to live ...'

She choked back a sob. 'But if I said "yes", I'd be a burden to you, I'd drag you back, interfere with your ambitions—and I know you're ambitious because Derry told me.' She removed her hands from her face and lifted it bravely in the moonlight. 'The answer's n -' 'I need a wife,' he broke in. 'When I entertain, as I often have to, there's a space beside me where a woman should be. When I ask representatives of foreign firms to dine at my home, there's an unoccupied chair at the end on he table where a wife should be. The people I consult with look for a woman by my side, someone to whom their wives could talk and keep them company while their husbands do business. I repeat,' he said, after a pause, 'I need a wife. So think about it,' he added curtly, 'think it over carefully.' He did not walk away as she thought he would. It seemed he required an answer before the night was out. He lowered himself on to the bench again, but at the extreme end, as far from her as he could sit. He thrust out his legs, pocketed his hands and appeared prepared - to wait an indefinite length of time. Alyson thought, What should I do? I love him, have loved him for years. He's never noticed me before, not even when I was Derry's wife. I might not have existed as far as he was concerned. Could I marry him? she thought, ill anguish. Could I be a "dutiful" wife, yet hide my love? He's a virile, normal man. He'd want As if he could read her thoughts, he said, 'If it's troubling you, let me assure you that I'd ask nothing of you. I would give you the protection of my name and my house. You would benefit in status as well as financially. Unlike your late husband, I have money.' His voice sounded dry. 'Plenty of it. Maybe that statement will help you to make up your mind.'

If she heard the irony, the malicious intent of his words, she did not take him up on it. 'Money,' she murmured, half to herself, 'does not necessarily bring happiness with it.' His head turned quickly, momentarily, towards her. 'At least,' she whispered, 'it would give me somewhere to lay my head.' The silence was deep this time, with nothing to disturb it, except the thud of her heart beats. But only she could hear those. 'Well,' sharply, 'what's your answer?' A pause, an indrawn breath, a long sigh. 'Forgive me, but—' She looked at him, straining to see his expression. With a whisper she finished the sentence. 'Yes. Thank you.' There was a flash as his head turned towards her. Moon lightning, she thought abstractedly, shivering under the piercing, cold, unreadable regard. He stood, giving a slight, mocking bow. 'Thank you. Since we are now officially engaged to be married, I should be obliged if you would remove the wedding ring from your hand, the ring my brother gave you.' She did as he had commanded, then regarded it hesitantly as it glinted palely on her palm. What should she do with it? He resolved the problem. He took the small gold band into his fingers, looked at it, then, with a movement which seemed to arise from part anger, part repulsion, his arm lifted and he hurled the ring into the undergrowth and as far away from him as he could.

Liam turned to Alyson. 'I suggest we return to the house together. Since we're now engaged, it will be expected of us to be seen often in each other's company.' She said, without moving, 'I don't know why you've done this. I don't want your pity—' 'My pity is something you haven't got,' he responded with asperity. 'I congratulate you, instead—on your business sense.' His sarcasm went so deep she almost withdrew from the whole arrangement, but she held herself in, clenching her hands in an effort to keep them from shaking. She had just accepted a proposal of marriage from the man she loved, and she wanted to cry her heart out. They walked together down the slope of the rock garden, passing the boulder on which Alyson had struck her head. It must have reminded Liam of the incident because he stopped her with a brief touch on her arm, Light though his fingers were, she reacted with a violence which surprised even herself. But she had, during the past eighteen months, schooled herself so well in her responses, he was unaware of the reaction. 'Let me look,' he said, his fingers lifting her chin so that he could examine the wound. 'Is it painful?' 'No.' She shook her head as she answered, trying to rid herself of his touch. His lips compressed and he gave her a narrow look. 'You're not a convincing liar. You must clean it up and put cream and a plaster on it.'

She shrugged as if it was of no consequence. He said angrily, 'You're my responsibility now.' 'Responsibility?' She could not keep the bitterness at bay, however much she tried. 'Thinks for the compliment.' Twice in her lifetime of twenty-six years she had been offered marriage by men who needed only her assistance and not her love. The first she had accepted under the illusion that the man who had proposed had some feelings for her, besides his need for her help. This time she was under no such illusion, but how it hurt! Embittered she might now be, but she had not grown hard with the gassing of the years. They walked towards the house. Liam did not touch her again. His hands stayed in his pockets while hers swung rigidly at her sides. Automatically she felt for the ring that was no longer there. He must have seen the frightened action as, forgetting for a few seconds the reason for its absence, she lifted her hand in a jerky, worried gesture. 'Have no fear,' Liam drawled, 'I'll replace it with an engagement ring as soon as the opportunity arises. When you're my wife, you won't go short of jewellery, clothes or anything else material—which, when all is said and done, is what you're marrying me for. As for the intangibles, then,' he shrugged carelessly, 'since this will be the second time in your life you will have married solely for money, you'll hardly miss a little thing like love.' 'No,' she answered with quiet dignity, 'I won't miss the loving. It's an old saying, isn't it, that what you never have you never miss?' Liam looked at her sharply, then, shoulders lifting callously, looked away. She went on, 'It's something I know very little about. I've lived nearly all my life without it.'

They had reached the entrance to the house. Liam led the way through the french windows into the blue- carpeted living area. 'You touch me to the heart,' he answered sarcastically. 'You must tell me the story oi; your life some time.' She swung to face him, breathed deeply, opened her mouth to fling at him a stinging reply—then stopped, biting her lip. If she was to be his wife, she could not fight him, not even in self-defence. It was necessary to steel herself to accept the mockery in his smile, the cool contempt in his eyes. He did not know how she felt about him, and, she vowed, he never would. Alyson looked about her, noticing the easy comfort with which Derry's brother had surrounded himself. She had not been in this part of the house before. Not only had she never been invited by the owner to do so, she had had no desire to go where she obviously was not wanted. Liam had never disguised his contempt for her after she had become his sister-in-law. If he had ever spoken to her it had been with a minimum of words. He had not been present at the wedding. The reception afterwards had been a large one attended almost entirely by Derry's many friends, both men and women. Meryl had kept away. Nothing, she had said at the time, would have dragged her there. None of Alyson's relatives had come to see her married. She thought her father might have done, if his wife had not made, such a fuss, but he had never been a man to put up a fight, not even in the interests of his only daughter. Their absence had upset her, but she had never told anyone of her feelings. In any case, her father had not approved of her marriage to a man who, it was plain, would never walk again. She had made her bed. he had said, blandly quoting the old saying, now she would have to lie on it. "I only hope you don't find it a bed of nails," he had added.

'I see no reason,' Liam said, 'why our marriage should be delayed. You're already living under my roof, There need be little change in our life-style. You will be able to go your own way, and I mine.' Vanda, Alyson thought painfully, where does she, your secretary, fit into this arrangement? Will you go on seeing her? But of course, was the silent answer. How could he avoid seeing his secretary? But would he still take her out, would she continue to flaunt in front of everyone the clothes and perfume Liam had bought her? 'I shall, of course, insist that you leave your suite of rooms,' Liam said, breaking into her thoughts. 'Why? Why can't I stay on in them? You said it wouldn't be an ordinary marriage. You wouldn't want me -' His eyes narrowed and he looked her over consideringly. 'Want you? I wouldn't count on that. But whether. I should ever take you is another matter.' She coloured deeply at his appraising, cynical smile. 'No, the reason you will leave your present apartment is primarily that as my wife, you would be expected to occupy my own section of the house. You surely must realise that?' She did not ask, as she longed to do, Where will you live, eat—sleep? 'So,' he turned away and strolled across the room to the display of bottles on a long, low sideboard, 'I should be obliged if you would gather your belongings together so that they can be taken to my suite of rooms.' It all sounded so final, so cold, so methodical. It was as if it was happening to someone else. Dazed by the rapidity with which her life

was changing, Alyson accepted the drink which Liam held out and occupied the chair to which he motioned her. Her mind whirled frantically. She was to be married— but how could she, when she was already married? No, of course she wasn't married. She was a widow, wasn't she? Somehow her drink found its way to a small table nearby and her fingers went nervously to her wedding finger, but there was nothing there. She lifted challenging eyes to find Liam smiling, jusf a little spitefully, at her action. Of course, the ring had gone, which meant that she wasn't married any more! But soon she would be—soon Liam Langham would be her husband… Alyson stood quickly, her eyes wide and fearful, like a hunted animal. 'I can't,' she whispered, 'I can't become your wife. I'm sorry, it's off, it's all off ...' He walked towards her, picked up her glass and put it into her hand, cupping his palm around the back of it and lifting it to her lips. 'Drink. It will steady you.' His touch again! She stiffened, but the shaking did not stop. 'Drink!' he ordered, coldly angry. She moved her head from side to side as he tried to press the glass to her lips. For some strange reason, her action incensed him. He took the glass from her, putting it down so hard the contents spilt. 'What are you worried about?' he rasped, his eyes glinting. 'That I won't come up to the standards of your late husband? A man who boasted of his skill with the women, his manipulation, not to mention manhandling of one woman in particular—his wife who, despite his

terrible disabilities was his and his entirely, because he had unquestionably made sure of that? And took the trouble to let the whole world know? Let me assure my newly-acquired fiancee that, should the time ever arise when I am called upon to demonstrate my sexual prowess, I shall not be found wanting.' The dread his words provoked in her was too profound to hide from him. She swung round and ran to the door. She never made it. His arm came out and grasped hers, bruising it and jerking her to face him. Again she saw that icy anger in his eyes. 'Am I so repugnant?' he rasped. 'Does the idea of my making love to you make you want to run the other way?' He was pale but in complete control of his emotions. That he experienced the sensation of anger was plain, but did he never allow himself to give rein to it, was he never swept away by any intensity of feeling? 'Well, Alyson, my darling wife-to-be,' he drawled, 'I think it's time I drove out the fears which seem to be troubling you so deeply. Let me prove my manhood,' his smile mocked but stopped short of his eyes, 'let me prove it to you to your lasting satisfaction.' He made great play of the final word. He moved quickly, one of his arms ensnaring her waist, the other fastening, snake-like, about her neck. He held her with such ease.it would have been futile to struggle. He gazed his fill into the brilliant blue eyes, at the finely- pencilled brows and the full mouth. Alyson tried to shake her head, to tell him she was no use to a man with his strength of desire, his dynamism and his needs, but he gave her no chance. Even as she opened her mouth to protest, his came down and fastened on hers, seeking, searching, and deeply disturbing.

This was lovemaking such as she had never dreamt of, a kind of kissing that drained and dredged down to the depths of her being, so alien to her that she panicked and floundered hopelessly. She was stirred and bewildered, at an utter loss as to how to cope with a man whose mind acknowledged no barrier to his demands, no limits as to how far his hands could stray over a woman's body and caress it to the point of forcing surrender; no restrictions on the methods he used to make a woman respond and give, give willingly, everything he wanted of her. When at last he put her from him, she backed away, seeking support against the wall. Her hands found her throat, wrapping one over the other, as if by such a token gesture of protection, she was forming an impregnable barrier between them, beyond which he could not pass. Her eyes came open and she saw his smile. It contained no humour, no cynicism, only a brooding kind of thoughtfulness. She had a strange feeling that an experiment had been conducted and that she had failed miserably. His eyes were coldly curious and totally devoid of emotion. They also contained a question, but it was clear that he found no answer to it. Alyson grew rigid with despair. She could not stand his indifference, his coolness, his unkindled desire. 'I could have told you,' she cried, 'there was no need for you to have kissed me like that to discover how useless I am to a man. Derry was wrong, wrong, to say what he did! I'm not a "bargain", I have no value as a wife. I won't keep you to your promise. I'll forget you ever proposed to me. I'll move out tomorrow ...' 'I made a promise to my dying brother,' Liam said quietly. 'I intend to keep it. In a few days we shall be married. Nothing will stop me from making you my wife. Even if you ran to the other side of the world, I'd find you.'

Her eyes sparked with resentment and a crying kind of despair. 'Just to keep your promise to your dead brother?' 'To keep my promise to my dead brother. What other answer did you expect?' With her back to the wall, her head drooped. Not to be loved, not to be desired, to be unable to stir anything resembling passion in the man she was soon to marry— the man she had loved secretly, hopelessly, since the day she had met him. That was misery indeed.

CHAPTER TWO NEXT day, Liam bought Alyson an engagement ring. He did not take her to a shop. Instead, he requested that trays of rings should be brought to the house. When the jeweller came just after breakfast, he was shown into the main living-room, that long, elegant room with white walls and blue carpet and a french window which opened on to the cultivated gardens. Alyson, who had been called from her room by the housekeeper, a straitlaced, disapproving woman called Ellen, waited restlessly for the jeweller's arrival. For the fiftieth time she looked at the mark which still remained "from the wearing of Derry's ring, and for the fiftieth time she told herself it was wrong to accept anything, most of all marriage, from Derry's brother. But she was being swept along by a current so strong that even if she fought against it, she would, before long, give up in despair. Liam entered with the jeweller. His eyes scanned Alyson's face then, in a businesslike way, motioned her towards the trays which the man was uncovering. It seemed as if Liam wanted no part in the choice. ^ He led the jeweller to the window and their talk, as they stood there, was subdued. If the man thought it strange that the fiance of the woman who was gazing stupefied at the jewellery displayed before her, showed no interest in the ring she chose, then he was too goodmannered to say so. Alyson stared at the gold, the sapphires and the diamonds which glinted against the blue velvet backgrounds. She wanted to call out to Liam, Help me choose. Let's decide together. After all, marriage is a partnership— don't you know that? How much do you want to pay out for the "bargain" your brother left you in his will?

She did not call him. Her fingers hovered over the sparkling jewels, moved hesitantly towards a ring, pulled her hand back, moved again and picked out a sapphire surrounded by a circle of diamonds. It was a beautiful ring—too beautiful for her, she decided. 'I'll have this one,' she said in a thin, uncertain voice, taking out the least expensive ring on the tray. The diamond was small and insignificant. Liam approached—the salesman remained at the window:—and took the ring from her. He narrowed his gaze as he looked from the ring to her, replaced the ring in its slot and cast his eye over the others. 'What are you doing,' he said softly, so that only she could hear, 'trying to impress me with your thrift, hoping I'll think it's not my money you're after, after all? Here,' he selected the sapphire and diamond ring, 'give me your finger.' Alyson thrust her hand behind her, but Liam waited patiently. She remembered they were not alone, that the salesman was waiting for their decision and reluctantly held out her hand. Liam pushed the ring on to her engagement finger. 'It fits. Well have this.' He turned to the jeweller. 'Have you the wedding rings?' From a locked case the man took out another tray and Liam selected a wide, gold band. 'Try it for size,' he said curtly to Alyson, and pushed it on to her finger. 'A little, too large,' he said over his shoulder. The salesman joined them, took note of how much it would need to be altered and left, promising that the ring would be delivered next day. Liam returned to the living-room and picked up his cheque book which he had left open on the table. The amount of money he had just parted with for her sake appalled her.

Agitatedly yet smiling, she twisted the engagement ring round and round. 'It's—it's beautiful, Liam. I never had one from Derry. I never expected——' 'No, my brother's funds, by the time he got round to marrying you, were too depleted for him to buy you a diamond ring. If he had,' the trace of bitterness was plain, 'it would have been I who would have paid for it. No doubt if you'd known that, you would have followed in your stepsister's footsteps and left my brother high and dry.' Her mouth opened to protest, but she snapped it shut. What was the use of defending herself from this man? 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Will you join me, please, this evening for dinner?' Without waiting for a reply, he left her. Outside his car started up, crushed on gravel and sped away. She crossed the room to stand at the french windows. In the gardens it was spring. Everywhere there was fresh life, blossom, hope. Inside that room she stood, a newlyengaged woman, alone, bleak, her heart as dead as winter.

Liam Langham held an executive position as the head of the general research division of an internationally renowned company. He had a deputy whose name was Hallam Munro and it was this man for whom Alyson had worked as a secretary. His office was next to Liam's, Whenever Derry Langham had visited his brother in the days before the accident, he had found his way into Alyson's office to talk and joke with her about her relationship with Meryl, Alyson's stepsister. When his engagement to Meryl had been announced, his visits to Alyson had increased because, he said, he had to get to know his

future wife's family, and what better way of doing it than in the firm's time? More than once his brother had caught them laughing, while Derry occupied a corner of Alyson's desk. On one such occasion, Liam had ordered his brother out. He had threatened that if he, Derry, was discovered in Alyson Hardy's office again, she would be dismissed from her post. When Derry had protested that it was his fault, not hers, so why should the poor girl suffer, and anyway she was soon to become his sister-in-law, so what harm was he doing, Liam had merely repeated his threat. The look he had turned upon Alyson had made her flinch. Fate had played strange tricks. She could not then have foreseen that, only a few months later, it was she who would be Derry's fiancee and eventually his wife. Nor could she have foreseen—and if she had she would not have believed—that Liam Langham was to become her brother-in-law. And then, most unbelievable of all, her husband. Liam had had a secretary, too, a young woman called Vanda Styles. Vanda still held that privileged position. Rumour had it that outside office hours, Vanda changed roles and became Liam Langham's constant companion. They had been seen together at all hours of the day— and night. It was early afternoon and the phone rang downstairs. Five minutes later there came a knock on the door of Alyson's apartment. She went to the door and Ellen stood there, short, stout and disapproving. 'Mr Langham has just called, madam.' Alyson said, trying to hide her eagerness, 'Did he want to speak to me?' 'No, madam.' Ellen spoke in a monotonous, uninterested tone. 'He has told me of your engagement to him. I should like to congratulate you both.'

'Thank you,' Alyson responded. 'It -' 'He's giving a dinner party tonight,' Ellen interrupted smoothly, 'to celebrate your engagement, madam. Only a few guests, he said. Drinks before the meal at seven- thirty. He asked me to tell you.'. Why, Alyson cried silently, didn't he tell me himself? 'He would like you -' Ellen checked herself, 'pardon me for any indiscretion on my part for having to tell you —to dress appropriately for the occasion. He said,' she cleared her throat behind her hand and coughed, 'he said that if you had no suitable dress in your wardrobe, would you please go out and buy yourself one. And,' another cough, 'there's no need for you to worry about the cost—he will pay the bill. That's all. Thank you, madam.' Stiffly the woman walked away, taking her dignity— and Alyson's— with her. Humiliated beyond words, Alyson went to the window. Her eyes, moist and heavy, lifted to dwell on the distant hills. So Liam would not even speak to her on the telephone! How, she wondered, would he behave tonight at the dinner party? As though they were in love, as though she was the one woman out of all his other lady friends that he had chosen for his wife? A celebration of .their engagement? How hypocritical could he get? What was there to celebrate? She would not even be changing her name. Alyson Langham she was, and Alyson Langham she would remain. She certainly would spend no more of his money than necessary. There was a dress in her wardrobe, scarcely worn—a simple, sleeveless, apricot-coloured gown with flowing lines and a high rounded neckline. It had not been expensive. In fact, she had bought it before she married Derry, before he had had the right, as her husband, to tell her to buy all the expensive clothes she wanted. If

Meryl had married him, he had told her once, she would have been constantly asking him for money to buy new clothes. She, Alyson, could do the same, for all that he and his bank balance cared. Now that she knew the truth, Alyson was glad that she had not followed his advice. In any case, she had not needed many new clothes after her marriage. Derry, in his invalid state, had had no desire to go to parties. He couldn't dance, he'd said bitterly. What pleasure would there be in watching his contemporaries having the time of "their lives when he—he would never walk again? Alyson did not see Liam until she ventured downstairs just before seven-thirty. She had cherished a half- hope that he would come knocking on her door, show interest in her dress and tell her to look good because this was a special—a very special—occasion. After all, it was his first marriage, even though she herself had been through the wedding ceremony before. Surely it meant something special to him? Of course he did not come. How crazy she was, she rebuked herself, for letting her imagination run away with her! He was not her lover— never would be. He would be the man she called her husband, her provider of the material things of life, yet in every other way a stranger. He was pouring himself a drink as she went into the room. He did not look up. It was almost as if he knew who the newcomer was by the way she opened the door. She entered uncertainly and stood a few paces in, as though she did not belong. He found another glass and, without asking what she would like, poured a drink for her, too. Then he made his way across the room towards her. All the time his eyes were busy noting how she was dressed. He did not seem to approve of what he saw, but he said nothing.

He gave her the drink and lifted his glass to his lips without proposing a toast. It may have been the preliminary to their engagement party, but his brusque; slightly callous attitude had not altered. Alyson wondered miserably whether it would belike this all the evening. If he did not soften, if he showed no sign of even pretended affection, what would their visitors think? Was it his intention to humiliate her in front of his friends? Alyson wandered to the window, sipping her drink and finding nothing to say. Perhaps, she told herself, with a stab of guilt, it was she who was at fault. He had wanted a hostess, he said, a woman to occupy the empty place at the head of the table. As such, she should be well versed in the art of small-talk, of finding subjects of common interest, of helping shy guests to express themselves and coaxing extrovert guests to stay quiet for a while and give others a chance. In none of these things was she an expert. She herself was shy, and as such no good to a man in Liam's position. Hadn't she tried to tell him, and hadn't he overridden her objections? But she had to say something to break this terrible silence ... She turned slightly. 'Will there—will there be many, guests this evening, Liam?' 'Four.' So he was unprepared to help her. She faced him now across the room as he lounged against the sideboard, holding his glass. The silence had not seemed to disturb him. Maybe he had not even noticed it. 'Do I—do I know them?'

'Two of them.' As he spoke, he looked her over again. Under his regard she felt uncomfortable and gauche. The colour flooded her cheeks and she wanted to put up her hands and hide them. But this would be childish in the extreme, not at all the action of a mature, once- married woman. Despite the fact that his eyes did not waver, she recovered her poise with difficulty and said, trying to assume a lighter note, 'Have I dressed "appropriately", as you wanted me to?' 'I don't like your dress.' 'I'm sorry.' Her voice was thick because of the sudden lump in her throat. She turned away quickly and sought solace in the view through the window. Again she was out of her depth with this man. Again she felt unable to cope with him, felt the situation to be entirely outside her control. She became aware that he was at her side and her body came alive at his nearness, despite the fact that he had not touched her nor, it seemed, had any intention of doing so. A soft word would reassure her. Anything ... 'Alyson?' He whispered her name and she turned at once, her heart pounding. There above her was his face, the face of the man she loved. There was a frown between the brows, the cool grey eyes inspecting her intimately; the long jawline and good bone structure around the square chin and unsmiling mouth. What was he looking for, why had he spoken her name so softly, with such uncharacteristic gentleness? There were voices in the entrance hall. Liam took the half-finished drink from her, then, with their fingers lightly linked, he led her to greet his guests.

They had all arrived together. It had happened by accident, not design, they told their host, laughing. To two of the guests Alyson was known. Vanda Styles, Liam's secretary, did not extend her hand. She smiled coolly at her boss's new fiancee, making sure that her perfect white teeth were glimpsed through the even more perfectlyshaped lips. With her hand on Liam's arm, she congratulated him insincerely on his engagement. With her knowing green -eyes she told him that she knew of the events that had led up to his entanglement with the woman he was soon to make his wife, and that his marriage would make no difference to their own relationship. Liam gently—and to Alyson's tortured eyes, reluctantly—removed his secretary's hand from his arm. He took no pains to hide his admiration of her dress—so different, Alyson thought tormentedly, from his reaction to her own—and of the enticements barely hidden beneath the material. The man who stood behind Vanda was known to Alyson, too. He was Liam's deputy, Hallam Munro, a solid- looking, dependable man, with a large frame and confident manner. He was fair-haired and tall, but even so a head shorter than Liam. 'Alyson,' Hallam said, his eyes glad, his hand extended and receiving hers in a warm handshake, 'how good to see you again. You know, Liam, it's extraordinary, but your sister-in-law,' he checked himself and colour crept over his fair skin, 'your fiancee,' he corrected himself, glancing away from the expressionless face of his immediate superior, 'has scarcely changed since the day she left to marry your brother.' There was a strained silence and his large frame grew a little tense. Since his wife had left him, he seemed to have found solace in an increased food intake.

The party spirit was proving elusive. Alyson wished she possessed the kind of personality which could ride the. waves of embarrassment that so often accompanied the arrival of guests. She ran her tongue over her lips. 'Liam -' she said, looking to him to take the initiative. . He motioned to the two remaining guests. 'Mary and Humbert Collins,' he said. 'Mary, Humbert, my future wife, Alyson Langham. When Humbert retired,' Liam explained to Alyson, I was promoted to take his place.' Cordially, hands were congratulations followed.

shaken,

politenesses

exchanged,

Drinks were handed round by members of Liam's domestic staff. Humbert, taking one, commented, 'I hear that, like myself, you're an ex-employee of the firm, Mrs Langham.' He smiled. 'You were a little young to retire.' His wife, plump like himself, round-faced, too—Alyson thought how alike they had grown over the years— laughed. 'Time for her to return to her job, Humbert,' she said. 'I'm sure you have no intention of mouldering away as a pampered housewife, my dear. I can see it in your face. You're far too intelligent for that.' 'My wife's a fully-trained doctor,' Humbert said proudly, 'She can never leave her professionalism at home, even on social occasions! Sees things that pass me by,' he added a little ruefully. 'One thing she's forgotten, though.' He smiled first at his wife, then at Alyson. 'When young women marry, before long comes, not so much the patter of tiny feet as the string of nappies on the clothes line, a series of yells in the night.. .'

'Live a little,' his wife said, interrupting. 'Wait a bit before you start, reproducing. I know medics tell you to have kids while you're young, but that's only from the physiological point of view. Psychologically speaking, it's best to get to know your husband first, to become his friend as well as his lover -' Liam, friend and lover? Alyson sought his eyes. There was no more desirous a relationship between herself and her husband-to-be that she could imagine ... His eyes were blank, as if he had not even heard the statement. The sound of the dinner gong reverberated through the house, breaking the tension. Alyson had never been in Liam's dining-room before. During her marriage to Derry, Liam had held himself aloof, speaking to her only to inquire after the health of his brother. Sometimes,-in the evening, when the man Derry had employed for nursing duties had gone home, Liam would come into their apartment and carry the wheelchair and then his brother down the stairs. Then Alyson had taken over, helping Derry into the car and driving him to visit friends or into the countryside. Now she saw the lavish scale on which Liam Langham entertained, she wondered if she would ever find it within her to live up to him. His standards were higher than she had ever dreamed, and she knew that, as his wife, she would be quite out of her depth. He must have known it, too, so why was he persisting so determinedly in putting into effect his promise to his brother? Either his sense of family duty was unbelievably strong, or it was his intention to amuse himself by watching her floundering hopelessly .in his demanding, exacting manner of living. The walls of the room were covered in modernistic wallpaper with enormous scarlet flower motifs interspersed with blue and green. It

was a daring, bold choice which, in a less tasteful room would have failed lamentably. In here, it succeeded beyond all reasonable expectations. The chairs were of chrome, upholstered in material which matched exactly the wallpaper and curtains across the windows. On the oval table was a scarlet cloth whose hem trailed the ground. The four guests hovered but showed no surprise. It seemed they had seen it all before. Only Alyson, who ironically was the host's wife to-be, was dazzled by the sight before her. Abstractedly, and with a movement motivated by acute anxiety, she felt for the ring, the wedding ring winch for so long had had its place on her finger. Instead, she encountered the incredibly costly engagement ring which had taken its place. It was Liam's sign of possession, of coming ownership. Slowly she was learning to accept its presence, no longer repudiating it each time she realised it was there. Would she one day become absorbed into Liam's way of life just -as Liam's ring was becoming part of her consciousness? She doubted it with all her heart. Had there been love to motivate and encourage her, to give her confidence and soothe away her doubts, she might one day have found herself at one with the man who lived as he did; have grown to acknowledge that whatever was his was hers to share, should she so desire. Her place as hostess was a strange one. She felt awkward and inadequate. If Hallam Munro had not been near, and the Collins had not been such easy people to converse with, Alyson had the frightening thought that she would have sat silent during the entire meal. Vanda was on Liam's right. She talked so volubly and laughed so frequently, drawing others into the various threads of conversation, Alyson knew that in reality it was she who was acting as Liam's hostess.

Now and then Alyson felt Liam looking her way. His eyes were hard and critical and held no sign of warmth or reassurance. 'Where are you going for your honeymoon, Liam?' Humbert Collins asked, doing his best to look impish, except that he was a little too large for the role. 'It's a secret,' his wife pretended to reprimand him. 'You should never ask a young couple such a question.' 'Young couple,' Alyson thought, when she had been married before and Liam had reached his middle thirties! Alyson's eyes lifted spontaneously to hear the answer, eyes expectant, her knife and fork poised above her plate. 'Alas,' said Liam, with an excellent attempt at sorrow, 'time doesn't permit. We're staying right here.' Alyson's eyes fell, having first caught Vanda's look of triumph. How could she have expected any other answer? Hadn't Liam 'inherited' her from Derry? Wasn't she a 'promise' he felt he must fulfil and wasn't the marriage going to be an empty one, devoid of love, of all physical expressions of it? What use would a honeymoon be to two people like herself and Liam Langham? 'Excellent idea,' said the indomitable Mrs Collins. 'I came to the conclusion years ago that honeymoons were a stupid invention. After the strain of the wedding and the reception, you go on a long journey and arrive at your destination—usually a foreign land or a strange part of the country—dine, wine and when night comes, you're too darned tired to do anything but fall into bed and sleep till morning!' There was general laughter. 'And even if you do -' she looked around mischievously, 'what's expected of you, it's such a forced, unspontaneous act that -'

'Will nothing stop my wife?' her husband appealed to the rest of the company. 'Someone change the subject before she launches into the explicit, clinical technicalities that will make everyone doubt the very existence of the emotion called love.' So Mary Collins, possessing psychological insight as well as skilled medical learning, had saved the situation. It was late when the guests departed. Hallam took Alyson's hand and held it. 'Any chance of seeing you back at work one day? You're far too good a secretary to be sucked once again into the whirlpool of matrimony.' Alyson heard Liam say coldly, 'No wife of mine need work for her living.' Hallam retained her hand. His eyes did not move from her face. 'Not for her living, maybe, but for the goodness of her health, for the sake of her excellent brain?' 'No,' Liam said, 'Alyson won't be going back to work. When she becomes my wife that will be her job.' Derry had said, 'No wife of mine goes out to work while I've got money.' Were both brothers alike after all—in every way? Involuntarily, Alyson shivered, remembering Derry's pettiness, his harsh tongue, his criticisms. Was she running from one intolerable situation into another? Should she turn back now while there was still time? She felt herself being pulled towards Hallam and -his mouth touched her cheek. She coloured that he should do such a thing in front of others, especially her husband- to-be. But of course, Liam would not care. He did not love her, so no jealousy would be stirring in his breast.

'Alyson,' Mary Collins was saying goodbye now. With a warm gesture she brushed Alyson's cheek. Alyson felt she had taken the action deliberately, to paper over Hallam's display of affection. Then, with a laugh, Humbert did likewise, saying that he might as well join the queue to kiss the bride-to-be. Vanda linked her arm through Liam's and thanked Alyson in a 'little girl' voice for having her. The large green eyes swung to Liam's. 'You, too, Liam.' The double meaning was not meant to be missed. Then, to Alyson, 'Since your fiance need not take you home, Mrs Langham,' with a sly smile, 'how convenient that you live on the premises already—he's taking me home, instead. You'll trust him in my company for fifteen or so minutes, I hope?' The spite was in her smile and in the way her clinging arm tightened. Soon, Alyson was alone. She walked the length of the long lounge, backwards and forwards, restless, hopeless, _ despairing. Liam did not return. Midnight came and went. Alyson climbed the stairs to bed at last and awoke next morning tormented by the thought that Liam had almost certainly stayed with Vanda all night.

The wedding was fixed for three days later. During that time, Alyson saw Liam only in passing. She remained in her own suite of rooms and he did not come to seek her out. The day after the dinner party, Alyson wrote to Meryl. After the accident in which Derry had been so seriously injured, Meryl, having broken her engagement to Derry, had gone abroad. She had met and married a wealthy businessman and since that day had not set foot in England again.

In her letter, Alyson told Meryl of her engagement to Liam. The letter was short, merely stating facts. Alyson then wrote to her father and stepmother, telling them that she was marrying again, this time to her former husband's brother. It was not worth their while coming down from the north of England, she told them, but she thought they might like to know of her changing circumstances. She sealed the letter and told herself bitterly that if she received so much as a reply from any of her family, she would consider herself honoured. As she left the house to go to the post box, she passed Liam. He was getting out of his car in the driveway. Her heartbeats speeded up as they usually did at the sight of him, and her smile was spontaneous and just a little tremulous. Her footsteps slowed of their own accord in case he wished to speak to her, but he merely nodded and slammed his car door . Somehow she must make contact with the man. After all, in two days' time she would be his wife. She held up the letters. 'I'm—I'm going to the post.' Would he say, I'll come with you? He nodded again and went into the house. Her lip trembled but she caught it between her teeth. On her return she dragged upstairs to her room and sank on to her bed. She looked around. Something was different, something had happened, someone had been in there! Her wardrobe door was half open. She remembered distinctly closing it before she left. It was a habit of hers always to shut cupboard doors. Approaching the wardrobe as if something terrible might fall out, she flung the door wide—and gasped. All her clothes had gone—skirts, blouses, dresses, coats, even most of her shoes had been taken! She ran to the chest of drawers. Nothing there had been touched. It was only the outerwear, the clothes which showed, that had been removed. There must have been a reason, a

motive for this unwarranted intrusion into her privacy. And there would have been only one person with the authority —and audacity—to give such an order. This she could not tolerate. She was not even married to the man, yet he was already taking control of her life and her possessions as if he were the puppet-master and , she the puppet that must dance to his tune. She found him in his elegant living-room, watching television. She burst in, regardless of the fact that she was disturbing him. She asked, her voice barely controlled, 'Where are my clothes?' His head turned slowly. He looked at her, he looked at the television set. He seemed to give a mental shrug, sighed and lifted himself from the armchair to stroll across and switch off the television. He pushed his hands into his pockets and regarded her narrowly. 'Packed up for charity.' She was aghast at his presumptuousness. 'Packed for charity? But they're my clothes. It's not for you to decide' what happens to my clothes.' 'No? I paid for them.' 'You're wrong. Derry -' 'Asked me for the money. I—er -' His foot prodded the pile of the carpet. 'I didn't like your taste.' 'I don't dress to please you,' she returned, her voice shaking. 'I dress as I want. Anyway, you'll have to give them to me back, because I haven't got any others to wear.'

'You soon will have.' He lifted his head and looked at her. Tomorrow, you and I are going to the biggest and best department store in town. You shall have your pick of their choicest stock, regardless of cost.' 'I—I don't want expensive clothes, thank you. They're not my style -' 'They will be,' he said, with confidence. 'You'll get used to them. You'll dress as I want a wife of mine to dress.' He considered her, scanning her shapeliness, the waywardness of her chestnut-coloured hair. 'I see you in velvets, furs, wearing expensive perfume.' 'You know so much about it.' There was a deep bitterness in her voice. 'No doubt because of the experience you've had buying your girl-friend such things.' _ His eyebrows lifted. He asked icily, 'Girlfriend?' 'Vanda Styles. You can't deny it.' She plunged on against her better judgment. She had to purge herself somehow of this terrible jealousy. 'Everyone at work knew about it, even when I was there. They still do. She's your secretary by day, your mistress by n -' He turned his back on her and walked out of the room. Her mouth quivered. He had not denied it. Her head moved despairingly from side to side. Could she, loving him as she did. stand the strain of being his wife? Could she marry him—knowing he loved another woman?

CHAPTER THREE IN the department store, they were given special treatment. The most experienced sales assistant was instructed to serve them. When the woman realised that money was no object, she allowed her imagination free rein, bringing out dresses, gowns, skirts and shirt blouses. By instinct, the assistant sensed that the customer was only half interested in the garments she was trying on, but her companion insisted that his wife, as the assistant regarded her, should show him every item of clothing she tried on. -What the sales assistant could not understand was the strange but unmistakable resentment which the woman customer displayed every time she emerged from the dressing cubicle to show the man how she looked in the dresses and the gowns, the pants suits and close-fitting summer tops. They walked out of the department store empty- handed, because Liam had arranged for the clothes they had purchased to be delivered to his house. 'Tomorrow,' Liam said, as they waited for a taxi, 'is our wedding day. We'll celebrate in advance by lunching at the best restaurant in town.' His hand cupped her elbow as the taxi he had hailed drew alongside the kerb. 'Is that what you'd like?' She thought, I'd rather share a picnic in a forest alone with the man I love, but nodded dutifully in answer to his question. The restaurant was intimate, with alcoves bathed in a , red glow from scarlet-shaded table lamps. It was to an alcove that they were taken, and a menu placed in their hands. Liam ordered wine with their meal and when it came he proposed a toast. 'To Alyson Langham, tomorrow to become Mrs Liam Langham. Raise your glass,' he said, frowning as hers remained untouched on the table.

'No, thank you.' Her voice was toneless. 'I don't wish to drink to myself.' 'I'll change it. To the two of us.' With a glint, 'May our partnership prove thriving and profitable.' 'Spoken,' she responded bitterly, 'like a true businessman.' 'Wrong. Professional man, if you like, or even executive. Scientist, head of research, even visionary, with my head in the clouds. But not, repeat not, a businessman. I leave the pursuit of profits, the technicalities of commerce, the fluctuations of the company's fortunes to those whose job it is to manage them.' Alyson lifted her glass and waited while his touched hers. There was a fleeting, curious smile on his face as they drank. Alyson lowered her glass, but her fingers slid carefully up and down the stem. 'You've told me more about yourself in those few minutes than in all the time I've known you.' 'We must get together some time,' he said dryly. 'I'll tell you a great deal more.' He gave her a quick, penetrating look and returned to studying the liquid in his glass. 'Sometimes,' he mused, 'actions speak louder than words.' His meaning was clear and she coloured, glad that the red glow would cover the pinkness of her cheeks. As the meal progressed, they did not talk much. On her part there was the insurmountable barrier of acute shyness; on his, apparent lack of interest in her. She despaired of ever getting close to him mentally—physically, she knew, they would always remain apart. Would he ever let her into his mind, would he ever discuss his work as loving husbands did with loving wives?

That she did not attract him physically was plain. Vanda held the key to that side of his nature, A look from her, Alyson thought, tormenting herself, a caress, a pouting of the lips forming a silent invitation, and he would be in his mistress's arms. Here, lunching with him on the eve of their wedding, she wanted to let the tears come unchecked. She remained dry-eyed and tense. He spoke at last. 'You're aware, I assume, that there will be no official reception after the marriage?' Alyson nodded. 'Humbert and Mary Collins will act as witnesses at the ceremony. Are any of your family coming?' , 'I wrote and told them,' she said dully. 'I haven't heard a word.' He gave her a quick look—was there a touch of compassion in it?—but made no comment. 'I didn't expect to hear,' she murmured. As they waited for the coffee to be served, she asked nervously, 'Where do we go after the—the ceremony?' 'Home.' He asked, after a pause, 'Would you have liked a reception?' Yes, she wanted to tell him, I would have liked the whole world to know how much I love you, to .join in our happiness, to see us together, cutting the cake, drinking our healths—something I've never known before. She recalled her marriage to Derry, he in the wheelchair, she by his side. Then afterwards, nothing. 'No,' she lied. 'Thank you.' 'A strange answer,' he mused, 'for a woman who is only interested in my money. I would have thought you'd have revelled in flaunting your newly-acquired wealth in front of our acquaintances.' 'Your wealth,' she said flatly, 'not mine.'

An eyebrow lifted. 'Ours from tomorrow, my sweet.' How empty the endearment sounded. 'Surely that occurred to you long ago? I'll be generous.' He smiled tauntingly. 'We shall share my bank account. You'll have a cheque book of your own. I'll put no limit on the amount you spend. Doesn't that please your—if you'll forgive me— avaricious mind?' She paled, caught her bottom lip with vicious teeth and stayed silent. Even now, however much he goaded her, she would not—could not—allow her emotions to show through. The control she had over them would not, she promised herself, slip by even as much as a centimetre. 'Tell me,' he baited with a half-smile, 'will you let me walk verbally all over you as you did your late husband? Will you endure everything I say, any abuse I direct towards you, even the trampling down of your self- respect, for the sake of my money? I recall how you tolerated my brother's abuse without so much as a whimper of protest.' Still Alyson said nothing, clenching her fingers until the blood left them, pressing the knuckles together until they stood out whitely. 'I see what my "brother meant now,' Liam mused, 'by calling you a "bargain where the female of the species was concerned." Tomorrow,' he considered her over the rim of his coffee cup, 'that bargain becomes mine.' 'Pity, isn't it,' she hit back, 'that that bargain is "tarnished—with overuse."' Carefully he placed the cup on the saucer. 'Since our relationship is to be strictly platonic, neutral, uninvolved, call it what you will,' his narrow eyes lifted to hers, 'I fail to see that that concerns me.'

Her head turned away so that he could not see the hurt. Her features masked over, her control reasserted itself. When the bill was settled, Liam helped her on with her coat. The drive home was silent. On their return, Liam asked her in the hall, Tomorrow morning before the ceremony, do you wish to have another woman with you to help you dress? Vanda, my secretary -' 'Vanda?' Her heart leapt with fear, she felt momentarily sick. How could he suggest, at such a time, that his woman ... 'No! I'd rather -' She choked back her anger. 'I'd rather be alone, thank you.' She added with bitterness, 'I'm no untried young bride, brimming over with excitement and happiness.' He gazed steadily back at her. 'As you wish. Goodnight.' He turned away, but turned back as she said, 'Thank you for taking me out to lunch.' He inclined his head. 'It was a pleasure,' he said, and went into his study. Alyson stood for some time seeking, for the irony, die inevitable sarcasm. She could not find it, but she knew it must have been there.

Alyson did not turn on the light in her bedroom. She removed her dress. It was an old one, the dress she had been wearing when all her other clothes had been removed. It was plain and simple and did nothing for her. Until she was Liam's wife, she refused to wear any of the clothes which Liam had bought her and which now filled her wardrobes. They had been delivered late that afternoon.

The view in the moonlight of the gardens, and beyond, the lipe of the downs, had never looked so beautiful. But their peace and beauty were not echoed inside her. She was terrified at what was to come. Her mind went back to her days with Derry. Their marriage had been platonic, too—until the night a few months after they were married, when he insisted that she leave her bed and join him in his. It was impossible to forget what had followed—his desperation that, in spite of his accident, his virility had not diminished. She remembered how he had struggled to consummate their marriage. She would never forget how, in her innocence, she had tried to help him, how he had failed, and how, afterwards, he had cried in her arms. She had tried to comfort him and, in spite of her own feeling of repugnance, whisper words of encouragement.' He had slept at last and, full of compassion, she had held him. Wide awake herself, she had lain there humiliated and full of shame at her shortcomings as a wife. When he had stirred and returned to consciousness, when he saw that she was with him and he recalled what had happened between them early in the night, he drew away from her as far as he was able without her help. He had Iain for a while staring at the ceiling as the increasing daylight had lightened, it from black to grey to white. Alyson had watched and saw with dismay how, as the moments had passed, his face had grown more embittered, his eyes deeply condemning. When at last he spoke, she was shocked beyond words. Tm still normal,' he had insisted, I'm not a failure. I refuse to accept it. It was your fault, not mine, not the accident, that nothing happened last night. You're useless to a man. I don't know why I was ever crazy enough to marry you.'

His head turned towards her, his eyes on fire. 'It should have been Meryl in my bed, not you. She was my woman even before we were engaged. She was magnificent. She would have known what to do, how to make me succeed, to prove to myself that I'm still a man!' His voice had risen hysterically and Alyson had felt frightened for him. 'You're no use to a man,' he had repeated. 'What do you know about it? What do you know about love? Nothing, nothing ...' His voice had died away on a sob. 'I want a divorce,' he had cried out, and Alyson had been afraid he would wake the rest of the household. 'I want a real woman, not a rag doll stuffed with purity and ignorance and innocence.' Alyson had lain silent, letting the abuse flow from his lips, recognising his disappointment and frustration and despair. But it had not passed over her. Every word he had flung at her she had taken to heart, accepting the truth of what he was saying. She had known for years, she told herself agonisingly, that no man would want her for her attractions because, beside Meryl, she had none. She did not know how to make a man desire her, and even if she did she would be afraid—afraid of failing him, of giving disappointment instead of pleasure and contentment... It had been after that incident that Derry had begun to berate her and disparage her in private to such an extent that the small amount of self-confidence she had in herself as a woman had evaporated, leaving not even a trace behind. At every opportunity, whenever he saw her as every husband sees his wife, he insulted her, leaving her without a shred of dignity or self-respect. In public he pretended to take an entirely different view. She was wonderful, he said, a superb wife, his woman, his ideal. He boasted, within his brother's hearing, of how his powers of loving a woman

had not diminished and how. glad he was that he had married so attractive and desirable—and satisfying—a female of the species. Occasionally his pose would slip and he would insult her in public, demeaning her intellect and her qualities as a nurse and companion, again within his brother's hearing. Alyson would never retaliate, never contradict or defend herself. Instead she would hold herself rigid, clenching her hands, curling her toes but holding her head high. Derry, she told herself, was a sick man. All that had made life worth living for him had been snatched away— and by her stepsister, for whose callous actions she felt she must make amends. Ever since her own. mother had died, it had been her lot in life to do others' biddings, putting her own wishes second to theirs. So she took without complaint every insult Derry had thrown at her. Compassion had kept her silent even under the worst provocation. And all the time Liam Langham had thought that it was for Derry's fortune that she had forced herself to endure the humiliation. The wedding was over. Humbert Collins and his wife had acted as witnesses. Hallam Munro had attended because, he said, knowing both the bride and the groom, he wanted to wish "them well. It was he who had handed over the ring when the registrar had required it. It was he who, after the ceremony, had taken another ring from his pocket—a man's signet ring—and given it to Alyson. She had stared at him, stupefied. Hallam had laughed. 'Orders of the boss,' he had said. 'I was told to tell you to put this on your husband's finger.' Alyson had turned to Liam, her colour rising. Her husband! 'But— but there was no need --'

'Darling,' Liam had said, holding out his wedding finger, 'make me yours entirely. Put the ring on my finger, bind me to you, put the collar round my neck and attach the leash to it. From now on, "I belong to you, body and soul.' There was general laughter at Liam's joking words. Only Alyson knew how false was the sentiment behind them, how they had been spoken with irony and out of a desire to hurt. She pushed the ring on to Liam's finger—and had been caught up in a breathtaking kiss. He released her, only to cup her face with his hands and kiss her again with an extraordinary tenderness that had her heart hammering and a sunburst of joy filling her brain. But when he let her go and she saw the mockery in his eyes, the heartbeats slowed and the sunburst turned to twilight. The others were behind him. Only she could see the taunt. At the house, Ellen, with the assistance of the cook, had prepared a buffet meal in the long dining-room. Liam called it 'modest', but Mary, Humbert's wife, had exclaimed at the delicacies, the pastries and the wines. Hallam called for a toast to the bride and groom and this the guests laughingly drank. Hallam, whose wife had recently left him, was the odd man out. Alyson felt sorry for him, but she was deeply relieved to discover that Liam had not insulted her by inviting Vanda to the wedding to make up the numbers. As he left, following Humbert and Mary Collins, Hallam asked permission to kiss the bride. Liam lifted his shoulders and thrust out his hand as if to say, She's all yours. Hallam took the action at its face value and well~ and truly kissed the bride. It was a daring kiss in front of the bride's new husband and it left Alyson flustered.

It was not until Hallam had gone that she dared to look at Liam. Her heart bumped with shock when she saw that he had turned into the stranger he had been when she had been Derry's wife. Her body went cold. In an effort to apologise—as if Hallam's kiss had been her fault—she said, 'Th-thank you, Liam, for—for everything.' He made no response. 'I know it wasn't a proper reception, but it—it was wonderful. In the circumstances, it was good of you to provide even that.' 'It was our wedding day,' he answered coldly. 'Your, second, of course, so you're used to it. It Was my first, so I'm not. I thought that at least I, if not you, should have something—pleasant to look back on.' He smiled, but his lips were tight; 'Something to tell our grandchildren in the years to come.' Her body temperature dropped a few degrees. Their grandchildren! It's -' she moistened her lips, 'it's not going to be a proper marriage -' Liam looked at his watch. 'If you'll excuse me ...' He turned towards the stairs. 'Where—where are you going, Liam?' If he heard the note of appeal, he ignored it. 'I don't have to tell you everything. "It's not going to be a proper marriage,"' he mimicked her. 'You've just reminded me, haven't you?' He was right. He had no need to tell her where he was going, whether he was going alone or with a female companion. He did not need to tell her anything more about himself than she knew already—which was very little indeed.

'You'll find that all your belongings have been moved to my suite of rooms. All my possessions have been taken to the rooms next to them. Please consider the entire house your own, as well as mine. I've arranged to make you a generous monthly allowance so that you won't have to come to me asking for money. If you find it insufficient for your needs, just let me know and I'll increase it. Does that satisfy you?' She said stiffly, 'My needs are very small.' He smiled unbelievingly. 'Forgive my amusement, but there's no need to play the virtuous, self-denying puritan now. You've landed your fish. You can put him in a glass case and boast about him to all your friends. He's the biggest catch of the year, he's rich, his status is high, he's generous. He's virile, he's capable of giving a woman as many children as she wants. He's everything a wife could wish for. Except for one thing. He's elusive, he refuses to be pinned down. Remember that. I may have just become your husband—your second husband— but don't come chasing after me. I love my freedom and I'm determined to hold on to it. No one—not even you—will take it from me.'

CHAPTER FOUR WHEN Liam left the house, throwing a suitcase into the back of his car, Alyson watched him drive away. Heir feelings of rejection and rebuff were hardly to be endured. She panicked. What would others think? Ellen, the housekeeper who already disapproved of her, suspicious of the way she had transferred her affections seemingly so easily from one brother to the other— would she look upon her with even greater scorn now she had seen her new husband walk out on her on their wedding day? I'll go somewhere, Alyson thought, shutting herself into the sanctuary of her new apartment. I'll tell Ellen I'm off to join my husband ... As she packed a suitcase with necessities and a change of clothes, the thought came into her mind—I'll find out somehow where Liam's gone. A cottage—he owned a cottage, Derry had told her, but he had never told her where. It was a secret, he'd said, one which was so closely guarded by Liam that one one would ever be able to follow him there. Someone must know, Alyson thought. He could not disappear like that, not a man with his kind of job, his responsibilities. If something urgent cropped up with which only he could deal... Hallam Munro would know! Feverishly she consulted the telephone directory and found Hallam's number. She dialled, hoping he would be there. He sounded astonished to hear from her. T thought you two lovebirds would have disappeared from view and not surfaced until Monday morning.'

'Well,' Alyson said, forcing a lightness into her voice, 'you may not believe it, but Liam's off,' she took a breath and plunged on, 'to his cottage, telling me to follow, and he—he forgot to tell me the address. Isn't it stupid? I thought—I mean, I was sure you would know, being his deputy, just in case ...' 'Oh, so that was where you were planning to go. No wonder he wouldn't tell us. It's such a closely guarded secret, it seems he's even forgotten to tell his bride.' There was a pause, and Alyson, straining to hear, was sure she heard the word 'Strange' murmured at the other end of the line. 'Why didn't you go together? I should have thought that at this stage, he couldn't bear to be parted from you.' The question winded her. 'Well, he—I—well, I was taking so long to get ready, he told me to follow. He—we —well, we're not an ordinary couple, are we? We know each other well. I am—was—his sister-in-law ...' Another pause, then Hallam said, and it was as though he was scratching his head, 'I suppose that now you're his wife, I'm allowed to tell you. He couldn't possibly not want me to.' Still he sounded uncertain. 'All right, it's just outside a village at the foot of the downs a few miles from Chichester. The cottage is ten or so minutes' walk from the village. Oh, and,' he paused again, 'you'll probably need to take a taxi to the village. I believe the bus services are rather infrequent. I still can't understand,' he went on, 'why he didn't tell you -' 'Thanks, Mr Munro,' Alyson said, 'thanks a lot for -' 'For goodness' sake,' he complained, 'make it Hallam. I' know I used to be your boss, but now you're my boss's wife. We're friends, aren't we? I came to your wedding, remember!'

-They laughed together and Alyson thanked him profusely. He did not know what a good turn he had done her. One day, she promised herself, she would try to reciprocate somehow.

The train journey was not long, although to Alyson it seemed unending. Ellen had taken the news that she was joining her husband with an expressionless face. 'You know where he's gone, madam?' she had asked. Alyson had swallowed and taken the plunge. 'Why, yes, to—to his cottage. He -' 'He always goes alone to his cottage, madam,' Ellen had said tonelessly. 'But—but -' Alyson was thrown off guard. 'We're just married, so -' 'He won't welcome you, madam, if that's where he's gone.' The housekeeper's eyes were on a distant point along the hall. 'Of course he'll welcome me,' Alyson had responded sharply. 'Our wedding day— a special day -' Her voice tailed off. 'I hope you enjoy your weekend, madam.' Ellen added, as she turned away, 'With or without your husband.' The words had been spoken so tonelessly it was impossible to decide whether or not they were intended as an insult. Alyson did not act the lady of the house, calling Ellen back and reprimanding her for rudeness. Her own uncertain and undefined position in the household prevented her from doing that. .In any case, it was not in her to do so. She had conditioned herself from childhood not to retaliate, however

provoked she might be and no matter from whom the provocation might come. As the train drew into the station, Alyson told herself she was taking a chance on two counts. One, she might have grossly misjudged Liam's intentions. He might be across the Channel and on the Continent by now, for all she knew. And two, even if she did discover the whereabouts of the cottage, she did not possess the courage to go to it. She could not invade a man's privacy, even if that man was her husband. And if he discovered her in the vicinity ... The thought of what he might do or say was too frightening to contemplate. A taxi took her to the village and as they drove along, Alyson asked the driver if there was a village inn at which she could stay the night. It's called the Horse and Wagon, miss. They've got a few rooms and they'll see you comfortable and feed you well. Staying long?' He drew up outside an ivy-covered building. 'Here it is.' 'A night or two,' Alyson said, paying him and lifting a hand as he drove away. With her case in her hand, she approached the entrance door. Over it was written the name of the landlord, Mr William Mailings. The walls inside were brown-panelled and hung with etchings of ancient coaches and horses, of baying hounds and an original verse or two. Alyson walked up to the bar, which was of brown polished wood, carved here and there with initials and scarred with wear over the century of so since it had been built. Yes, she was told, there was a vacant room with a washbasin. It was hers for the asking—and for the writing of her name and address in the register. 'Required by law,' the landlord said in his broads dialect, pushing the register towards her.

Alyson thought quickly. If she wrote her married name, it might not pass without comment. Liam might have hidden the whereabouts of his cottage from his colleagues and acquaintances, but his identity might be well-known in the area in which his cottage was situated. With only the slightest hesitation, she wrote 'Alyson Hardy', taking a chance and giving Liam's address. It was unlikely that he would have revealed this to the people who lived locally. The landlord glanced uninterestedly at what she had written and snapped the book shut. He shouted to someone behind the scenes and a young boy emerged, looking so like the landlord he must have been his son. 'Show the lady to room five, lad,' he said. 'Take her case up.' The boy carried it up the creaking stairs and Alyson followed. He showed Alyson into the room, shook his head at the tip she offered him and ran back downstairs. The room was spacious, the ceiling low. The windows were casement-type and wide open to let in the pure downland air. The wardrobe had plainly been bought at a sale, the chest of drawers likewise. The carpet was adequate, the washbasin, over which was a mirror and a shelf, clean and shining. There were towels on a rail and the bed was large and looked comfortable. Alyson leant on her elbows against the windowsill and sighed. The view of the downs in the afternoon sun was soothing. There was a sense of space, of freedom and peace. No wonder Liam had come to cherish the anonymity of his cottage. Here was solitude without loneliness, tranquillity without danger of trespass by unwanted visitors. Except, she smiled ruefully, an unwanted and unwelcome wife.

Dinner was at seven, the typewritten piece of paper on the wall informed her. Maybe there was a cafe in the village where she could get a cup of tea. She dressed in tight-fitting pants and shirt-blouse and with her cardigan hooked on one finger and slung over her shoulder, she wandered out of the inn and into the quiet village street. The heat from the sun was reflected back at her face. It was unusually warm for the end of May. She had to keep reminding herself, This is my wedding day. The ceremony that morning, the mini-reception, the good wishes, even the specks of confetti Hallam had thrown over them—and which she had brushed vigorously from her hair before leaving home—all seemed like a dream, part of another life, another person's world. For her, nothing had changed. She had no reason to suppose that anything would, even in the future. She visualised month piling on month, year piling on year, of loneliness and solitude, living mentally and physically apart from her husband. And as the time went by, she would have to sit back and watch while he indulged his needs, his masculine desires with other women. They were sure to be in the plural because, as he had said himself, he loved his freedom too much to be tied down to one woman for long. Even Vanda would have her day and eventually be left behind, while she, Alyson, would go on until, the end of their days, tied to him by a marriage certificate, demanding nothing, being given nothing in the way of love and affection, but overflowing with everything that others longed for—material possessions and an inexhaustible supply of money. And she would be willing to trade the lot for a husband who loved and cherished her and who looked upon her always, and most wonderful of all, as someone to come home to, to turn to in times of stress and find excitement, fulfilment and peace within her arms.

There was a cafe with bare-topped tables and bowls of sugar. The tea was strong and reviving. Affecting a casual- ness she did not feel, Alyson asked the waitress if there were any cottages on the downs. She had seen an advertisement of a cottage for sale, she invented— maybe one of them was up there ... 'There are a few,' the waitress told her. 'If you go along the road and turn off on to a track on the right, follow the track—it's just wide enough for a car—you'll find three or four cottages. But I doubt if there's any for sale.' Alyson did not wait to discuss the matter. She had heard all she wanted to know. She paid for the tea and left the cafe, following the waitress's directions. It was true that the path was wide enough for a car. But now she had arrived at the end of the track. It led to open land and it there that she found the cottages, four of them, well spaced out, with an apology for a road running past the front of them. It was then that she heard a car crawling along the rutted track. It was some distance behind, but she recognised the sound of the engine. She had heard it so often during her marriage to Derry and while she had been living at Liam Langham's house. He must not find her there! She knew she had a few moments in which to seek some kind of cover, because the track was so uneven a car would have to go carefully along it to avoid damage. All the same, as she turned her head feverishly first one way and then the other, there seemed disastrously few places in which to hide. At last she squeezed herself into the bushes which lined the hedgerow, glad that her jacket, which she pulled on was a light brown, matching her pants—brown like the earth against which she crouched. Just before the car came level with her, she managed to push through almost to the other side of the hedge, holding herself

rigidly just above the ditch which fell away behind her. Should she drop down into it? There was no need, because the driver, concentrating wholly on the bumpy road underneath him, had no eyes to spare for anything else. Nonetheless, just in case his eyes strayed, Alyson kept her head down and her face completely hidden. Then the danger had passed. The car had gone by. Hearing it turn at the top of the track, Alyson ventured out of hiding. Bent almost double, she moved along the lane to the top, peering round the bushes in an attempt to see at which cottage the car had stopped. In this she was lucky. Since there was no garage, not even a shed in which to put the car, it remained outside, indicating without any doubt which of the cottages was Liam's. The hedge turned the corner and continued along the rough road which ran in front of the cottages. On the other side of the hedge was a field which was green with young wheat. There was a parting in the bushes through which walkers had, in the past, pushed their way. Alyson made for this, putting herself firmly on the other side of the hedge. Daringly she crept along it, close to the ground, until she was level with Liam's cottage. And there she stayed, her heart thumping, her eyes. fixed on the tumbledown two-storeyed building, with its ! slate roof bending with age, the whitewashed walls dazzling in the afternoon sun, trying to imagine what her husband was doing inside. Now and then he appeared at a window, sometimes downstairs in a room which could have been a kitchen, sometimes upstairs at the single window which was probably the bedroom. The first time he came out, Alyson hardly recognised him. His shirt was short-sleeved and blue, with pockets whose flaps were fastened with buttons. His

pants were tight-fitting, old and mud-stained. He wore sandals on bare feet. He had stripped himself entirely of the executive, managerial air with which she had always associated him. His hair was dark and uncombed and his cheeks bore stubble, as though he had not bothered to shave. He was, in this careless, back-to-nature mood, devastatingly attractive.- Now she saw him as he really was, self-forgetful, unwatched—as he thought—and completely immersed in his thoughts. As she gazed from her secret place, she longed to think - that it was of herself that he was thinking. She knew her longings were in vain. This was their wedding day—every time she reminded herself of that fact, she could hardly bring herself to believe it—and if indeed she had meant enough to him to have been in his thoughts, he would not have left her behind. He would have brought her with him and taken her, not only into his mind, but into his arms. He went inside and returned with a pot of paint and a brush. It seemed the window frames needed attention and he began to paint. He concentrated deeply on the work he was doing, and as Alyson looked at the breadth of his shoulders, the leather belt around his waist and the length and power of him, it was as much as she could do to remain in hiding and not rush out and beg for his Jove. Time passed, but it did not matter to Alyson how long she stayed or how cramped her limbs became. She just wanted to be near him because she was his wife. When at last he went inside and closed the door, she stayed on, disregarding the chill in the. air. She sat, forlorn and miserable, "her lips quivering, because soon it would be her wedding night—and she would be alone.

Alyson was late for dinner, but Mr Mailings, the landlord, did not object. There were a handful of people in the unpretentious diningroom and the service was a little slow. The food, however, was good and plentiful and Alyson appreciated the peacefulness of the place which was undisturbed by the chatter of the other guests. A young man dined alone at the next table. Now and then, he looked at Alyson with curiosity but coloured and looked away when she returned his gaze. His shyness made him appear younger them Alyson guessed his real age to be. After dinner she went upstairs to her room. She felt restless and could not settle down to read. If she took a walk, even a short one, it might assuage the restlessness, if not the longing which had her in its grip. It did occur ' to her that she might be taking a risk in going out, but she doubted if Liam would leave his precious cottage unless it was absolutely necessary to do so. The village was wrapped in evening tranquillity, its inhabitants indoors for the nighty watching television or listening to the radio. Here and there a fireplace was in use, alight with a fire. Old people, Alyson supposed, felt the need for warmth even on a late spring evening. Women felt the need for warmth, too, she told herself unhappily, walking head down and hands in jacket pockets. Women who were brides, who only that day had taken to themselves a husband, a man who had given her his name, his home, his money—everything but his love. Now and then a car passed, someone riding a bicycle waved to a passer-by, calling out a friendly word. She kept her head down because she did not want anyone to see her tears. They fell unheeded, dampening whatever they hit, her jacket, her sandals, the pavement.

It was no use, the lump in her throat would not go. She would have to turn back and if the tears must come, it was better that they came in private. There was a tissue pushed into her pocket and she drew it out and dried her eyes. It would not do to walk into the inn with wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. In her room she removed her jacket and combed her hair. A touch of foundation lotion hid the damage the tears had caused. She seized her book and went to the door. The voices in the bar below promised relief from the too-painful introspection in which she was indulging. On this day of all days she could not sit alone, thinking unhappy thoughts. She knew it was possible to be lonely among a crowd, but better to be among a crowd as friendly as those who were gathered downstairs than spend a miserable evening in solitude. One or two people looked up from their drinks as she entered the bar, their interest caught by a stranger, and an attractive one, too. But their attention soon returned to their drinks and their friends. Alyson sought the darkest corner she could find, on a long, cushioned seat against a wall. The coloured lantern above it cast more shadow than light, but it would enable her to read her book, yet remain in hiding. It occurred to her that she could not sit in a bar like this, crowded with local people, and yet not order a drink. She put her book on the bench and went to the bar, giving her order—a lager with a dash of lime—and waited uncomfortably while the young woman behind the bar prepared the drink. Having paid, Alyson carried the glass carefully across the room between tables and chairs. In her hideout, she settled down to read her book, but her head lifted involuntarily to meet the eyes of the young man who had gazed at her so curiously in the dining-room.

Her heart sank. On this day of all days, she did not want the company of any man—except the one whose presence was denied her. The young man must have been discouraged by the blank look she gave him and sat back in his seat, raising his tankard and feigning indifference. Alyson sighed with relief. Now she could find her page and give her attention to the story. But her concentration let her down. She found herself listening to the sudden bursts of laughter, the personal anecdotes of people who must have known each other for years. She felt with some envy the accord, the invisible threads of familiarity which joined these people who, through the decades, must have .grown up together, gone to the village school, and when the time had come, watched their own children go to that same village school. It produced in her an uncontrollable yearning to belong—as these people did—to some place, someone, somewhere, to have roots, let them grow deep in the soil and bring forth fruit—children, a family, a future filled to overflowing with the love of a husband ... The door opened and someone came in. It was a man, tall, distinguished even in carelessly-worn, paint-stained"' clothes, hair ruffled, cheeks dark with a stubble which had grown even since that afternoon ... The man approached the bar and leant against it. There were shouts of recognition and welcome. 'Well, I'll be damned. If it isn't Liam Langham!' a man said, his voice giving away that he was not localbred but an inhabitant all the same. 'How goes it, Mr Langham?' said one of the older men, probably a farmer. Liam shrugged. 'You know how it is, Joss. A weekend here and there—not really enough to make fast progress. But today—well, as

some people would say, I've worked like crazy. I've repaired the roof, done a lot of painting, patched up the leak in the cold water tank.' 'What about the dry rot?' the young woman behind the bar asked. Alyson had not noticed before how attractive the girl was, with her long red hair and low-cut dress which left little to the imagination. 'Dry rot?' Liam asked, looking the girl over with amused eyes. 'Nothing like that about you, Fay.' The others laughed and the girl pretended to pout, thrusting her body forward and moving it provocatively. It was plain to Alyson's anguished eyes that her husband was looking his fill at the enticing shape. 'Well,' Liam went on, 'I've ripped up a number of floorboards and hammered a few fresh ones into their place.' 'Seems like you deserve a pint or two,' Bill Mailings commented, appearing through a door marked 'private'. 'Pint?' Liam said in an oddly constrained tone. 'Make it a whisky, Fay. No, wait. Double it.' 'Whisky, Mr Langham?' The girl's eyes came open. 'Not your usual, is it? You aiming to get drunk? Soda?' 'Just a splash.' The girl obliged. 'Get drunk? Well,' he undid a button or two of his shirt—the air in the bar was warm—'not aiming to, but if it's a side-effect of my evening's intake of alcohol, I won't grumble.' 'Something on your mind, Mr Langham?' the man called Joss asked.

'You could say that,' said Liam, lifting his glass and its contents. 'You could say that.'

v

downing half

Fay pointed. 'A ring. You got yourself engaged, Mr Langham?' Liam shook his head, swallowed another mouthful of drink and laughed. 'Not on your life! That's just to keep the females at bay. They won't leave me alone, you know ...' There was more laughter. T don't blame 'em,' said Fay, leaning across the counter towards him. 'Give me half a chance -' Liam smiled a shuttered kind of smile. 'You wouldn't be offering .. 'Sh-sh! Not in public, Mr Langham,' she said, grinning. Tm more subtle than that.' The laughter was loud and then the conversation became general again. Alyson, pale now and breathing shallowly, shrank farther into her corner. She wished she could reach up and turn off the lantern light above her head, but that would only draw attention to herself, which was something she simply must not do. Nor could she move from her seat and go up to her room. It was not possible to get to the staircase without passing Liam's long, faintly weary figure leaning against the bar. So Alyson was condemned to spending the rest of the evening—or for as long as Liam remained there—hidden away in her corner, watching her husband respond to the pouting invitations of the girl called Fay, and consuming glass after glass of alcohol, placing no apparent limit on the amount he drank. It was so out of character that she could not understand it, Derry had always given her the impression that his brother was a moderate drinker who drank only when the occasion- demanded it.

Was he already regretting Ins marriage so much that he felt he must lose himself by indulging in what was for him an excess of alcohol? She rubbed a hand over her eyes, wishing she had never come. But she had only wanted to be near him. Surely she was entitled to that on her wedding day? She was asking for nothing from him, only to sit hidden outside his cottage and watch as he came and went ... Time passed and Liam continued to drink. He had hitched himself on to a stool at the counter. His body leaned more and more heavily on the elbows which rested on it, but still he did not call a halt. Alyson, knowing that she was now his wife, and as such, should bear part of the responsibility for whatever might happen as a result of his excess of drinking, grew increasingly anxious. It was ten o'clock and she was growing tired. The young man who had stayed near her for most of the evening took his glass back to the counter and went up the stairs, which implied that he also was a resident. _ At last, to Alyson's immense relief, Liam indicated that he was leaving. 'Sure you're all right, Mr Langham?' Fay asked. 'You wouldn't like me to see you home?' There was loud laughter and Liam said, his voice surprisingly steady, if unusually precise, 'Alas, my home is a long way away and I doubt if my -' he stopped, paused significantly and continued, 'if my friends and acquaintances would appreciate my bringing home with me a flashing-eyed, very shapely young woman at this time of night. But another time, another place, just mention the matter again and, you never know, the answer might be a very different one.' He turned from the bar counter and his eyes sought the door. Apart from a slightly dulled look, his eyes seemed clear enough, his legs

capable of taking hi, wherever he willed them to go. Derry must have been wrong, Alyson decided. Liam could take his drink as well as the next man ... A shock flashed through her as if she had touched high-voltage electric cable. Those- dull grey eyes had fastened on to two glowing, fearful eyes staring at him from out of a dark, ill-lit corner. He stopped in his tracks, worked a paint-streaked hand over his face as if to rub the illusion away, stared again and momentarily close his eyes. Then, with a faint shrug, he made for the door. When he reached it, there arose from the people watch ing, an ironic cheer. He turned and smiled, his hand raised, and went but. As fast as she could, Alyson closed her book and made for the stairs, racing up them two at a time. She leant against the closed door, her breathing fast and strangled. Had he recognised her? In his dazed state, had it registered on his brain that the female huddled in the corner was the girl he had, only a few hours earlier, made his wife?. She turned to lock the door, only to find that although there was a key, it had been unused for so long it was rusted into place and would not turn. She shrugged. In this quiet, friendly village there would be no need to fear intruders. It did not take her long to wash and pull on her nightdress. It was soft, peach-coloured and filmy. Its purchase had been a moment's indulgence, the result of a half- hidden longing that her wedding night would be as a bride's wedding night should be ... A foolish whim on her part, she knew now. A man like Liam Langham would not relent, would not move one step from his resolve that their marriage would be devoid of all the characteristics which distinguished conventional marriages from their own. No sharing, not even of a bed, not even the faintest show of

affection— just the provision of a roof over her head, a place in which to live which bordered on the luxurious, a seemingly inexhaustible supply of money, all the material things of life a woman could ever require. But no love. The bed was too large for one, but it was comfortable. Alyson lay stiffly to one side, leaving the other, with its crisp, white pillows untouched. There were voices from downstairs, of people calling goodnight, of laughter and promises to meet again. The talkers drifted away and there were a few moments' silence. A door opened and closed and there were voices in the bar below. They must be clearing away, Alyson thought, turning restlessly. Footsteps creaked on the stairs and the floorboards along the corridor gave a little as someone passed—and then returned, to stand, unbelievably, outside her door. She wished the key had not rusted into place, so that she could have turned it, making herself secure and invulnerable. As she stared aghast, the handle turned, the door opened—and she was blinded by the light which flooded the room. With both hands she covered her face, and when she lifted it again, it was to stare into the white, cruel face of her husband. 'So,' he said, his voice thick and barely recognisable, 'it was you I saw. So, Miss Hardy, Miss Alyson Hardy, as you signed yourself in the hotel register, you followed me here.' Hands in pockets, shoulders thrust forward, he approached the bed. 'You found out where I was, did you? You came after me, breaking all the rules we agreed between us—that we'd live our lives separately and undisturbed by each other, with our secrets unshared, our private lives inviolate from any form of interference?'

Anger deepened his breathing, tautened his Hps. He stood beside the bed, a towering, threatening figure, unfamiliar and frightening with the hint of a slur in his speech and the smell of alcohol on his breath. 'Why did you come?' he went on. 'To catch me out? To surprise me, perhaps, with another woman on our wedding night?' Alyson clapped her hands to her ears, but he bent over her and tore them away. 'You'll hear me out. Me,' he said thickly, 'with another woman, when I've got you!' So the drink had not left him completely unaffected. 'No, don't jell me why you came. I can guess. You're missing it since your late husband died. You're missing the lovemaking, so you thought you might as well make use of me, your new husband, to relieve yourself of your frustrations.' Alyson shook her head and cowered away. Her action seemed to intensify his anger and he stripped the bedclothes from her, leaving her uncovered. His eyes, hard, blazing with an appalling, almost ungovernable fury, raked her from head to foot. 'Right,' he said between his teeth, 'you'll get what you came for. This is our wedding night, is it not? What man worth his salt fails to take his bride, make her his own on such a night?' He jerked her from the bed to stand in front of him. Again he looked her over, and nothing was hidden from his hungry eyes by the flimsy nightgown. 'I've married a beautiful woman,' he murmured, his words unclear now, whether through drink or- desire Alyson did not know. 'By heaven, my brother was right when he said he'd left me a bargain. A used one, maybe, but beautiful beyond words.'

His hand found her wrist and his grip bruised her skin, making her plead for mercy. She received none. 'Come, my pretty, we're wasting time.' He released her, but only for his own purpose. He looked into her face, hesitating for only a few seconds before making up his mind. 'You're no untried, innocent young bride. You know by now what a man's made of.' He pulled off his shirt, and his other clothes followed, hiding nothing from her. His toughness, his stirring desire, his, undoubted strength of muscle and his determination to make her his, had her swaying and reaching for the bed. Oh, God, she thought, no! Not like this. He doesn't know what he's doing, the drink has seeped into his reason, corroding it, making him irrational, a different man. He pushed her roughly on to the bed and ripped down a shoulder strap, baring her flesh. If only he had not drunk so much, if only he was more gentle with her ... He mustn't go on, she thought. I'll have to stop him somehow. He'll discover ... he'll find out ... he'll know Derry was lying, that I'm untouched, that I'm useless. It's a woman Liam wants, not an innocent, immature girl like me, who doesn't know anything, who's ignorant and ineffectual, who can't arouse a man's desires ... He was pressing down on her now and his mouth found the yielding softness of her body. It was then that she began to fight, to push him away, to tell him she didn't want him, that she hated the very thought of his making love to her. 'I don't want to be yours,' she cried. 'I only married you for your money, remember? Don't touch, me,' she cried out, 'take your hands away! I don't love you,' she lied, 'any more than you love me. Believe me, you must believe me ...'

With a more than human effort she struggled from under him and broke free, lying inert, gasping for breath, trying to still the hammering of her heart. To her infinite relief he stayed where he was and it was plain that the drink had taken its toll. But it was not only the drink, she realised, that had played havoc with his energies. It was the day's hard work- which had been incessant and unsparing. She had heard how hard he had worked when he had told his friends in the bar. She'd seen it, too, with her own eyes. When she found the courage to look at him, his arm was flung above his head across the pillow. He was breathing deeply and steadily. All the passion which had threatened to burn itself out on her had drained from his body, leaving him still and sleeping. Unobserved, she was able to study his features one by one. Lovingly her eyes lingered on the dark brown hair which fell from a natural parting across his forehead. The tjows were brown, too, the eyelashes long. His jaw- line, along which she longed to trail her finger, was square and uncompromising, the nose straight. There were lines etched by time, hard work—and hard living?—across his forehead and around his mouth. The lips on which she yearned to press her own were full yet sensitive. With a sigh she eased herself from the bed, found another nightgown and changed into it, leaving the torn garment on the floor. Then she tip-toed across and switched off the light, returning and easing herself into bed beside him. With care, she pulled the bedclothes over them and lay staring into the darkness. This was her wedding night and her husband was beside her. And the tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She turned on to her side and put her arm across his unconscious body, feeling with her fingers for the mass of hair on his chest. Her cheek found the hard muscles of his arm and she lay thus for a long time.

The irony, she thought, of the way the tables had been turned. Derry, so long ago, had tried to make her his and had failed and had cried in her arms. Now, with his brother, it was she who was the failure and here she was, crying, and unknown to him, with her arms about him. She thought she heard him murmur some words and she strained to identify them. Somewhere to lay my head, ;he muttered, somewhere to lay my head. Her words ... At last she slipped into sleep, finding contentment in the nearness of the man she loved. Her wedding night had brought an unexpected if strange fulfilment. In the circumstances, she could not, and did not, ask for more.

CHAPTER FIVE WHEN Alyson woke in the morning, Liam was still asleep. She found that she had not moved from the position in which she had fallen asleep, with her arm across him, her head against his shoulder. She moved away without rousing him and saw that it was six o'clock. It was a singing morning. The clouds were high, the sun already well on its way across the sky. She got out of bed and picked up the torn, discarded nightgown, folding it and pushing it into her suitcase. One day, she promised herself, she would mend it. After a quick wash, she dressed in denim pants, shirt and jacket and crept into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Downstairs there was no one about. She slid the bolts on the front entrance doors and turned the large key which, she noticed wryly, had not rusted into the lock as hers had. Outside, the bright chill of the morning took her breath away, but after a few brisk paces, her blood started speeding through her veins. Her feet had developed minds of their own. They knew where they were going and she did not attempt to stop them. They were taking her along the path towards the cottages. The trees which lined the rough, narrow road met high overhead. Birds flew about in a kind of frenzied happiness at the joys of being alive in the early summer morning. The dew had almost gone and the scent of the hedgerows filled her lungs. Liam's car was parked outside. Knowing the cottage would be empty, Alyson gazed in the front window and into a room which was one day intended to be the living-, area. To the other side of the front door was the kitchen and the chaos made her shudder. The handle of the entrance door turned and started to open, but she closed it again

quickly. If she went in she might disturb something which would immediately arouse Liam's suspicions. Round the back was another room which would, presumably, be used one day as a dining-room. At present, it was little more than a store room for tools, builders' materials, even powdered Cement in bags. There were a number of missing floorboards, probably those which Liam had not yet managed to replace. Alyson moved back and gazed at the upper storey. One window, centrally placed, with its frosted glass, told her that it was probably intended to be used as a bathroom. At the front there was a room upstairs, too, one room, one bedroom. For Liam, for himself alone, to be shared with no one, not even his wife. There were cracks in the outer walls, tiles missing from the roof. Here and there the guttering hung down. Only a supreme optimist, she decided, would have taken the. place on at all, someone with vision—or an unquenchable desire to escape from the world and get himself a hideaway to which no one could—or, in its present condition, would wish to—follow. Least of all a woman, he must have reasoned, unless she was a visionary like himself, willing to share the burdens of repair, restoration and redecoration. And no woman, he must have argued, could possibly possess sufficient desire, determination and devotion to the project, and most of all to himself, to put in the necessary amount of work. Alyson sighed, accepting that she dared not venture near the place again today. Knowing she was in the area, Liam would no doubt be on the alert and looking out for her in case she decided to try and storm his fortress.

On the way back to the inn, she unzipped her jacket. The sun had warmed the air and the birds had calmed from their morning ecstasy. When she pushed open the door to the inn, the landlord was arranging tankards and mopping down the bar. 'You're an early bird,' Bill Mailings commented. 'Enjoy your walk?' 'Very much, thank you.' Alyson hoped he did not notice how stilted she sounded. She felt like a child who had been discovered doing wrong. 'Been far?' 'Up to the—the cottages.' 'Oh?' Bill Mailings looked up, wet cloth resting on the counter. Then he looked down again, smiling to himself. 'What did you do with our Mr Langham? He demanded to have a look at the hotel register last night, said he knew you and vanished up the stairs. Did he,' Bill Mailings cleared his throat, 'did he find you? I gave him your room number.' 'He—yes, he did find me, thank you.' So Liam had not told the landlord who she was. 'Strange thing was,' Bill rubbed his chin, 'he went up and he never came down!' He gave a guffaw of laughter and continued with his work. Alyson coloured deeply and went on her way. When she opened the bedroom door, Liam had pulled on his trousers and was sitting on the side of the bed. His head was in his hands, but when Alyson entered he looked up. Seeing the pink in her cheeks, he asked sarcastically, 'Why the

maidenly blushes?' His eyes roved over the wind-blown hair, the freshness of her appearance, the bright, challenging eyes. 'You didn't tell Mr Mailings I was your wife,' she accused. 'Now he thinks -' 'So what if he does? He knows I'll pay for my bed and board, even if I did share it with one of his female guests.' 'Female guests!' Was that all he thought of her? 'Anyway,' Liam went on, 'since you deliberately disowned me— Alyson Hardy, wasn't it?—why the hell should I be in such a hurry to lay claim to you?' His hand went to his head again and he groaned. 'My God, what a hangover! And what a bloody stupid thing to do. Drink myself silly, then when a woman puts herself in bed beside me, my own wife, too—all legal and above board— a superior being, none of your cheap pick-ups,' she winced at his bluntness, 'I'm useless!' Her voice was tight as she asked, 'Can I—can I get you anything? A coffee -?' 'No, thank you-.' He looked up coldly. 'There's no need for you to run around me like a loving, devoted wife. That was hardly your role last night. Quite a night, wasn't it? From my point of view one of the most frustrating I—and, knowing the ways of my late brother, probably you—have ever spent.' She sat beside him, wondering what to do, but he rose immediately as if he could not bear to be near her. He rubbed his palms over his face, as if trying to wipe the hangover away. 'I could do with a bath. Where is it?' Along the corridor to the right, she told him.

'Towel?' he asked, looking at the washbasin. 'Mind if I borrow yours?' She shrugged. 'If you can bear to share anything with me.' He looked at her oddly, then asked, with a tight smile, 'You don't carry shaving things around with you, do you?' 'Sorry,' she answered shortly, refusing to smile back, 'can't oblige.' He rubbed the stubble around his cheeks and chin. 'Maybe I'll grow myself a beard. Any objections?' Again that lift of her shoulders. 'Why should it matter to you what I think? You'd take no notice. You only inherited me from my late husband, didn't you?' He came slowly towards her. 'Sarcasm?' Bravely she met his threatening eyes. 'Why should you be the only one allowed to be sarcastic?' "'Sour? On our honeymoon?' She was silent. 'Maybe it doesn't come up to the one you spent with my brother?' Her mind jumped back to her first days with Derry, lifting and pushing him from chair to bed, and in the morning, lifting and urging him back again. She recalled his curses—of his injuries, her stepsister, the world—and of herself in particular, as though she had been the cause , of his disabilities. She said steadily, twisting her foot in a nervous gesture, It's not in the least like that.' He caught her unexpectedly under the armpits and jerked her against him without pulling her up. Her face turned sideways and her cheek

came into contact with the lean flesh around his waist. She bit her lip to keep it still. 'You challenge me,' he muttered, 'by God, you challenge me! I'm sober now. No drink to hamper my performance. Hangover or no hangover, I've a damned good mind- -' . 'Please.' Her voice wavered. 'I t-told you where the bathroom was.' He threw her from him. As she broke contact with his body, she felt a terrible wrench inside her. 'Of course,' he snarled, 'we made a bargain, didn't we? A platonic marriage. My money and my life—but nothing in return.' He turned from her and said savagely, 'Why the hell should I care? There are other women only too willing -' 'Like Fay, behind the bar -' He turned back and his look was so cruel she thought he was going to strike her. 'Leave Fay out of this. She's got more humanity and feeling for a man than you'll ever know!' He seized the towel, draped it round his neck and left the room. More humanity and feeling for a man? she wanted to cry out after him. When I took all the nastiness your brother had it in him to give, giving back in return devotion, care, compassion, only to have it all flung back in my face? Having to bear the insults he couldn't fling at my unfeeling stepsister? Standing at his side, where she should have been, pushing him about, heavy though he was, as she should have done? Paying the price constantly for her callous behaviour? Her lip trembled and she wandered to the window. What should she do—go down to breakfast, assuming Liam was returning to his cottage? No, she was, after all, his wife. She had to wait and find out his intentions.

He returned clean-shaven, fresh from his bath. Her eyes were caught and held by the power of his build, the height, the daunting masculinity of his physique. Until now, his executive-style clothes had covered all this. It was impossible, even in her imagination, to think of him in city-style suit, shirt and tie. At home and in the course of his work, he was remote, distant, like a statue high on a pedestal compared with the rough male reality of him now. He thought she was surprised by the lack of stubble. 'I begged and borrowed a razor from Bill Mailings. Does it meet with your apprbval?' She replied in a dead tone, 'The only thing about you that meets with my approval is your money. Isn't that correct?' He flicked the towel from around his neck and in a few strides confronted her. His hands seized her arms and he shook her, flinging her back on to the bed. His body followed and hit the air from her lungs. 'You're asking for it, you avaricious little -' His mouth found hers and she struggled, freeing her lips from his. 'I'm not Vanda,' she cried, 'I'm not Vanda Styles, your secretary .. With a movement that could only have come from a feeling of disgust he freed her and stood up, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it with quick, furious movements. She ran from the room and when he called out, asking where she was going, she did not answer. As she walked along the corridor, she smoothed her hair, trying to restore its order. By the time she had reached the dining- room, she had calmed herself sufficiently to give a slight smile in response to that of the young man who had sat so near to her the previous evening.

As she studied the menu, she heard the door swing open. Liam looked around, saw her and made his way purposefully towards her. He was not breakfasting with her! Surely he couldn't let her down in such a way, in front of the other guests! He pulled out the chair opposite her and held out his hand for the menu. Silently, sullenly, she handed it to him. He was behaving like a husband, one who had been married to her for years, not less than twenty-four hours. He smiled at her annoyance, mocking her unquestioning obedience to his wishes. The young man nearby frowned at them, as if he did not understand. Nor, it seemed, did Fay, who appeared through a swing door from the kitchen and saw them at the table for two. A spurt of jealousy hit Alyson like a water pistol aimed between the eyes. Even in a waitress's uniform the girl looked attractive. She approached, notepad in hand, and glanced sulkily from one to the other. 'So you got home all right, Mr Langham?' she asked with a pout. Liam smiled. 'Yes, thanks, Fay. I got home very well indeed.' He gazed momentarily and meaningfully at Alyson. 'Bet you got a hangover,' Fay said, smiling familiarly. 'Never seen you put away so much whisky since I've known you. Whatever it was that was bugging you must have gone good and deep.' 'You're right about the hangover,' said Liam, deflecting her subtle comment with a smile. 'But it's all the better for seeing you.' She giggled and prodded his shoulder. Alyson coloured, not with embarrassment but with a burning humiliation. The girl could not

have made it plainer if she had tried just how well she knew Liam Langham. She looked at Alyson. 'Made friends quickly, Mr Langham?' It was really a statement, not a question. 'Very,' said Liam dryly, then he gave the order, consulting Alyson as they went along. There was a strained silence after Fay had left with their order. Alyson wondered how Liam had contrived to look so neat and clean in spite of the fact that he had not come prepared to stay the night, but merely for an evening's drinking. The buttons of his short-sleeved shirt were partly open, revealing the tanned cleanliness of his skin. Even the jeans he wore with a wide leather belt around his waist looked neat. Her heart turned over at the man's good looks, the air of authority which lurked, like a predatory sea- creature, just beneath the relaxed, somewhat indolent surface of his holiday manner. Any moment, given the target and the bait, Alyson felt it would leap high from the cool-morning calm and crush her into a helpless, writhing mass of womanhood. He was an executive in disguise, however benevolent and approachable he might at that moment seem. He said, as if echoing her train of thought, 'There's something I should like to know. After the wedding yesterday, I didn't tell you where I was going. In fact, very few people know the whereabouts of my cottage.' 'My', she thought miserably, not 'our'. When would he let her into his life? 'Less than the number of fingers on one of my hands. Ellen, my housekeeper -'

' "Our",' Alyson murmured. 'What was that you said?' he asked sharply. She swallowed and repeated more loudly, 'I said "our". Housekeeper,' she added. An eyebrow moved upwards, a considering smile played round his mouth. But it seemed he conceded the point. ' "Our" housekeeper. And Hallam Munro, my deputy. Both of them have had strict instructions to pass on to no one—no one at all—the whereabouts of my cottage.' This time she did not dare to attempt to change the 'my' to 'our'. She knew the kind of response she would receive had she done so. 'Which one was it? Ellen?' Alyson tensed, watching the progress of Fay across .the restaurant as she carried the fruit juice they had ordered. For once, she was glad of the girl's presence. Fay set the glasses down carefully, smiling at Liam as she did so. Alyson she ignored. Liam returned her smile without reservation, then watched with interest as Alyson's colour deepened. They drank the orange juice and Liam pressed the question, 'Well, who was the culprit?' Alyson stayed silent, her body rigid. If Hallam had been sworn to secrecy she could not get him into trouble. Liam lowered his glass to the table, looking down into its emptiness. 'It wasn't Ellen, was it? She's the most trustworthy person I've ever come across. Discreet, too.' What did that mean? Alyson wondered. That she wouldn't give away to a soul that Liam Langham and his wife were not sleeping together? She pursed her lips, determined not to tell Liam the truth.

But he guessed. He could hardly do otherwise, she reflected, since there was only one other person involved. 'It was Hallam, wasn't it?' He looked at her narrowly and her high colour gave her away. 'I've noticed a—shall we say—kind of affinity between you. You worked for him once, didn't you? That was before his wife left him and before your marriage to Derry?' 'What are you implying?' she asked angrily. . 'Nothing, my dear, nothing.' He twirled the glass idly. 'However,' his voice hardened, 'I shall have a talk with him, a—corrective may be the word I'm looking for—talk. Reprimand, perhaps? A man in his position, and with his responsibilities, only second to mine, should not lightly give away what amounts to confidential information. Only in the most pressing circumstances, I said, was he to tell anyone, and that had to be connected with work. His position,' he moved the empty glass like a chess piece, 'might have to be reconsidered in the light of this act of indiscretion.' She knew it! She knew that the executive side of him was only lightly hidden, that the daunting creature would leap and make its kill. Only it was not she who was writhing under the impact, it was a perfectly innocent man! 'What are you talking about?' she asked, the blue of her eyes darkening with anxiety. 'How can you blame Hallam? I talked him into it. I—well, you might say tricked him into telling me. I said you'd—you'd forgotten to tell me the address, that I was following you a little later, and—and could he please tell me where ... He—he said —well, after all, I was your wife now and that he couldn't see any possible reason for my not knowing. And in any case he didn't tell me exactly where the cottage was, only the village it was near.' Her hand stretched across the table to touch his as it continued to play with the glass. 'Please, Liam, you must understand, it wasn't Hallam's fault.'

She saw a muscle twitch in his cheek and wondered if she had made any impact, but she saw with dismay that for some reason his eyes seemed to have hardened. Fay returned, setting down their breakfasts . and hurrying away to serve others. Alyson watched Fay, wondering what it was about her that had made contact with the side of Liam that she herself had failed to do. She thought wryly, looking at the girl's provocative shape, As if I didn't know! Withdrawing her eyes from Fay, Alyson caught the puzzled glance of the young man two tables away. He seemed to be spending a lot of time watching them. She blushed to think what he might be thinking of her. He seemed to be young and innocent, but, she asked herself agonisingly, picking up her knife and fork, wasn't that what she was, too? It was not until they were drinking their second cup of coffee that Liam broke the long silence. 'Why the preoccupied look? What are you brooding about?' She hated the mockery in his steel-grey eyes and the tightly smiling mouth. 'Is there any reason why I should tell you?' she countered. 'Why should I tell you my every thought when there are great areas of your life I know nothing about? This cottage you own—wherever it is ...' she glanced at him apprehensively, hoping he had not guessed that she had already seen it. 'Your—your private life which you keep so secret. Your -' dared she say it? 'your relationship with your secretary -' She drew a breath, already cowering mentally from the wrath that would surely descend on her head. 'How you do harp on Vanda,' was all he said, smiling slightly. 'You didn't answer my question.'

'I'm sorry, I—I have no intention of doing so.' 'So,' softly, 'you have your secrets, too.' If only he knew how many! 'Shall I take a guess? Was it the—er— unsatisfactory outcome of our first night together? Were you so disappointed at my performance that it's affecting your enjoyment of your stay here? Did you think that that was all I had to offer during the rest of our— time together?' She noticed he did not say 'life'. 'Let me assure my darling wife that next time she'll see a difference. Here and now I make a solemn vow: Next time I shall be stone cold sober and I'll show you what I'm made of. And I can assure you that the following morning you won't sit opposite me with that look of misery on your face. You'll be the radiant bride you really are.' Alyson rose so hastily her chair upset behind her. Wretched with embarrassment, she bent down and fumbled with it, trying to lift it. Before she knew what was happening, the young man two tables away had leapt up to help her. He righted the chair, smiling and blushing to the roots of his fair hair. He did not look at Liam. Then he returned to his table. Liam, with a broad smile, murmured as he pushed in the chair, 'You've made a conquest. Too bad for him you're tied to me.' With her head high, Alyson followed Liam from the dining-room. He said, 'Please excuse me,' and left her, going into the bar and leaning on the counter. Bill Mallings appeared and Liam unbuttoned his shirt pocket, taking out his wallet. It looked as though he was paying for his bed and breakfast. Alyson went up the stairs, assuming he would follow. She waited for some time, standing at the window which overlooked the road. She saw Liam emerge from the entrance, give a cursory glance back at the ivy-covered building and go on his way. She searched with some

desperation for the iron control which she had instilled into herself from childhood onwards and throughout her marriage to Derry. After a struggle, she found it. What else had she expected—that Liam would join her, inviting her to spend the day with him at his precious cottage? His tumbledown haven, his hideaway from the world—and from his burden of a wife? What should she do now? Where should she go? Home was one place she could not bring herself to face alone. This was supposed to be her honeymoon. How could she return without the man she had married? The humiliation would be too great. It was more than she dared do to hide among the bushes and trees again and watch Liam coming and going at his cottage. She would go for a long walk across the fields, along the public footpaths, taking a picnic lunch with her. The management would probably provide a few sandwiches and a flask of coffee. But even as the idea came to her, she looked out and noticed how overcast the morning had become. The sun, which had shone with such abandon at six o'clock, had been obliterated by heavy black clouds which were threatening to empty their contents on to the earth below. It was only a few minutes later that the first drops of rain appeared on the window pane. They multiplied rapidly and it soon became a downpour. That was the end of her idea of a picnic in the fields! For as far as she Was able to see, the sky was dark and threatening. It looked as though the rain would continue at least until lunchtime, and it turned her into a virtual prisoner. „ The inn did not possess the conveniences of a modern hotel. No television set, not even a radio, in the bedroom. She had brought a couple of books with her and took one from the bedside table. The bed had been made so she sat in the armchair which had been placed near the window.

For a while she was able to concentrate on the book, losing herself in it—until she came to a passage where a couple, in love, made love passionately. This, with her memories of the night she had shared with Liam, she could not stand, so she snapped the book shut and walked about restlessly. She picked up her comb and ran it through her hair so that it framed her face. She renewed make-up which did not need renewing, then turned with irritation from the mirror and her lonely reflection. Where had Liam gone—to his cottage? Why couldn't she join him there? As his wife, she had every right. There was no part of her life from which she excluded him. A tap on the door had her heart lifting, but even as she went to open it, she knew it was not Liam. He would have walked straight in. It was a girl, one of Bill Mailings' employees, come to clean the room. Alyson smiled and said she would go down to. the residents' lounge. 'Terrible day, miss,' the girl said, and Alyson could only agree with her. She was not alone in the lounge. The fair-haired young man sat on a corner of the settee reading a glossy magazine as studiously as if it were an examination paper. When Alyson entered he looked up, unable to disguise his pleasure at seeing her. Once again the quick colour, which, Alyson thought sympathetically, must make his life a misery, engulfed his face. He fidgeted as if trying to draw attention to the fact that there was plenty of room for her on the settee. Alyson having nothing better to do, accepted the silent invitation and the young man's colour deepened even more. 'Terrible -' he cleared his throat, 'terrible day.' Alyson heard the words for the second time in the space of a few minutes and could

only repeat her agreement. 'Nothing -' he licked his lips, 'nothing much one can do on a day like this.' Alyson shook her head, smiling gently. Should she encourage the young man? Was it fair of her to do so? But surely he could see the wedding ring? Deliberately she spread her hand on her skirt and studied the two rings on her finger, looking at all angles at the diamonds and sapphire Liam had given her, with the intention of catching the light—and the young man's attention. 'You're -' he edged forward and Alyson thought, If he moves forward much more he'll be on the floor! 'you're -' he continued hesitantly, 'you're a—a widow?' There was a note of hope in the question, as if daring her to answer in the negative. She could truthfully admit that she was a widow. Well, she justified the thought, it was only yesterday morning that she stopped being one! In the circumstances, she felt far more like a widow than a bride anyway, so she nodded. The young man seemed infinitely relieved and Alyson felt almost sorry for him. He told her his name. It was Simon Frend. Hers he knew already. He coloured at the admission—he had looked in the hotel register. How many more men, Alyson wondered ruefully, were going to consult that register in search of her name! They talked, about Simon's work as a bank clerk, how he had chosen at random the South Downs as a place to visit for a few days' walking. They talked about his hobbies, how he belonged to a chess- playing group near his home in London, and in the summer played tennis at the local tennis club. No, he hadn't got a girl-friend. He—well, he didn't really mind. One day, of course, he might well meet a girl-... He looked at Alyson, blushed

deeply and turned to gaze at the rain running down the window panes. 'I wonder,' said Alyson, glancing at the grandfather clock in a corner, 'if they serve coffee.' 'Yes, yes, of course,' her companion said, jumping up, 'Should I try to find someone or -' 'There's a bell over there,' Alyson suggested gently. 'Try pressing it.' As if it were the most audacious act in the world, Simon pressed the bell and waited anxiously to see if it evoked any response from the domestic staff. The door opened and a bright-looking woman with grey hair opened the door. Alyson recognised her as the landlord's wife, whom she had seen sometimes behind the bart and sometimes through the door marked 'private'. 'This lady,' Simon said, 'I mean, Mrs Hardy and I -' 'Miss Hardy,' Alyson told him gently. For a moment he seemed confused then said, 'We'd like some coffee, please.' Mrs Mailings nodded. 'Biscuits? Right. Miss Hardy -' Alyson looked up. 'Mr Langham left a message with my husband. He asked him lo pass it on to you. He says he's booked a table for two tonight. He said you'd know what that meant. Is that all right?' Alyson paled, then nodded, thanking the woman as she left to bring their order.

Simon returned to his seat beside Alyson. 'You—you know that man Langham, Miss Hardy?' 'A—a little,' Alyson replied, still stunned and puzzled by the message. He said you'd know what that meant. Well, what did it mean? 'I—I knew him years ago,' she added absently. It surely didn't mean—he couldn't come to her room again tonight? Next time, he'd said, he'd be stone cold sober ... show you what I'm made of ... you'll be a radiant bride ... 'You had breakfast. together,' Simon said.. If he had intended it as a leading question, he had failed lamentably. 'Yes,' said Alyson. 'You didn't seem to be getting on very well with him this morning. I watched you.' 'Did you? f mean—didn't we?' 'The way you talked to him, you sounded angry.' 'In the—in the past we didn't get on very well, either,' she explained, hoping the answer would satisfy him. It was the truth, anyway. As a brother-in-law he had proved distinctly hostile. 'And now he's pestering you?' Simon asked, the blush this time seeming to stem from anger rather than shyness, 'Don't worry, I'll look after you—that is, if you have no objection, Miss Hardy.' 'Please make it Alyson,' she said automatically, her thoughts busy with an idea which had come to her as a result of his offer of protection. It would be a shame to take advantage of his good intentions, but if she availed herself of his offer ...

'That's very kind of you,' she said, smiling. 'I have no objection at all, Simon.' They spent the rest of the day together, walking short distances between showers, lunching at the inn and later, watching an old film on the television which had been installed in the residents' lounge. Alyson tried to lose herself in the film, attempting to forget her date with her husband for dinner that evening. It worried her. More, it frightened her—not the act of eating with him, but of what might— almost certainly would—follow. He said you'd know what that meant. And she did. But she would remind him forcibly of their bargain. If he said, as he probably would, You asked for it by following me here, she would say, All right, we agreed no honeymoon, but why shouldn't I have a break from everyday routine, like you ...? 'Alyson,' Simon said, turning to her in the middle of a love scene, 'will you have dinner with me this evening?' 'But, Simon,' gently, 'you know—you heard Mrs Mailings say—that my—that Mr Langham has booked a table for myself and for him ...' 'You agreed he was pestering you, didn't you?' Simon was slightly belligerent, stepping momentarily out of the character which Alyson had, on her short acquaintance, attributed to him. 'I said I'd look after you] protect you, so -' His voice tailed off uncertainly. 'I—I don't know, Simon. I'll have to see. It's kind of you to invite me, but—well, Mr Langham might be upset -' 'Has the man got some sort of hold over you?' The question took her by surprise by its vehemence. 'You seem to be scared of him.'

'I'm not, of course I'm not. Look,' her watch told her it was time to change, 'I'll meet you for a drink at the bar about ten minutes before dinner. All right?' Simon beamed, taking the suggestion as an acceptance of his invitation. In the bedroom Alyson thought, I'll dress up. Why shouldn't I? I brought along dress, I don't know why, optimistic, I suppose. But optimistic about what? Weren't her hopes being fulfilled? Hadn't she been invited to dine with her new husband? But she hadn't guessed, hadn't even dreamed that last night would happen, that he would try to force himself on her, demanding his rights after they had agreed to live their own lives. 'I would ask nothing of you,' he'd said when he had proposed marriage. 'I need a wife, a hostess when I entertain.' Somehow she must remind him of all he had said the night he had asked her to marry him. Her dress was ankle-length, and floral with a rounded neckline, a tie belt at the waist. It made her look young and untouched. Her skin glowed smoothly, her wide eyes were deeply blue. Even when she smiled there was a tender appeal about them that could leave only the hardest of hearts untouched. She was too early for her appointment with Simon, so she wandered into the gardens at the back of the inn. - The high evergreen hedges were well tended and neat. The flowers trailed their perfume on the slight breeze. The sky had cleared itself of rain clouds and here and there were patches of blue. There was a bench seat against an ivy-clad wall and Alyson sank on to it, first making sure that it was dry after the rain. She closed her eyes, wondering what time Liam would come to the hotel. It would

not be early, she was certain. Even at home he was often late for dinner, having been delayed at work. Or Vanda, she thought bitterly. From now on she would have to harden herself to doubts about his relationship with his attractive secretary. She, Alyson, might be Liam's .wife—in name—but that indisputable fact did not confer on her automatically the right to know about every aspect of Liam's life. He had made that quite clear. There were footsteps on the gravelled path and she turned, smiling, assuming that Simon had come looking for her. When she saw Liam, saw the way he was dressed, in an immaculate suit, tasteful tie and neatly combed hair, the smile faded and her cheeks whitened. A curious kind of fear began to wind itself round her heart like the ivy which grew against the inn walls, twisting itself round all the obstacles that got in its way. He had dressed like that, taken care with his toilet, in order to take his wife to dinner. And more than anything in the world she wanted to dine with her husband, to be with him an hour or two, to be his companion and the woman he loved. But after dinner he would not go, she was sure of that. And this time, aware of what the consequences would be, she was on her guard to prevent those consequences, doing everything in her power, using all the weapons at her disposal to avert them. Alyson stood, paused a moment, then began to move towards the entrance door. He came behind her swiftly and imprisoned her with his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. It was' like being crushed against a stone column, granite-hard, unyielding— except that there was life in this man, life and power—and a determination to get his own way. 'Running away?' he murmured, his lips feathering her ear. 'One of the oldest woman-tricks there are. Kiss me.'

'No, I—' 'Turn your head and kiss me.' It was a command that could not be resisted and her head came round. His lips fastened hungrily on hers. Involuntarily she let herself go slack and her pulses pounded. He stopped, turned her roughly and gazed into her face. There, was something he was trying to find. He was on its path, had discovered track marks, caught the scent of the prey and contemplated victory. He jerked her against him and held her there until she clung, as entangled with him as the ivy with the structure of the inn. He urged her backwards in his arms, his mouth against hers, his hands, impatient ,of the dress, finding their way to the smooth, responsive surface of her back, her waist, her hips ... When at last he raised his head, his eyes were glowing in triumph. She cried in agony, 'Leave me alone!' He replied, 'Not on your sweet, beautiful life.' 'You heard what she said. Leave her alone!' The voice, wavering at first, then strengthening with resolve, came from behind them. Liam raised his head slowly and stared, like a full- growl} lion being vexed by a cub. It was as if he could not believe his ears. 'She told me you've been pestering her,' the voice went on, wavering again under that dark, intent stare. 'I promised to protect her from you, and she agreed.' Alyson, with her back to the speaker, pulled away from Liam and put a hand to her head. The situation was disastrous, one she could not possibly have foreseen.

'Is this true?' Liam asked quietly, looking down at her. He had grown remote and withdrawn. It might have been another man who had, only a few minutes ago, taken her in his arms and kissed her with such passion. 'Simon, please,' she pleaded, turning her head towards him. Simon looked bewildered but pressed on, the red in his fair cheeks deepening with the intensity of his feelings. 'She said she used to know you years ago. She said she didn't get on very well with you, so I—I offered to look after her. She—she told me she was a widow,' he finished lamely. Liam looked from one to the other, his glance settling finally on Alyson. It was almost as if the marriage between them had never taken place, that he was her brother-in-law again, contemptuous of her for marrying his brother for his money. It was as if they had not spent the night together, intimate with an intimacy that had not set a seal on their marriage but had bound them together nonetheless with an invisible, intangible thread.? 'She told you all that, did she?' Liam said slowly. Simon nodded vigorously. 'Every single thing. So,' he drew himself up, but even so, Liam towered above him, 'will you please leave her alone?' Liam, in contrast to his adversary, slackened indolently in his posture, thus showing up the young man's rawness and youthful tension. He pushed his hands into his pockets. 'And you believed her, "every single thing" she said? By heaven,' with a spiteful smile, 'you have a lot to learn, boy.' Simon blushed at the term, which cleverly and in one word deprived him of his manhood. 'You've got a hell of a lot of disillusion coming

your way,' Liam went on. 'Take a lesson from one who's experienced in the ways of those treacherous, dishonest, devious creatures called women.' His scorching look licked about Alyson like a searing flame. 'Never believe a world they tell you. They're liars, the lot of them.' With a dismissing, contemptuous glance at his wife, he turned and left them. All through dinner, with Simon opposite her, Alyson was agonisingly conscious of Liam alone at a table for two. She had let him down in so many ways, she could not bear to think about them. He looked so alone, it pained her to look at him. But it was as if, for him, she and Simon did' not exist. Holding the menu, Liam selected his dishes. He joked with the waitress and sat relaxed and unaware of his surroundings like a businessman travelling the world for orders, accustomed to hotel life and to the solitude-and freedom—that went with such a way of living. He finished his meal before Alyson and her companion had finished theirs. On his way out he had to pass their table. He kept his head averted and did not acknowledge them in any way. After coffee, Simon suggested that they go to the bar, and it was with relief that-Alyson found Liam was not there. Simon asked if she would like a drink, and when she refused, did not get one for himself. Every time someone came into the bar, Simon looked up like an alert, well-trained house-dog. He was playing his 'protective' role to perfection. Alyson knew by the way Simon tightened up that Liam had come in. She wondered where he had been—having his coffee in the lounge, perhaps. He looked around and saw them. He must also have seen the watchful, belligerent expression on Simon's face because he smiled.

His eyes remained cold and as he dwelt.on the girl Simon was 'protecting', a thoughtful, considering look entered into, them. He strolled towards the bar and leant forward against it. He ordered a drink, but when it came, he did not touch it. He lifted the beer mat and studied the words written on it, he pushed an ashtray around and only then did he lift the tankard in front of him and take a long drink. Other, people came to sit at the bar, but apart from exchanging a few words of greeting, he did not converse with them. They seemed to respect his withdrawal into himself and left him alone. It was not until Fay made her appearance that Liam came to life. Her dress was scarlet and revealed her ample figure, her face was heavily made up and her eyes darted mischievously around, provoking any male who wished to be provoked. It seemed that Liam Langham was in that mood. He joked with Fay, responded with indulgent laughter to her kittenish ways and invited her to get herself a drink at his expense. This offer she accepted and came to lean against the counter opposite him until their faces nearly touched. Fay started whispering to him and now and then he would lift, his hand and run it down her cheek. Every time she was called away, she would return to talk to him. Once she even leant across and kissed his cheek. Other customers' amusement merely made her bolder. Alyson, whose eyes were riveted on them both, mauled her lip with her teeth. She felt physically ill that Liam could behave in such a way in front of her. Suppose, she thought, I retaliated in the same way? Suppose I teased and incited Simon, leaning over and kissing him in full view of the public—and of Liam himself?

She would have been wasting her time. Not only was his back towards her, he was so absorbed in his pursuit of the girl behind the bar he would not have seen a thing. 'I need some air,' she said to Simon, forced by desperation to make some sort of move. 'Shall we go for a 'walk?' Simon nodded eagerly. 'While you put your jacket on, ril take these to the counter.' Was it, Alyson wondered, swinging her cardigan from her shoulders, to draw attention to himself that Simon put the empty glasses on the counter beside Liam? If so, he succeeded, because Liam threw an uninterested look over his shoulder. He saw Alyson waiting beside the door. His voice was toneless as he asked, 'Where are you going?' Other people looked up from their conversation and their drinking, surprised at his interest in a girl of whom, until that moment, he had taken not the slightest notice. Alyson did not reply, resenting his sudden and, in her opinion, quite uncalled-for interest. But he continued to look at her, virtually forcing an answer. 'For a walk. With Simon,' she added spitefully and, as Simon joined her, went outside before Liam could stop her. They were not out for long. A breeze had sprung front nowhere and Alyson was not dressed for the change in temperature. Liam was still at the bar when they entered. He turned as the door swung open and Simon said, with a great play of politeness, 'After you.' Alyson thought, with a quick, anxious glance at her husband, Is this a repeat performance of last night? But his eyes were not glazed, they

were stone cold sober. It was a promise which, in her troubled state of mind, turned into a threat, a threat she must avert at all costs. 'Simon, I -' She looked at Liam, she looked at Simon. There was a message in her eyes, one which Simon picked up and interpreted in the way that she hoped he would. Tm going upstairs.' The quick, inevitable colour rose swiftly to meet his hairline. 'May I—may I come with you?' 'Why not?' she answered carelessly, and threw a smiling glance at her husband. Checkmate, her eyes said. They sat on the edge of the bed, talking about whatever came into their heads, of Simon's life at home with his parents, of how his ideas differed so much from theirs that one day before long he would have to find himself somewhere else to live. As they talked, he edged a little nearer, but Alyson did not move away. She felt no threat from this shy, sensitive, inexperienced young man. He said, putting a hand to his eye, 'Oh, dear. I think I've got something in it.' He blinked rapidly, then shook his head. 'No good, still there.' Alyson, immediately concerned, stood up and bent over him. 'Can I look? Maybe I can see what it is.' She pulled up his eyelid, saw the eyelash and said, 'Got a clean handkerchief?' Simon produced a folded one from his pocket. Alyson selected a corner and with great care pulled the eyelid up again. She was swept by a strange feeling of the past, of when she had nursed Derry and attended to his unending wants. The feeling of nausea was so strong that she felt a passing faintness. It was not as a result of touching Simon, nor of the trusting, childlike way he sat

there waiting for her to relieve him of his discomfort—but at the memories which crowded in of the misery of her married life with Liam's brother. This feeling, with the aid of the self-control which, at necessity, had become grafted on to her personality like the branch of a neighbouring, but alien tree, she soon conquered. The corner of the handkerchief captured the errant eyelash—and the door burst open. Alyson jerked away. The ready colour spread over Simon's cheeks like a scarlet flood. Alyson's face burned, too. By the look on her husband's face, as he stood, tall, commanding and icily angry in the doorway, she was able to map to the last centimetre the route his thoughts were following. But even she did not expect the biting fury with which he turned on Simon. 'Get out!' he rasped. 'Get out before I-—' Alyson gave Simon full marks for courage. At that moment she would not have dared to stand up to Liam. 'It's you who should get out!' Simon responded, scarlet now. 'You're pestering her again just like she told me you did.' He rose, boldly putting an arm round Alyson's shoulders. 'I'm staying with her until you've gone. You've no right to come bursting in -' 'No right? No right?' Liam said frigidly. 'Since when has a husband had no right to enter his wife's bedroom?' Simon's mouth came open. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped. Alyson, unable to bear the young man's disappointment, closed her eyes. 'Your—your wife?' Simon choked. 'Alyson,' her eyes fluttered open, 'how could you?' he whispered. 'You told me -'

'She was a widow,' Liam took him up sardonically. 'I told you, never believe a word a woman tells you. Now, will you kindly remove yourself from my wife's room?' Simon swallowed. 'How—how do I know you're speaking the truth?' he asked, summoning the last remaining fragment of courage. Liam made as if to get hold of him and throw him bodily from the room. Alyson rushed in, It's true, Simon. I'm sorry, terribly sorry. Please go.' Still Simon would not leave. He approached Alyson and she saw Liam stiffen. Her protective instinct for the weaker of the species came alive and she met Simon as he came towards her. Their hands touched and she saw his lip quiver. She reached up to kiss his cheek. 'Goodbye, Alyson,' Simon said. 'It's been good—meeting you, talking to you—knowing you.' With his head down, he turned away. He passed Liam, whose hand came out and gripped his shoulder in a purely man-to-man gesture. 'Take heart, Simon,' he said with deep sarcasm, 'we can't all of us marry the women of our dreams.' Simon gave him an agonised glance and walked out of their lives. Alyson, running her moist hands against her hips, was painfully aware of Liam's meaning. He was commiserating with Simon because he knew only too well what it felt like to renounce the woman of his dreams. His conscience had forced him to make Alyson his wife instead of Vanda Styles ... There was an agonising silence. Liam broke it at last, leaning against the closed door, his arms folded, his eyes glinting like splintered glass in the rays of the sun.

'So,' he eyed her narrowly, 'it was good, was it—Simon Frend "knowing you"?' 'Not in the way you mean,' she hit back. 'So—you're sorry, terribly sorry, you married me?' Her eyes blazed. 'I didn't say that.' 'You did. I just heard you.' 'I—I didn't mean it that way. I meant I -' 'Was sorry you couldn't have two men.' 'No!' 'No? I'm sorry I broke up such a tender love scene.' 'I was taking something from Simon's eye—an eyelash.' He gave a short, sardonic laugh. 'One of the oldest tricks in the book. If I hadn't made an untimely appearance, like the proverbial villain, you would have been in his arms a few moments later.' She sank on to the bed and shook her head wearily. 'You're so wrong. I don't want to be in anyone's arms.' 'No?' he asked unbelievingly. He moved to stand in front of her, extending his own arms. 'Not even mine?' She looked up at those arms, feeling the longing, rising like the sun at first light, to fling herself into them. Her eyes, devoid of expression, met his. 'Yours least of all,' she said.

Moments later she was alone. She shook her head from side to side, first this way, then that, unable to stay still, unable to stem the tears. If only, she thought, there were somewhere to lay her head, somewhere warm, welcoming—and overflowing with love.

CHAPTER SIX ALYSON returned home by train. She had asked the landlord to call a taxi. When she had tried to pay for her two nights' stay, Bill Mailings had said, 'All settled, Miss Hardy. Mr Langham's paid. Nothing for you to worry about.' Alyson, nonplussed and not a litde embarrassed, said, 'But he couldn't have! Are you sure?' 'As sure as I'm standing here.' The landlord laughed. 'But if you want to pay twice over, I'm quite willing!' There was a crunch of wheels on gravel. 'I think your taxi's here, miss.' Alyson managed a strained smile. 'Well, thank you very much. I've been—very comfortable.' Bill Mailings nodded. 'Nice to hear some praise for the service now and then. You get so many complaints, you wouldn't believe it. Come again, Miss Hardy, glad to see you any time.' He lifted the suitcase and carried it outside to the waiting taxi, raised his hand and went inside. As they passed through the village, it was necessary to overtake a car parked outside the village shop. Walking towards it was a familiar figure, so familiar it made Alyson's heart turn over. It was Liam and in his hands was a large box of chocolates. It did not take her many- guesses to realise for whom those chocolates were intended—for the 'woman of his dreams'—Vanda Styles. If only, Alyson thought dejectedly, Liam had offered to take her back with him. Even if he had not addressed a single word to her all the way, at least she would have been beside him.

A few moments later the taxi was overtaken by that same car. The shape of the head of the driver had her ^ wanting to hammer on the taxi window and cry out, 'That's my husband! Catch him up, tell him I want to go with him .. .' Soon Liam's car was a speck in the distance. Alyson arrived home in time for a late lunch. Ellen, the housekeeper, was none too pleased to see her at that moment. 'If you'd given me warning, Mrs Langham,' she said, 'I would have had a chance to prepare something special.' Alyson, although resenting the lack of welcome, smiled. 'Anything will do, Ellen. Soup, a roll, coffee, something light.' Ellen shook her head. 'That's no meal for a healthy young woman,' she muttered, disappearing into the domestic quarters. Alyson climbed the stairs, gritting her teeth. One of these days, she thought, I'll ask her why she doesn't like me. Ellen, despite her disapproval, brought the sparse meal upstairs. Alyson showed her gratitude. 'There was no need, Ellen, to have troubled yourself.' She gave her a winning smile. Ellen softened fractionally and the merest touch of colour tinged her cheeks. 'You've had a journey, madam. I thought you might be tired.' Kindness, Alyson thought, astonished, that's all it needed, just a little kindness! Had Ellen assumed that, on becoming Mrs Liam Langham, Alyson would take on airs, letting the whole world know—and Ellen in particular—that she was in charge now?

In charge? Alyson thought with some cynicism, tackling the meal with little appetite. There would be no one in charge of this house except one person—the owner, Liam Langham. She pushed the tray to one side and went into the room that was Liam's living-room. This, it seemed, was to be the only part of the apartment they would share. It was more intimate than the main living-room on the ground floor where he entertained visitors. This was more homely but nonetheless tastefully and expensively furnished. There was a built-in electric wall fire, a coffee table bearing wine glasses, soda syphon and a bottle of whisky. Floor-length curtains had been chosen to match the wallpaper,, a settee massed with cushions and an armchair, completed the furnishings. In one corner was a circular table and on it stood a telephone, and it was for this which Alyson made. It was imperative that she made a phone call. She hoped she was in time. When the call was answered, Alyson requested to speak to Mr Hallam Munro. 'Who's calling?' the telephonist inquired. 'A—a friend. Please tell him it's a friend.' 'I'm sorry, we must give Mr Munro a name. Personal calls are not allowed.' 'But I'm -' Who am I? she thought. Wife of the man in charge of the whole division, wife of Liam Langham himself? If so, the argument would go, why should she be attempting to speak to his deputy in secret? How else did rumours start? 'Please,' she pleaded, 'just put me

through. It's business—important business. I must contact Mr Munro.' There was a pause. 'Well, madam, it's against the rules, but—well, just this once.' Alyson sighed with relief. 'It's so kind of you. I'm really grateful.' 'That's all right.' The girl sounded pleased. 'I'll do my best to contact him for you.' There was a prolonged silence, then, 'I'm putting you through.' 'Munro here,' came across the line. 'Who is that speaking?' 'Hallam! I thought I'd never get to you. It's Alyson, Alyson Langham. I just wanted to warn you that Liam was furious when he heard you'd told rile about the cottage. I told him the truth,' she rushed on, 'that I'd forced you into telling me by pretending -' She took a breath. 'Hallam, he even threatened to have you dismissed for breach of confidence .. 'The matter has been discussed, Mrs Langham. I know all about it. I'm speaking from Mr Langham's office, Mrs Langham.' Alyson's heart began to pound. From Liam's office! No wonder he was being so formal. So Liam would know she had called, he might even have overheard what she had said. 'I'm sorry,' she said abjectly. 'I've probably got you into even more trouble -' 'Goodbye, Mrs Langham.' The phone went dead. She looked at the receiver in her hand as if it had come alive and was arguing with her. You shouldn't have done it, it was saying, you should have known

better. You should have known your husband better. He wouldn't waste any time. The receiver rested on its cradle. But I'm his wife, she thought in anguish. I had every right to know where his cottage was. Didn't I? But it wasn't part of the bargain, the bargain of our marriage. Hostess, companion on overseas journeys, a woman by his side to greet foreign visitors, entertain their wives. No mention of friend, partner, lover ... When the time approached for Liam's return from work, Alyson lost courage and took refuge in the garden. She made instinctively for the rock garden where he had made his business proposition—marriage without strings, without love. She had been sitting for some time on the bench seat, breathing deeply of the flower scents as if they were a magic potion to give her courage, when Ellen approached, making her way upwards among the rocks. To save her the trouble of climbing all the way, Alyson went down to meet her. 'Your husband is on the phone, madam,' Ellen said. 'He wishes to speak to you.' Entering the house, Ellen said, 'Will you please take the call in the entrance hall?' 'Alyson?' said Liam. 'I shall be working late tonight. Don't expect me home for dinner.' So it had begun—the phone call, the old, old excuse— working late, out to dinner, faithful secretary remaining at overworked executive's side—even through the night ... 'No,' the bitterness came out on spite of her efforts to prevent it, 'I won't expect you home. Forget you've even got a wife.' The receiver was rammed into place. It looked almost hurt, as if resenting the

harsh treatment. Damn the phone, she thought, damn its selfrighteous air. And Vanda Styles, and Liam Langham. The tears welled up and spilt over, but what was the use? It was obviously something to which she would have to get hardened. Evenings of loneliness, while her husband 'worked late', with his faithful secretary at his side, ready to do his slightest bidding, even if it meant—Alyson turned away, a hand to her eyes, and ran up the stairs to her rooms. When Ellen tapped on the door telling her that dinner was being served, Alyson had recovered sufficiently to go down to the dining-room as if nothing had happened. It was lonely dining in solitude, but it was a solitude to which she would have to become accustomed. In time, she told herself acidly, she might even grow to love it, cherish it, resenting any intrusion ... But she could not sustain the sarcasm. It was no defence against reality, the reality of being one in a room large enough to hold a dozen, the reality of being the only one when there should be at least two. Alyson went to bed early that night. In her agitated, uneasy frame of mind, television held no appeal. No book could draw her into its pages, no magazines, with their illusions of the glories of luxury living could make an impression on her wandering mind. There was luxury at her fingertips—the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in, built-in cupboards filled with the clothes Liam had bought her before they were married, mirrors everywhere to reflect back her image. It was with a feeling of defiance that she put on a simple cotton nightdress she had bought at a local chain store, rejecting the filmy gowns which Liam had insisted should be added to the garments he had purchased.

Looking back at her was a young, vulnerable, large- eyed girl, her face pale, her hair awry through pulling her clothes over her head. Why should she bother to comb it? No one would be seeing her to criticise its untidiness—or to ruffle it even more as a gesture of affection! A pain shot across her and she knew again the agony of rejection. She climbed into bed, into the large springy bed made with two in mind, and lay there, half reclining, half sitting, with the light on. But the memories came, even though she had not plunged herself into darkness. She closed her eyes, trying to ban them from her thoughts, but one image followed another in quick succession, like a film run at too fast a speed. Derry insisting time and again that she should get into his bed. So what, he had said, if he'd failed first time? There was always a second chance to prove himself, and a third, and a fourth ... Derry, paralysed in some ways, but not in others, humiliating her verbally, punishing her physically, maltreating her until she sobbed, soaking the pillow. Her hands spread over her face, pressing against her cheeks and her eyes, trying, trying to exorcise the terrible memories and the fear they still invoked, filling her with loathing and terror. She had not heard the door open, she did not know there was anyone in the room until two hands tore hers away from her face. There was no colour in her cheeks. She could feel how cold they had grown. In her eyes was Derry's face, in her mind his cruelty. 'Derry!' she gasped, then stopped in horror. His brother stood there, her brother-in-law, no, her husband! Her husband dressed in office clothes, but with his tie loosened, his eyes shadowed, his shoulders

just a little rounded with fatigue instead of their customary straightness. Maybe he had, after all, been working, maybe her fears about his spending the evening with Vanda had been unjustified? He held her wrists in a punishing grip—two brothers, she thought, with cruelty in their blood. 'Do you want him back so much?' 'Who?' she whispered, dazed. 'Who?' Liam frowned and dropped her hands. 'Derry. Who else?' She closed her eyes, biting her lip, clutching the bedclothes until her knuckles showed white. Perhaps, she thought, if I took a few deep breaths, they would help to calm me. It had some effect, enough to slow the hammering of her heart. 'What do you want?' The words came out hoarsely. 'What does any man want in his wife's bedroom?' Her eyes closed again. Oh God. she thought, not that, not now! But when she looked up she saw he was smiling. It was touched with cynicism, but it told her he was taunting her and had not meant the question seriously. The humourless smile left his face, leaving it hard and cold. 'May I put you right on one or two points?' He sat on the empty part of the large, luxurious bed and Alyson felt it give with his weight. 'You may once have been an employee of the company, but that employment ceased a long time ago, and with it your concern for what goes on there. You may be married to one of the top men, but that does not give you the right to telephone that man's deputy and warn him of possible unpleasantness to come—from none other than the top man whose deputy he is. In other words,' he flicked her a

glance, taking in her distraught appearance, 'keep your well-shaped but interfering nose out of the firm's business.' 'It wasn't the firm's business,' she ventured, risking arousing his wrath. 'It was private business—your business. And mine. I didn't want Hallam to have to take the blame for what was certainly not his fault.-' 'Sorry as I am to disappoint you,' he said sarcastically, lifting his legs and stretching full-length on the bed, cushioning his head on his hands against the spare pillows, 'he did get the blame. And what's more, he accepted it.' Alyson pulled in her lips and pressed them together. That was the only way she could stop them from trembling—at her husband's uncompromising attitude, and at his nearness which, in itself, constituted a threat to her peace of mind. 'I'm your wife,' she whispered. 'Doesn't that make any difference?' 'My wife?' He turned on her, moving his head against the pillow and gazing at her with mock surprise. 'Is that what you are? You could have fooled me. My parasite— fastening on me for my wealth and for the luxury of my home. My leech—sucking my blood or rather my bank account, for the valuable possessions and clothes with which it can provide you.' She held her breath to control the trembling that now threatened to shake her body. He had not finished with her. 'What the hell's that thing you're wearing? I'd call it a schoolgirl's nightmare. Even a schoolgirl wouldn't be seen dead in it.' His look became even more derisive. 'Doing your best to cool my ardour, aren't you?' His hand stretched out and rested on her bare arm but she shrank from his touch.

A flash of auger lit his eyes like distant lightning. 'Have no fear, I won't demand my conjugal rights.' He removed his hand and held it up for her inspection. 'Not a tremor, not the remotest sensation of desire has moved me. My body is completely unresponsive to you, the batteries of my passion are quite uncharged.' Alyson kept her face blank, sucked all expression from her eyes, gritted her teeth inside her mouth and looked up at him. Only the quickness of her breathing might have given her away to someone who was interested enough to note her reaction. Her husband was not. He lifted himself from the bed and wandered to the door. 'There was another reason for my coming to see you, other than to tell you to mind your own business in future where the firm's concerned.' Her gaze did not waver from his face. 'The day after tomorrow there's a reception and buffet meal at the George and Dragon.' it was one of the town's top hotels, 'for foreign guests of the company—buyers, executives and so on, from overseas. Since the products that interest them most are the ones produced by the section of the company with which I'm chiefly concerned, you, as my wife, will be required to accompany me to the reception.' Her eyes burned and, try as she might, she could not extinguish the twin fires. Her lips came open, the words forced themselves out. 'I have just been told, by one of the firm's top men, to mind my own business where that firm is concerned, to keep my interfering nose out of everything that concerns it. So, sorry, can't oblige.' The anger which had so far been obedient to her iron control spilt over, making her shake. Liam drew a short, sharp breath, took a few steps towards the bed— then checked himself. The nearer he approached, the more her body shook and the tighter she gritted her teeth.

'What's the matter,' he sneered, 'do you prefer me half tight and incapable as I was on our wedding night? You got away with it then, didn't you? If I claimed my rights now, I'd get them—by God, I'd get them!' He grasped her wrist and dragged her across the bed to fill the empty place. 'Please,' she moaned, 'oh, please—I'm sorry, I'm sorry I said what I did. I t-take everything back.' She had turned white, as though she was ill. She had become an importuning, terror-stricken creature. Her head throbbed, her eyes swam, and it was Derry's face she saw. 'I'll ddo whatever you want. Only—please leave me alone.' Moments passed and she found her hand was free. She returned to reality to look up into the narrow, mystified eyes of her husband. 'I'll go with you to the reception.' Her voice had returned to normal. 'Of course I won't let you down. That was part of the bargain, wasn't it? I would be your hostess, by your side whenever you needed me...' He returned to the door, switched off the light and went away.

The dining-room of the George and Dragon Hotel was large. It had been cleared for the reception. The false ceiling was illuminated by shaded lighting, throwing a muted golden glow on to the shining rustcoloured floor. It caught the glow and threw it in turn into the faces of the guests. The white material of Alyson's ankle-length dress caught the light, too, played with it and turned the silken fabric into a subtle flowing amber. Her chestnut-coloured hair developed golden flecks, her wide blue eyes became a soft, intriguing green. The dress was a perfection of impeccably cut simplicity—a perfection which only money, Liam's money, could buy. The gown buttoned from the waist to as

high as the wearer wished, to the hollows of her neck, if she so desired. Alyson allowed two buttons to remain unfastened. The pure gold necklace which Liam had given her as a wedding present looked well against the smooth paleness of her skin. Matching gold earrings adorned her ears and the bracelet which completed the set glinted each time she raised her right hand to shake the hand of a guest. It was impossible to tell whether Liam was pleased with her appearance. She was not sure that he had even noticed her. He gave her a drink, then, when the reception was well established, left her and wandered from group to group talking, laughing, becoming serious immediately anyone raised a business matter which was the concern of his particular division. Alyson hoped the lost feeling did not show in her face. 'You will be required,' Liam had said the evening he had proposed, 'to talk to the wives of the foreign guests while I talk business.' Bewildered, she looked around. Who were the wives of the guests and who were the wives of the other employees? 'How are you liking your new role?' Alyson turned to find Hallam beside her. 'Wife to Liam Langham, one of the firm's top executives—a man whom nearly everyone, including myself, had written off as a freedom loving bachelor for the rest of his life?' Alyson felt herself go pink with relief. She had found an ally, a friend in need, one on whom she could lean and who, she felt sure, would not let her down. 'Oh, Hallam, I'm so glad to see you! What should I be doing, who should I be talking to? Please will you tell me?'

Hallam looked around. 'I'll tell you whatever you want to know. But first -' He found the man he was looking for, lifted his hand to Liam Langham and indicated the girl beside him. It was a question—'May I?' There came a brief pause, followed by an equally brief nod. 'Good,' said Hallam, 'now I know I'm on the right side of the law, let's go. I should hate to be carpeted again for contravening the Langham regulations.' Alyson put her hand on Hallam's arm. 'I'm so sorry, Hallam, for getting you into trouble. And for phoning when -' His hand came down on hers. 'Forget it. If was, as you might say, a breakdown in communications. A complete misunderstanding brought about by my assumption that no husband in his right mind would want to keep a wife like you in ignorance of his hideaway. If you want my personal opinion, which you probably don't, I think Liam's crazy.' Alyson stole a look at her husband and saw with a shock that his eyes were on them. It was plain that he did not approve of what he saw. Alyson slipped her arm into Hallam's, smiled a tight defiant smile to herself and said, 'Lead the way.' At every introduction Hallam patiently explained that the girl at his side was the wife of the head of the division. No, she was not his wife, but Liam Langham's. Yes, they hadn't been married long. 'A few days, isn't it, Alyson?' Hallam would ask politely, over and over again. 'So you should be on your honeymoon?' The question was repeated many times,

Alyson would reply, shaking her head with a forced sadness, 'Work prevented it. In normal circumstances, we would have gone abroad, but ...' Always the reply ended there. 'Mad,' Hallam kept muttering, 'crazy. No honeymoon —with you as the bride! The man doesn't know when he's lucky. Here's me—wife walks off with someone else. There's him, walks off and leaves his bride hanging on the arm of another man. He deserves all he gets.' Hallam's arm slipped down to Alyson's waist. 'Who deserves all he gets?' The cool question came from behind them and they swung round. _ Hallam coloured to the roots of his hair—for a passing second Alyson was reminded clearly of Simon Frend. Did all men react in this way when confronted by Liam Langham? What kind of charisma, what strength of character did the man possess that brought about such embarrassment in those subordinate to him in years or status? But Hallam Munro was not Liam's deputy for nothing. He was no untried, shy young boy. 'You,' he said. 'Take this woman.' He held out Alyson's hand. 'She's yours, not mine.' He left them alone. Alyson felt she must fill the brittle silence. 'He introduced me to everyone. People kept thinking I was his wife.' Liam lifted the glass in his hand to his lips, but his speculative eyes did not leave her face. 'I—I think it upset him,' Alyson went on. 'His own wife's left him -' There was no response from her companion and her voice tailed off into silence. Liam looked thoughtfully at the contents of his glass, then tipped back his head and swallowed the last of the liquid. Then he turned, placing the glass on a passing tray.

'So,' his eyes narrowed as he looked her over, 'you think I should lay public claim to you, let everyone know without any trace of doubt that you're mine?' His eyebrows lifted in amusement at the colour he had brought to her cheeks. Then he lifted his shoulders carelessly. 'I've no objection to telling the whole world that you belong to me.' He took her fingers in a tight grip and said, 'Stay with me for the rest of the evening.' It was as well, she thought as she followed wherever he led, that he could not feel the hammering of her heart, otherwise he would have mocked that, too. She stood patiently beside him as he talked and talked again. Always it was of business, of invitations to discussions and of possible visits overseas. When the last of the guests had gone and Alyson, with Liam at the wheel, was being driven home, it was with a sense of profound relief that she realised the ordeal was over. While Liam garaged the car, Alyson let herself into the house, refusing Ellen's offer of a late night drink. In her bedroom she sank down, a hand to her head. " Her other hand fondled the gold necklace Liam had- given her, then moved down to worry at the buttons of her dress. 'Tired, when you've done no work?' The mocking voice came from the door and startled her. She looked up into Liam's sardonic eyes. With lazy strides he walked towards her, put out a hand and drew her up to face him. 'So you felt neglected this evening? You wanted to take your rightful place at my side?' Her body throbbed at his nearness—and at her vulnerability. If he decided now to break his promise and insist on his rights as her husband, she was as helpless as a new-born baby in comparison with his greater experience ... Holding her eyes, he unfastened one by one the buttons of her dress until it was open to the waist.

His arms went round her, drawing her to him. As his lips descended, fastening on to hers, a hand slid possessively through the opening to the warm, rounded softness beneath. Her first instinct was to struggle and pull away, but against the power that this man wielded over her both physically and mentally, she knew it would be useless. As if he knew of the conflict inside her, his hand caressed and stroked, his mouth sought the hollows of her neck, her throat and at last, her lips again. Her arms crept round his neck and she felt growing inside her a feeling she had never before experienced—that of wishing to yield completely to a man's, demands. At the back of her mind a voice Was screaming, Make him stop now, before he discovers how-innocent you are and starts the cruelty, the insults, the abuse. And the ill- treatment. But this was not the ghost of Derry caressing her to pulsating life, it was a flesh and blood man with desires that would not be denied. But it seemed that satisfaction of those desires was not what Liam Langham wanted. The kiss was over and she was put away from him. All it seemed he had wished to do was to demonstrate his power over her; that he could, whenever he liked, overcome her resistance and her fear of him, and get from her everything he took from any other woman who caught his passing attention. He looked at her intently as if trying to guess her feelings. It seemed as if the kiss had been an experiment, a testing of her—or, more likely, himself—to see if such intimate contact with her had any greater effect on his reflexes than the last time he had touched her. He went to the door, and without glancing back, went out. I could have told him, she thought miserably, the familiar sense of failure weighing down her body, that I'm no use to any man.

A car started up at the front of the house. She recognised it as Liam's. It drove away with a derisive roar. Where was he going? she thought, sinking to the bed and hugging her aching ribs. To Vanda, his secretary, to satisfy his manly desires in her experienced arms?

At dinner each evening Alyson and Liam came together, sharing the same table, eating the excellent food served by a dour but capable Ellen. The housekeeper seemed to like the mistress of the house a little better now than when she had first become Mrs Liam Langham. Alyson supposed that, in the eyes of the world, it had been a callous and calculating thing to do to pass along the family line from one brother to the other. If, they probably argued, she had loved one brother enough to marry him, badly incapacitated though he was, how could her affections have undergone such an overnight change as to allow her to transfer that 'love' so quickly to the other brother? There must be more to it, they probably said among themselves, and that must be that she was after nothing but Liam Langham's money. Liam slept in the suite of rooms next to hers—which, by right, were really his. His books still rested on shelves around the walls. His possessions still occupied some of the drawers and cupboards. His long-playing records still stood in racks waiting to be played on the hi-fi equipment which remained in the apartment. It was an unreal, unsatisfactory life Alyson was leading. When she had been Derry's wife, at least her days were filled with nursing him and attending to all his wants, fetching and carrying and pushing the wheelchair whenever he felt too lazy—or awkward—to manoeuvre it himself. Now there was nothing to occupy her mind. When she and Liam talked it was of business matters. Although it was a long time since she had worked in Liam's division of the

company, Alyson had not forgotten the technicalities, the jargon of the industry. It was one thing at least that they had in common, she told herself. It pleased her that, when he came home, he could talk shop to her to his heart's content and know that he would be understood. Whether he appreciated his ability to unburden himself to an interested and knowledgeable wife, she did not know, and he was unlikely to tell her. She could only take comfort from the fact that he did talk to her as if, where his work was concerned, she was his intellectual equal. If she could give him nothing else—as, in fact, seemed the case—she could give him release from the stresses and strains imposed on him by his executive status simply by listening to him. If only, she thought disconsolately, she could give him other ways of escaping— into her bed and into her arms ... As the days passed, she grew restless. The words of Humbert Collins' wife came back to her, words spoken the evening they had come as guests to the engagement party. Mary Collins had said, Tm sure you've no intention of mouldering away as a pampered housewife. I can see it in your face. You're far too intelligent for that.' 'She will not go back to work,' Liam had said later that evening. 'When Alyson becomes my wife that will be her job.' No, it would be useless discussing the matter with Liam. She thought at once of Hallam whose secretary she had been before she married Derry. If there were a vacancy in the firm, he would know. When she rang the headquarters of the division, she asked for Hallam's extension. 'He's busy, madam,' the telephonist said. I've been instructed——'

For the first time, Alyson used her position. 'It's Mrs Langham speaking, Mrs Liam Langham, so would you put me through, please?' There was a pause, then, 'Mrs Langham? I'm so sorry, I didn't realise—I'll put you through at once.' At least, Alyson thought with a rueful smile, I've got something out of being the top man's wife! Instant attention to my wants, plus a touch of deference thrown in! There was a click, then, 'Munro here.' 'Oh, Hallam, it's Alyson, Alyson Langham.' Even now it was strange to use his first name, having known him for so long as Mr Munro, and worked for him in a subordinate capacity. She supposed, deep down, she still regarded Liam as her superior, too ... 'Hi, Alyson,' Hallam said, sounding pleased, 'I've just got -' 'Hallam, please can you help me? Could you tell me —I mean, well, I wonder if there's -' She never thought it would be so difficult asking such a simple question. 'Hallam,' a deep breath, then she plunged on, 'I'm bored stiff staying at home all day. There's nothing for me to do, nowhere to go.' 'Not the coffee morning, ladies' association type, eh?' Hallam asked, amused. 'Never was,' Alyson confided. 'I feel absolutely useless, sitting around doing nothing. I wondered if—well, if you knew of any vacancy in the office, you know, something secretarial or clerical I could do. Hallam, I must do something, or I'll go mad.' 'Er—put me right if I'm wrong,' said Hallam, 'but didn't I once hear your husband say he wouldn't let you go back to work once you were married? That being his wife would be your job?'

'I know, Hallam, but honestly, I-—' She gave a deep sigh. How could she get it over to a busy, working man how terrible it felt to be unwanted, both in the home and out of it? 'You're a bored, frustrated wife, is that it? And you want out?' 'Oh, Hallam, frustrated's right. I -' 'Why don't you ask the boss?' said Hallam. 'Why ask me?' 'Only because -' Because I'm frightened of him, she thought. 'Because he'd say no, I know he would. He wouldn't be honest with me, because he thinks my place is in the home. Even if there were a vacancy, he wouldn't tell me.' There was a pause, a rustling noise then a question which nearly made her drop the receiver. 'My darling wife—frustrated? I'll come home at once. Never let it be said that I left any woman unsatisfied, least of all my wife.' 'Liam!' she cried. She breathed heavily two or three times, then dropped the receiver into place. 'I've just got -' Hallam had said. If only she had let him finish the sentence. 'Liam here,' he would probably have said. So Liam must have been there all the time, listening to their conversation. 'He's busy,' the telephonist had said. If only she had told Mrs Liam Langham that it was Mr Liam Langham who was keeping Mr Munro 'busy'. The call would never have been put through to him. She would have rung off at once. Alyson spent the rest of the day dreading her husband's return. It was about an hour before dinner that Ellen called her to the phone.

'Mrs Langham?' The husky voice rubbed against Alyson's ear.'This is Vanda Styles, Mr Langham's secretary. Mr Langham wishes me to tell you that he won't be in for dinner. He'll be delayed until quite late at the office.' Alyson could almost feel the smug smile on the girl's face. She resented the fact that he had seen fit to contact her through his secretary, instead of speaking to her himself. 'I see,' Alyson said, exercising her customary control. 'Is he—is my husband there?' A pause, a hand over the mouthpiece, then, 'I'm sorry, but he's busy, Mrs Langham.' Resisting the urge to ram the receiver home, Alyson said again, in a toneless voice, 'I see. Thank you for calling.' So Liam had not wanted to speak to her! Ellen appeared from the domestic quarters. 'Will Mr Langham not be home for dinner, Mrs Langham?' Alyson shook her head. 'I guessed that would be the case,' Ellen said. 'I suppose he'll go for a snack with Miss Styles. I've known him do that in the past when he's worked late.' Alyson nodded, saying evenly, 'That would be the sensible thing to do. If you go too long without food, you can't think clearly, can you?' 'No, indeed you can't, madam,' Ellen said, and went away. Alyson dined alone, with little appetite. She ate a portion of each course that was put in front of her, but she had to force herself to do so. Later, she wandered round the house, in and out of Liam's main lounge downstairs, and upstairs, around his apartment next to her own. His rooms were less well furnished, but pleasant enough. If theirs had been a true marriage, Alyson thought achingly, these rooms would

have made a perfect nursery and playroom area ... The idea so tormented her, she removed herself from the rooms and took refuge in her own. It grew late and she tried watching television : to take her mind off the thoughts which had begun to plague her. ( Where did Vanda Styles live? And was that where Liam had gone? Did his secretary make him comfortable, feed him, love him? Was she 'magnificent' as Derry had described Meryl? Could she provoke a man's desires, and having provoked, satisfy beyond all expectations? A bath did not soothe away her anxieties. She pulled on a robe over the nightdress Liam had jeered at and sat at the dressing-table combing her hair. It had a natural lift and it sprang into soft flattering curls from a slightly off-centre parting to nestle against her temples and cover her small ears. Try though she might, she could not see that there was any beauty in her face. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, an uncertain curve to her lips, maybe a touch of impudence in her chin, left over from days gone by when childhood had brought happiness and a motherloving care. The door opened and Liam leant in an exaggerated pose against the door frame. Surely he had not been drinking again? No, there was in his manner an indolence brought about, not by alcohol, but by a prickle of sarcasm, spiced with a sprinkle of malice. 'My frustrated wife,' he drawled, 'my bored, frustrated wife.' He came in, closing the door. Alyson's heart began to throb. 'So she wants a job, does she?' He crossed to the bed and sat on it. 'She's tired of playing a member of the great, idle rich and wants to line herself up on the side of the workers.' He leant back against the pillows, folding his arms. 'If she got a jobin my department, know what she'd do? In no time at all, she'd be leading a revolt against the top men, heading a delegation for more pay, better conditions—a more comfortable seat,

not on the board, but on the boss's knee!' He laughed loudly and mockingly. Alyson swung away from him to face her own reflection. Bad though that was, it was preferable to looking at her husband's taunting face. He got up, pushed his hands into his pockets and wandered across to stand beside her, his reflection looking down at hers. 'If she came to work in my sphere, she might ejven start a sit-in or a strike as a protest against abuse and ill- treatment by the boss.' His eyes narrowed, his manner changed. It was like a window breaking free of the catch and blowing open in a gale. 'Why did you phone Munro?' he said curtly. 'Why didn't you phone me?' He jerked her up and swung her round. He had her under the armpits and she struggled to free herself, but he would not let her go. 'I want an answer,' he said. Her brilliant blue eyes challenged his, 'Why not you? Because I knew Hallam would do his best for me. I knew he'd understand how I felt.' Slowly he released her. 'And I wouldn't?' 'No. You've already said, like a Victorian husband, that no wife of yours would go out to work.' 'Then how the hell did you figure out that either as your husband or your boss, I'd allow you to fill a vacancy even if Munro had told you there was one?' She was silent, her body rigid. For a few moments his attention was distracted. 'My God,' he commented derisively, 'are you wearing that revolting thing again?' indicating her nightdress. 'You really do your damnedest to turn me on, don't you?' His drawling, sarcastic tones brought the colour

surging to her cheeks. He west slack, his eyes became personal, looking her over. 'So you must do something or you'll go mad? Have I got the words right?' 'You did listen in on our conversation!' 'My darling dimwit of a wife,' there was no teasing or tenderness in the words, 'how could I avoid it? I was standing beside Hallam when the phone rang. I heard every word you said.' He went to the door and turned. 'As it happens,' he said, 'there is a vacancy coming up—next week, in fact. Munro's secretary, Pat, is engaged to a man in the army. He's being moved abroad at short notice, so they're bringing the wedding forward so that she can go with him.' Alyson came alive. 'You—you mean Hallam will need a new secretary? Which means I can start work again next week?' 'Hold on, my sweet.' Again the sarcasm, but she was too excited to care. 'There will have to be an interview.' 'An—an interview? But -' She ran her tongue over her lips. 'But I've been his secretary before. You know my work, so does he, so -?' 'So? It's been a long, long time since you worked for your living, hasn't it? You've lived on your husbands' —plural—money. You may have deteriorated,' his eyes flicked her up and down, 'work-wise, of course,' he smiled caustically, 'in the intervening time.' He pushed back his shoulders and said curtly, 'Attend at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Wait in my secretary's office. Goodnight.'

CHAPTER SEVEN ALYSON was as nervous as a school-leaver after her first job. Vanda Styles smiled a secret smile in the direction of her electric typewriter. Alyson, watching her type, flexed her fingers which seemed obstinately stiff and unresponsive. She wished she had the courage to ask Vanda to let her exercise those fingers on that typewriter for a few minutes, just to reassure herself that she had not forgotten how to type. Had she done so, it would have been playing into Liam's secretary's hands. It would have been all round the office that Liam Langham's bride had not only been forced to beg her husband for a job and face the humiliation of an interview, but she had been so unsure of herself she had pleaded with his secretary to borrow her typewriter in order to practise her typing. Vanda, red hair coiled into an attractive swathe at the nape of her neck, flicked a switch to answer the buzzer. 'Send my wife in,' Alyson heard her husband's curt tones instruct. He was alone, and for that she felt thankful. 'Sit down.' He looked her over. She had shed her coat and knew that even Liam's critical eye could not fault the way she was dressed. She wore a lightweight skirt and waistcoat to match, over a white, figure-flattering ribbed top. Round her neck was a double row of cultured pearls—a present from him, of course. Alyson had bought the outfit when Liam had accompanied her just after they had become engaged, so he could hardly disapprove of clothes he himself had urged her to buy. The gleam in his eyes told her that he certainly did not disapprove—either of the clothes, or the figure beneath them. Was he visualising the shape as he had seen it the first night they had spent together? Or had that night meant so

little to him—after all, he had been half drunk and deeply fatigued— that he had already forgotten it? Did the non-consummation of their marriage annoy him to the extent that it had annoyed his brother? She had to admit that the fact that nothing had happened between them did not seem to disturb him at all. Nevertheless, the lazy, inscrutable look in his eyes unsettled her, increasing her nervousness. His eyes moved from her to the sheet of paper which rested on his blotter, 'I should be glad if you would answer a few questions.' His voice was as impersonal as that of a stranger. 'You may remember that when you were an employee here before, you were neither relative nor kinswoman of mine. It was your stepsister to whom my brother was engaged, not you. Therefore, I -' His gold pen tapped absently on the blotter. 'I—er—took very little notice of you. You were Hallam Munro's secretary, not mine.' Alyson nodded, and her clasped hands moved one against the other. 'As a consequence, I know very little about your abilities, about the initiative you displayed in situations in which it was called for, or about your general level of intelligence.' 'How can you say that,' she burst out, 'when I've lived in your house -' His brows lifted and he said quietly, 'My house was not my—or your—place of work.' 'But surely you know me well enough now to assess whether or not I'm intelligent. After all, we are married— 'My dear girl,' he was, she was sure, deliberately patronising, 'since when has intelligence been one of a woman's prime assets in attracting a mate? To a man, there are,' his eyes made a lightning tour of her body, finally coming to rest on her swelling breasts, 'other more—shall we say—dominantly feminine inducements which

greatly override the attractions of the contents of a woman's brain. And,' he slipped the cover on to his pen, only to remove it again, 'I should be glad if you would forget, in the present situation, and within these walls, that we are husband and wife. Not difficult, of course,' with a quick, malicious look at her. If a marriage certificate in my possession didn't tell me that we were, I wouldn't believe it myself. However,' he sat back and with the action, put all personalities aside, 'this is wasting time, and my time costs money.' He put pen to paper and began to write. 'I know your date of birth, I know your marital status. What I don't know is your past working history.' Alyson frowned, feeling her courage slip a notch at each and every question. 'Is it really necessary for you to know? After all -' 'Look,' he placed his pen on the desk, 'shall I tell you something? It is not part of my normal duties to interview would-be secretaries. You're extremely honoured— and I say that with all due modesty— that I should be asking you these questions and not, as is usual in these cases, a member of the personnel department. You are applying for employment as a member of the office staff, not the executive, managerial section, and even then it wouldn't be my job to interview you. You will answer these questions because I won't have that word nepotism levelled at me—although it might be, anyway. That is, that I exercised favouritism in appointing a relative of mine to a highlyplaced secretarial post.' He picked up his pen. 'Will you please tell me the names of the firms for whom you have worked in the past, before coming here a few years ago as Hallam Munro's secretary.' Falteringly, partly because it was difficult to remember, and partly because she felt she was on trial and her husband the judge—and

executioner—she gave him the names of the companies and her positions within them. ; Liam nodded. 'Now I shall have to give you a speed test.' Her colour rose. 'You—you mean typing?' He nodded. 'And shorthand.' 'But, Liam,' she shook her head as if annoyed with herself for taking liberties, 'I mean, Mr -' 'Oh, for God's sake, make it Liam.' 'It's years since I -' 'That,' he said long-sufferingly, 'is the point.' He moved a switch and spoke into the intercom. 'Vanda, bring a pencil and pad for Mrs Langham, will you?' Moments later, Vanda came into the room, confidence in every step. She smiled at Liam, who smiled back and motioned her to give his wife the pad and pencil. 'Thanks, Vanda.' With another smile, honey-sweet this time, Vanda left them. 'I'll dictate a letter which you can take down in shorthand,' Liam said, 'then you can transcribe it on to that electric typewriter over there.' Across the room on a desk, an electric typewriter stood dauntingly. 'But I've never used an electric -' 'Ready?' Liam asked. 'Right.' The letter which he dictated was full of technical terms. He spoke fast and fluendy, showing no mercy, making no allowances for the fact that the time that had elapsed since she had last taken down shorthand was considerable. Once or twice she had to ask him to

slow down. This he did reluctantly, and only temporarily. By the time he had finished, she was hot and flustered and her hand was stiff with tension. Liam indicated the typewriter and she seated herself at the desk. For long moments she stared at the shorthand. It was impossible to make out a single outline. Her vision was blurred and her hands shaking. She panicked. Suppose she could not transcribe a word of it? She put her head on her hand. Her lips were dry, her throat hoarse. She whispered, 'Liam, I—-' and shook her head. She heard footsteps and an arm came to rest across her shoulders. 'Calm down,' he murmured, his other hand stroking her hair, 'calm down. Take it easy.' He moved away. The touch of him, the unexpected tenderness after his merciless dictation, almost succeeded in breaking down her barriers. She wanted to turn to him, lift her arms and be caught up into him. Selfcontrol, never far away, came as usual to her aid. She would do her best, she thought, slipping the paper into the typewriter, she could only do her best. There was that other obstacle—the electric typewriter. An entirely different touch was needed to operate it, and her fingers, wanting to pound as with a non-electric typewriter, settled much too heavily on the keys. She almost gave up, but something inside was challenging her. Was it the thought of that smug, smiling girl sitting in the office next to Liam's? After a few minutes, her fingers adjusted Sufficiently to the typewriter to produce a reasonable piece of work. If only she had been able to read all her shorthand outlines. Leave spaces where you can't transcribe!—that had been the advice she had been given in the

past. By the time she had finished the piece of dictation there were a frightening number of empty spaces. Alyson removed the paper and carried it across to Liam. He took it, looked it over, looked up at her. 'Hopeless, isn't it?' 'I'm sorry,' she managed. 'I'm sorry for wasting your time. I'm useless. I'm a failure—in every way it's possible to be a failure.' She picked up her handbag and went to the door. 'I seem,' said Liam, standing at his desk, 'to have heard those words before.' He scratched his head and shot her a quizzical look. 'Damned if I can think where.' The smile came and went and her heart hammered. For a moment, a precious, fleeting moment, he was her husband. The day you proposed to me, she could have told him—as if he didn't know! 'Goodbye,' she said. 'Wait. I haven't told you to go.' His voice had become curt. He was the man in charge again. 'Gome with me.' He crossed the room and opened the communicating door between his room and Hallam Munro's. Hallam looked up. 'Can you spare a moment?' Liam asked, indicating to Alyson that she should follow him. 'A request from the boss is a royal command,' Hallam replied, smiling at Alyson. 'Well, did you make it, Mrs Langham?' The formality was intended as a touch of lightness. Alyson shook her head and Hallam frowned. 'Look, Hallam,' Liam motioned to Alyson that she should sit down, while he perched on the corner of Hallam's desk, 'are you a patient

man? No, don't answer that. I know you are. Too darned patient, otherwise your wife wouldn't have run off and left you.' Hallam looked uncomfortable, finding the contents of his desk of immense interest. 'Tell me something, man. Do you remember the days when Alyson Hardy was your secretary?' 'Clearly.' 'As that secretary, how did she rate?' 'First class.' 'Efficient?' 'Dauntingly so.' 'Shorthand and typing performance?' 'Couldn't have been better.' 'Do you consider that marriage could rot a woman's intellect beyond resuscitation?' A pause, then, with a swift glance at the girl they were discussing, Hallam said, 'This particular applicant's intellect is so good it could recover from anything.' 'Even the retarding, repressive effect of waiting hand and foot,' with a meaningful glance at Alyson, 'night and day, on a demanding invalid?' 'Even that.' Liam said, 'Alyson Langham, you're in. But by God, if you. let me down ...' He shot a narrow glance at his wife and threw down on

Hallam's desk the test she had completed so inexpertly. 'You see what you're up against.' Hallam looked at the test piece. 'Nerves,' he said, 'and lack of practice. They're no obstacle.' He smiled at Alyson. 'Pleased?' She looked from one man to the other, her eyes shining. 'Delighted.' She drew a light breath and whispered, 'Thanks, Liam.' He nodded. 'And Hallam. It'll be great to feel needed again.' She went to the door, too happy to take note of her husband's frown. If she had said something to upset him, well—she gave' a mental shrug. 'Hey!' Hallam called her back. 'When does she start, Liam?' 'She'd better come in tomorrow.' By the tone of his voice, his mood had taken a turn for the worse. 'Before Pat goes Alyson had better pick up the whys and wherefores from her. But,' to Alyson, 'I can't get you on the payroll until Monday. Which means that, until then, you'll be working for nothing.' Alyson shrugged, too pleased to care. 'I'm not exactly in need of financial help, am I? Until then, I've got a husband to support me. After all,' she gazed at Liam steadily, 'that's why I married him, wasn't it?'

Alyson spent a lonely evening in her apartment. Liam was in the main lounge downstairs. The exhilaration she had felt earlier that day on being told she could have her old job back still lingered. She wanted to share it with someone, and who better than her husband? That outlet for her happiness was denied her, so what was the use of sighing? She knew

the terms on which Liam Langham had married her, had accepted! them gladly at the time. How else could she have stayed near to the man she loved? She sighed again and decided to prepare for bed. There was nothing on the television which she wanted to watch and no book enticed her to lose herself in its pages. Tomorrow would see the start of a new life for her, a life of usefulness and interest which had been out of her reach during the whole of her marriage to Derry and which, if not for an unforeseen happening, and a mind change on the part of her husband, might still have been unattainable. She pulled her sweater over her head, put it on a chair —and swung round as the bedroom door opened. Liam walked in, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His tie had gone, his shirt was open at the neck. 'I've come in at the right time, haven't I?' he said, with a lazy smile. Alyson clasped herself, keeping as much from his interested gaze as two slender arms were capable of hiding, which was little enough. 'Carry on stripping,' he said. 'Tease me, entice me. That's what a wife is supposed to do, isn't it? You should know. You've had enough practice in the past with Derry.' He lifted himself from the door and walked a little closer. 'He told me some tales about you, my pet. So there's no need to play the blushing innocent with me.' 'Please go away.' He gave one shake of the head. 'Oh no. I'm tired of my own company. I've come for some—entertainment.'

Fear laid its cold hand on her mind. Her skin prickled, her eyes widened. 'When you asked me to marry you, you said you'd—you'd leave me alone. You wouldn't expect anything from me.' He sank on to the bed. 'And have I, as you put it, "asked anything of you"?' 'No,' she whispered, 'but -' 'Entertainment,' he said, lifting up his feet and stretching out, hands behind his head, 'can take many forms. I want to see—more of you. Tell me, is there a law which prohibits a man from seeing his wife as she was born?' Unable to speak, she shook her head. 'So carry on, my love.' The endearment sounded hollow and mocking. With trembling hands she removed her slip. There was little else left to cover her. He lifted himself on to his elbow. 'Take off the rest.' 'No.' He made as if to get off the bed and go to her. 'Do as I say.' She retreated, walking backwards. 'No!' It was a cry of anguish. He lay back again, smiling. 'Eighteen months of passionate marriage to my brother and you're acting the blushing, shrinking virgin! My word, you're a good actress. What are you doing, whetting my appetite so that I break my vow of abstinence towards you?' Frantically she shook her head, but he smiled. 'Come here,' he said softly. 'Come here, my little minx.' His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard. 'Because if you don't, I'll come and get you. And you wouldn't like that, would you? As a twice-married woman, you'd

know what that would mean, and that would be breaking our bargain, wouldn't it?' Derry, she thought, Derry all over again! Why didn't I see it? Why did I let myself be blinded by love and be trapped a second time? She moved to stand beside the bed, but on the opposite side from where he lay. 'Tell me something,' he said. 'When you look at me,' he sought her eyes and gazed narrowly into them, 'do you see my brother?' Had he guessed her thoughts? She shook her head. 'Only when I close my eyes. Only in my—' "nightmares", she had been going to say, 'dreams,' she said. Before she knew what he was about, his arm had come out and he had pulled her down on to the bed. 'No,' she screamed, 'no!' But he had rolled on to his front and his hands were at work, his lips eager to arouse, seeking hollows and warm,, vulnerable places. 'That hair,' he whispered, tangling his fingers in its unruliness, 'the colour of it! That maddening, impudent chin, those blue, wide-open eyes, those come-and-catch- me lips! Derry was right.' What had Derry said about her, she wondered, what lies had he told? 'One day,' Liam muttered, 'I'll make you mine, I won't be able to help myself. You're such a challenge. I must have been crazy to agree to such a bargain. If I weren't such an honourable man, I'd make you forget Derry. I'd banish him from your mind until not a vestige of his memory was left inside you.' His lips came down and savoured hers, searching, exploring, moving her to her depths until she found herself slowly, slowly yielding.

If this was love, she thought hazily, if this was how the man she loved made love, she wanted it, more and more ... But love without his love? Listen to what's he's saying, she told herself feverishly. If he took me, it would be in revenge, in a selfish effort to exorcise all memory of Derry, the man to whom he thinks I belonged, really belonged. And he'd find out the truth—that I haven't been touched, that I'm ignorant, immature, useless to a man with his womanknowledge and his sophisticated desires. 'Honour be damned,' he said thickly, 'why should I act the gentleman? You're my wife—' He sought behind her back for the fastening which would give him access to the enticing, vulnerable parts of her. She moved violently to stop him from succeeding, trying to find something, anything to say to prevent him from discovering the truth about her. She couldn't stand his contempt, the humiliation which she knew by experience would follow. Wasn't he, after all, Derry's brother? 'What do you want?' she choked. 'Payment for the job you so magnanimously gave me this afternoon? Payment for overlooking my errors, for being so charitable and benevolent? Because if so,' she spat out, 'you can keep your job! If you'd warned me you wanted paying in kind, I'd have thrown the job back in your face.' He pulled away from her and lay for a few seconds breathing heavily, then he wrenched himself off the bed. His eyes blazed as he looked down at her, his fingers feeling for the unfastened buttons of his shirt. 'You know what you are?' he ground out. 'Hard-bitten, grasping, selfseeking ... So the tales my brother told me about you were true, I'm beginning to feel sorry for Derry having you for his wife for the last eighteen months of his life!'

Alyson cried out at the injustice and the pain, putting her wrist to her mouth to cover its trembling. She turned on to her face. 'It's not true,' she sobbed into the pillow, 'it's simply not true!' But she was talking to herself.

Alyson did not see Liam before she left for work that day. She had hoped he might offer her a lift, but he left a message with Ellen saying that he had had to leave early. Since she could not face the bus queues, she called a taxi. It put her down at the gates of the industrial estate, a complex of red brick buildings which made up the division of which Liam was the head. The gate-keeper approached, asking her business. Liam had not warned her of this. 'I'm—I'm Mrs Langham,' she said, 'Mrs Liam Langham. I've—I've come to work here —temporarily—to help my husband out.' 'Ah yes,' said the man, nodding. 'Mr Langham mentioned to me that you'd be coming.' He held the gate wide for her to pass through and she thanked him. In the office, Pat, Hallam Munro's secretary, was expecting her. A tall, slim girl with a swinging walk, she welcomed Alyson with a happy smile. Alyson told herself, She has every reason to be happy. Isn't she soon to be married to a man who she knows loves her? It did not take Alyson long to learn the new techniques of office practice, to understand the filing system and sort through letters, deciding which of them needed Hallam's attention and which needed to be passed on to other members of staff.

'Know what?' Pat said. 'I think I could leave right now and no one would miss me! You must have been good at your job the last time this office was yours.' 'She was,' said Hallam, at the door. 'One of the best secretaries Fve ever had—present company excepted, of course!' They laughed and he returned to his room, asking Pat to come in as soon as she was ready. 'I'll go in now,' said Pat, picking up her pad and pencil, 'and leave you in charge here. If the phone goes, you know what to do, don't you? If it's for Mr Munro, put it through to him, or if it's a minor query I can answer, just put your head round the door. Mr .Munro won't mind. He never does. He's an angel to work for. Can't understand why his wife walked out on him!' Alyson started on a pile of filing Pat had left for her to do. It took some time deciding which folders the assorted letters and documents belonged to, but she became absorbed in the work. There was a curiously elated feeling inside her when she had finished and a sense of achievement she had not experienced for years. She was. working for her living again, her brain was creaking into action, shaking off the rust and applying itself to a form of mental activity which, however simple it might seem to others, required thought and intelligence. The telephone rang. A feeling like an electric shock stunned her nervous system into action and she dived for the receiver if only to quieten it. 'Pat?' came a deep, familiar voice. 'I'd like you to look up something in Mr Munro's files.' Alyson, her hands growing moist and her lips becoming conversely dry, said, 'It's—it's me, Alyson.'

There was a pause, then, softly, 'Well, well, what do you know? I ring my deputy's secretary and what do I find? My woman on the other end of the line!' She knew he was smiling at her expense and heard the sarcasm, but that did not stop the hammering of her heart. 'The lady who opened her arms—and her bed—to me with such eagerness last night.' 'Is there—is there anything I can do to help?' Alyson asked haltingly. 'You could have done—last night.' 'Please will you be serious?' His laughter was low and toached with mockery as he heard her pleading voice. 'Pat's taking dictation,' Alyson told him, 'but maybe I can help—if you'll tell me which file you're talking about?' 'The efficient secretary back in harness already! When Pat told Hallam she was leaving, he nearly had a nervous breakdown. Then you came along and wasn't he pleased!' Sarcasm again, Alyson thought. 'He's a lucky man to have such a good replacement secretary—almost as lucky as I am in having Vanda.' Alyson pressed her lips together and was silent. 'By the way,' Liam went on, 'I managed to get you on the payroll without too many questions being asked. But it's a temporary appointment.' 'Temporary? But why? I wanted it to be permanent.' 'Sorry, it just wasn't on. I never intended it to be permanent. It's just a whim on your part. All right, so you're bored at home at the moment, but after a few weeks in the job you'll be wishing you'd never taken it on again. Nine to five every day of the week—black marks from the boss if you're late!'

'But, Liam,' she was near to tears, 'I swear I won't get tired of it. You don't know how good it is to be free again, to mix with other people, to make friends -' 'You're lonely, are you?' The voice was silky 'soft. 'You're friendless? You haven't got a husband you can talk to, of course, with whom you can share your troubles —and your pleasures?' Alyson was silent again. She could not have spoken if she had tried. 'And another thing,' he went on. 'It's simply not right for a division head like myself to have his wife on the permanent staff. Questions would be asked, and rightly. Incidentally, have you never heard the saying, "Never follow a man to his work"?' 'No,' thickly, 'but I have now.' There was a pause, then, 'Sorry if I've upset you, but these things had to be said. Now I'll tell you the file to look for. There's a particular letter I want you to read out to me.' He gave her the date and the name of the company. 'Run away and see if you can find it. I'll hang on for a few. minutes. If you're too long, I'll ring off and you'll have to call me back.' It took Alyson a few moments to locate the correct filing cabinet, pull out the drawer, run through the folders with her fingers and search through the letters the folder contained. 'I've found it,' she said, picking up the phone. 'Clever girl!' was the sardonic reply. 'One minute flat. I timed you.' She was still flushed with her success. 'Will you put up my salary?' 'Well, well,' softly, 'so who wants payment now?' A pause, then he said, in a businesslike tone, 'Read the letter out to me, will you?'

Alyson complied, he thanked her briefly and rang off. She did not see Liam again that evening. Vanda had called Pat's office, asked to speak-to Mrs Langham and passed her Mr Langham's message. He would be home late, he said. There was a business engagement he had to attend. And I know with whom, Alyson thought miserably, as she made her way home by public transport. Next day was Pat's last day at the office. There was a presentation of the wedding gifts bought with the money collected on her behalf, but Alyson did not attend. Instead, she took over Pat's office while she was away. On Monday, she told herself, this office would be hers, and she would be working full-time, in Pat's place, as Hallam's secretary. How much, she wondered, would she see of her husband during office hours? More, she calculated a little grimly, then she saw of him at home. That weekend he went off to his' cottage. He did not tell her. He didn't even leave a message with Ellen. It was not unusual, Ellen said, for Mr Langham to go off suddenly at any time without telling anyone. Alyson thought, swallowing her disappointment, he doesn't even care enough for me to tell me where he's going, let alone invite me to go with him ...

She saw him again on Sunday evening. She was crossing the hall from the dining-room when he came in the front door. He had a dark growth of beard as though he had not bothered to shave for the two days he had been away. His short-sleeved check shirt bore dust patches. His brown, belted pants were black at the knees.

He looked so unlike the man she had married, it was almost as if it were a stranger walking in. The rugged- ness of his appearance reminded her with startling clarity of the first night of their marriage. He had been on the verge of drunkenness then, but not now. He was coldly sober, but there was a rough, impersonal, careless look about him as he regarded her which made him seem capable of any transgression that presented itself in his path. If it were an obstacle, he would without doubt hurl it aside. If it were a woman, he would remove her or take her, whether with her connivance or against her will, and having done with her, pass on, leaving her crying in misery and disbelief at his callousness. Alyson gave a tentative smile. All she received in return was a cool nod and a critical scrutiny. Her tee- shirt was scattered with coloured geometrical patterns and, tucked into her jeans, followed faithfully the ins and outs of her figure. The faintest smile touched his lips. 'Going to the office like that tomorrow? Because if you are, you can be my secretary instead of Hallam's.' She coloured like a young girl and pushed the hair from her eyes, where now and then it obstructed her vision. It sprang back at once and he came across to her and pushed it away again. It was an intimate gesture that had her heart racing and crying out for more. In his rough-and-ready state, he looked barbarous and dangerous and distressingly attractive. He smiled down at her, his eyes glinting. 'What do you want? To feel what it's like to be kissed by a man with two days' growth of beard?' He reached out and swung her into his arms, holding her down until her hands gripped the tough muscles of his arms. Then his lips found their target, coming at her with a brutal force. The roughness of the

stubble against the smoothness of her skin was like a thousand pins being pressed in mercilessly. When he let her go he was still smiling. There was no doubt about it, he was pleased with himself for making her rub her injured face. 'Now you know,' he said. 'Where have you been, Liam?' she asked, her voice annoyingly timid. His mood changed at her attempted invasion into his privacy. 'Where do you think? To my cottage, to my haven of peace.' 'Did you find the freedom you love so much?' There was an unintended bitterness in her tone. 'What do you think?' His tone of voice told her that she was stupid to have asked. He left her watching him as he went up the stairs two at a time.'

CHAPTER EIGHT LIAM took Alyson to the office next morning. The stubble on his face had gone. His skin was smooth, revealing the square obstinacy of his chin. He told her he would take her to the office every morning. She could not argue with him and she didn't even try. The gate-keeper touched his cap to Liam and saluted Liam's passenger. Other people, employees of the company, lifted their hands, too, as Liam drove past them. Their eyes shifted, staring with curiosity, to the woman at Liam's side. He said, smiling through the windscreen, 'Either the rumour will go around that I bring my woman into work every morning, or that I love my wife so much I can't bear her out of my sight.' He gave her a sarcastic glance. 'Neither of which would be true, would it?' Alyson said sourly, 'You'd better let it be known with all possible speed that I'm an employee of the company, on the payroll legitimately and legally, temporary though my employment may be. That way, you won't be accused of either of the two terrible crimes you mentioned, burdened neither with your woman nor your wife.' 'Ah, but,' softly, 'I am burdened with a wife, aren't I?' Her lip quivered. 'When you took me on, you did so voluntarily and in full possession of your faculties. In other words, you knew what you were doing.' 'Yes, I knew what I was doing.' His voice was curiously toneless. 'Carrying out my late brother's dying wish.'

He parked the car in the parking place reserved for him. 'No one forced you to,' she said, feeling the need to press the subject to the bitter end. 'On the contrary, my conscience wouldn't have let me rest for the remainder of my days if, having made a solemn promise to a dying man, I had broken it' Alyson got out, said acidly, 'Thank you kindly, sir, for the lift,' and slammed the door. She walked towards the swing doors which led into the building in which the administration section was housed and Liam caught her up. 'Welcome back to your old place of work,' he said sarcastically. 'Don't spend the day filing your nails, will you? Mind you do some work. If you don't, the big, bad boss will put you across his knee—in the bedroom, of course.' Before she could retaliate, he had gone. It did not take Alyson long to return ta her former efficiency. She had already mastered the filing system, having learnt it with Pat's help before she had left. Towards the end of the first morning, Hallam wandered in. 'Strange to see you here again. It brings back memories.' His eyes were a mirror to his faraway thoughts and Alyson guessed it was of his wife that he was thinking. Life in those days had been happier for him—and for herself. Derry had been Meryl's fiance and Hallam a contented husband and father. When Mollie, his wife, had left him, she had taken their young daughter, too.

Hallam sat himself on Alyson's desk and looked down at her. 'Nice to have you back, if I may say so.' Alyson smiled her thanks. 'A lot of water,' he said absently, 'has flowed under many bridges in the intervening years.' The sun through the windows lightened even more the light brown tints in his hair. 'You're older, wiser—happier?' It was a question, earnestly asked. Alyson shrugged, compressed her lips and shook her head. She had known Hallam Munro long enough to trust him with the truth. He frowned. 'I thought as much. I had a feeling all was not well, having, as you might say, been a victim of -' he paused, 'marital misunderstandings.' The door opened and Liam stood with hisA hand resting on the handle. He looked from Hallam to Alyson and back to Hallam, His deputy coloured, rose and with the stiffness of embarrassment, returned slowly to his room. Alyson was taken back to the evening Liam had found Simon Frend in her room at the village inn. Simon, too, had blushed deeply and reacted similarly, if a little more emotionally, to Liam's quelling glance. So she was left to face her husband. She, too, felt the colour creep across her face. Why? she thought, annoyed with herself. I've done nothing wrong, nothing to feel guilty about. Liam came into the room throwing the door from him. He approached his wife, and she saw with a shock that his eyes were looking inward, as if on the edge of sleep-walking. 'Good God,' he said slowly, 'I thought for a moment it was Derry's ghost I was seeing. He was engaged to Meryl and he sat there,' he pointed at the desk, 'in exactly the same position, with the same look on his face.' Back came the awareness, the cynicism and the desire to wound. 'Another man fallen under your spell?'

How wrong could he get? Derry was never under her 'spell'. And Hallam? 'For once,' the sarcasm crept in despite herself, 'your judgment lets you down. Hallam is a man who's i|i love with his wife. Which is more than can be said of you.' The phone rang and automatically Alyson's hand reached out. 'Mr Langham?' She looked up into his face. It was twisted and hard. So her comment must have hit the target. 'Yes,' she told the caller, 'he's here. Would you like to speak to him?' She held out the receiver, naming the company who was calling. Liam's hand closed over hers so tightly she flinched and opened her mouth to protest, but her self- control was so strong, no sound came. Pain? she thought, as she tried to give her attention to the work she had been doing. She was used to it from the Langham family. It ran in the Langham blood, coursed with it through their demanding bodies. 'Langham here,' said Liam, and carried on the conversation with his back to his wife. When the discussion was over, he replaced the receiver and left the room. So the days passed. Every morning Liam took Alyson to work. Every morning Alyson took dictation from Hallam Munro, and every day their understanding of each other and their sympathy for each other's situations increased. At work, Liam never called her directly on the phone. It was always Vanda who conveyed any message, asking her for information or getting her to put Mr Langham's call through to Mr Munro. Alyson, longing to speak to Liam, but remembering his quotation of the saying that a woman should never follow a man to his work, repaid the compliment and did not ring him, either. If they passed in the

corridor, she would smile, a tentative, uncertain smile, and he would nod, treating her as a mere member of staff, his eyes preoccupied, his mind on more important matters. The pain which darted through her at such times, or when his secretary acted as the link between them, was like the twisting of an arm behind her back. She thought, If I were some women, if I were Vanda, I'd go up to him and make him notice me. I'd put my hands on his arms and force him to a standstill, make him talk, look at me with pleasure and go on his way smiling. One evening she dressed for dinner with extra care, wearing a long dress which, when they had bought her clothes together, Liam had especially admired. The dress was blue with narrow shoulder straps and a cleverly simple cut which crossed her body diagonally in flowing lines. It left her arms and shoulders bare, revealing to whatever eye was interested that her skin was smooth and white and eminently satisfying to touch and caress. Alyson remained in her room until Ellen came to tell her that dinner was served. Mr Langham, she said, had rung to say that he would be late. So, dressed to please a man who was not there to see, Alyson ate her dinner in solitude. It was after coffee and when she left the dining-room on her way across the hall that Liam came in. He was not alone. Vanda was with him. They were laughing at a joke^it seemed to have been Vanda's— and Liam called to Ellen to serve dinner for two. He had brought a guest with him. Alyson had lingered in the shadows, hoping to escape notice, but Ellen dr,ew attention to her. 'Mrs Langham has just finished her meal, Mr Langham. If you'll just give me time to clear the dishes and re-set the table . v.' She went about her business.

Liam's manner changed. 'Please accept my apologies for being late,' he said to his wife. The insincerity was too obvious to be missed. 'I did send a message.' He looked her over. 'Expecting someone?' Alyson's expression did not change. Nor did she reply. It was, she hoped, a significant silence. 'Good evening, Mrs Langham.' Vanda stood at Liam's side. To Alyson's tortured gaze, they looked so well together it was as though they were made for each other. Vanda had not changed from her office clothes. She had simply adapted the dress she was wearing by pulling down the front zip fastener until the cleft it revealed drew a man's eye—and his attention. While Alyson had been studying Vanda, Liam had been watching Alyson. 'Tell me the name of the man,' he taunted, 'for whom you've made yourself look so good.' Alyson was silent. Had she spoken, the fury and frustration that was building up inside her would have hurled itself upward and outward like lava thundering from a volcano. Liam left Vanda's side and came slowly towards his wife. 'Didn't we choose that dress together, you and I? I remember it particularly because of the colour. I thought how well it brought out the fantastic blueness of your eyes.' His gaze wandered. 'Not to mention the things it tells me about the rest of you.' Those 'fantastic' eyes blazed. He was making verbal love to one woman in front of another to whom, later in the evening, he would be making physical love. Alyson turned her back on him and swept up the stairs. She no longer cared what his secretary thought about their relationship. The woman no doubt knew about that already, having been told by the man

concerned that theirs was a marriage in name only and that, as far as he was concerned, its consummation would never take place. 'By the way, darling,' he called after her, 'Vanda's come here to work.' Alyson turned, her body rigid. 'I'm sure she has,' she replied acidly, and went on her way. Vanda's shriek of laughter followed her into her suite of rooms. Goaded by the girl's derisive laughter and by her husband's relentless mockery, Alyson jerked down the shoulder straps of the dress and stepped out of it. It was as if a fire bomb had been hurled at her head, exploding into flames and destroying all reason and control. With ,a strength which came from an accumulation through the years of frustration and unhappiness and of misery silently and uncomplainingly endured, she picked up the gown and ripped it to pieces. These she gathered into a pile, lifted them in her arms and ran along the corridor to Liam's bedroom. She opened her arms and let the pieces scatter aver the carpet. Then, breathing heavily, head held high, she returned to her rooms and sank hopelessly on to the bed. Revenge had not been sweet. All right—so she'd had her own back, but against whom? Against Derry, who could no longer be hurt? Against Liam for humiliating her in front of his girlfriend? She shook her head. It had been against life itself, a life which had deprived her of so much happiness and which, no matter how much she gave to others gave her nothing back in return.

Next morning, as she was getting out of bed, Liam walked in. He was fully dressed, which put her at once at a disadvantage. Lack of sleep had dulled her brain and her responses. In his hands were pieces of the dress she had destroyed.. The sight of them, so pathetic, so beyond repair, the colour which she—and he— had loved so dazzling and yet, with the pieces in such a useless, ragged state, so lifeless, brought home to her what she had done. Like a drunkard with a hangover she could not endure, she swayed and put her head in her hands. His eyes were brilliant with anger and he asked one question. 'Why?' She could not, did not, answer. He dropped the pieces to the floor and went out, slamming the door. He went off that morning without giving her a lift. He went early, even missing breakfast. Alyson cut the meal, too. In the circumstances, it was impossible to eat. As soon as Hallam saw her, he noticed the shadows under her eyes. He was loath to make her work, he said. She should go to bed, sleeping off whatever was wrong with her. Couldn't she tell him? Her lip quivered but was caught viciously between her teeth. She shook her head. It was late afternoon when Alyson took in the letters to be signed. As she stood at the front of Hallam's desk and with her usual care put the pile on his blotter, he looked up at her. There was compassion in his face. He put down his pen and came to her side, putting his arm round^her. 'We're two people with one problem,' he said. 'The deterioration of our marriages, though how any man married to you could .,. Never mind, the facts remain. You're jiot happy, I'm missing my wife.'

They were facing each other now. Alyson lifted her head. Is there no chance of a reconciliation?' He shook his head. 'I don't even know where she is.' 'You—you couldn't find someone else to take her place?' Again the slow shake of his head, 'No one else will do,' he whispered, with a sad smile. The poignancy of the statement, the fact that he could feel that way about a woman who had left him for someone else—yet her own husband, to whom she had stayed rigidly faithful, thought nothing of flaunting before her eyes the affair he was having with his secretary—was too much for her. She burst into tears. Hallam's arms came out and she went into them, seeking the only comfort that had been offered to her since her mother had died so many years before. Hallam's hand came up in an automatic gesture to stroke her hair as her forehead rested against his chest. The door opened and, unbelievably, Liam stood there. 'Hallam, I -' He stopped. Alyson, whose back had been to the door, pulled away from Hallam. She turned and her eyes, as she sought those of her husband, were wide with guilt and apprehension. Liam stood, hands in pockets, surveying them. 'Don't let me break up the tender love scene. I was about to ask you if you'd seen my wife, Hallam. No need to ask now. You've not only seen her, you've got her, haven't you?' Hallam flushed a deep, hurt red. 'I assure you, Liam, there's nothing -'

'I was going to tell my wife that I would be home late this evening. However, I can see for myself that my consideration in letting her know was unnecessary.' He flashed an acrimonious look at his deputy. 'With you to keep her company, it wouldn't matter if I stayed out all night.' The door swung shut behind him. Hallam turned away, shaking so much it was as though he was ill. He felt his way round to his seat and held his head. 'Can—can I get you anything, Hallam?' Alyson's voice was a whisper. 'Not a thing, thanks.' He looked up and he seemed to have turned into an old man. 'I'm sorry, Alyson, more sorry than I can say. I appear to have made matters infinitely worse for you.' Her lip quivered again and this time no teeth clamped down on it. The tears ran freely. 'Nothing, no one, could make matters worse between Liam and myself. With him, it's Vanda, Vanda all the time. Last night, he even brought her to the house ...' She ran from the room, gathered her belongings and picked up the internal telephone. 'Hallam? I'm going home. If anyone asks, tell them I'm ill, tell them anything ...' She heard a reply of sorts and left the office. That evening she walked, miles across the downs, watching the sea fade into the mists of night, hearing horse riders come galloping by, turning her eyes from lovers embracing in clearings between gorse bushes. The path, worn hard by thousands of pairs of feet, wound up the gentle climb of the hills and down again. At last, when it was cool enough to make her shiver, she turned and went back. The lovers had gone, the horse riders, too. The line of the sea had vanished as if no water was there. And her life was as empty as the world as darkness took over, banishing the last remnants of daylight.

When she climbed into bed, she knew she would not sleep. Her ears were alert for the sounds of Liam's return. At last, when she had made up. her mind that he would sleep in another's bed that night, she heard the sound of his car being driven into the garage. The light in his room was switched on. There were movements, cupboards being opened, the door of his bathroom slammed. Was he still angry about the scene he had witnessed between herself and Hallam? Surely his common sense had told him that there had been nothing in it. How could there be? Would a man in Hallam's position make love so blatantly, in his place of work, to his boss's wife? There were other noises to tell her that Liam's mood was black, like a cupboard door that wouldn't close, and books falling, or being thrown, to. the floor. She tried covering her, ears, but it was no use, she could not keep out her fears that way. When the door to her bedroom opened, she could not believe her eyes. It was, she knew, well beyond midnight, so what did Liam want? He closed the door behind him and she fumbled for the switch to her table lamp. The light coming on showed her that his mood was indeed one to be feared. He wore wine-coloured pyjama trousers and a karate-type robe which hung, edge to edge, scarcely hiding the mass of hair on his chest. As he moved towards her, the jacket came open and with an angry impatience he threw it off. At the side of the bed, he looked down at her and she was frightened by the expression in his eyes. 'Ask me,' he rasped, 'what I'm here for. Ask me what the hell I think I'm doing in your room at this time of night. No, don't bother, I'll tell you.' The tone of his voice was so strange, she faltered, 'You've—you've been drinking.' But she knew in her heart, that he had not. There was not a trace of alcohol on his breath.

He shook his head slowly, fists on his. hips. 'No, my darling wife, it needed no alcoholic liquor to make me feel this way—only the sight of my faithful wife in another man's arms. My chaste wife, my pure wife -' then the mockery went and he spoke through clenched teeth, 'secondhand—or should I say third-hand—woman, widow of my worldly brother, who knew all there was to know about the more sordid side of the facts of life, and no doubt during his eighteenmonth marriage to you taught you the lot.' She lifted herself from the pillow, supporting herself on an elbow. 'I'm surprised you're alone,' he went on with bitter sarcasm. 'I thought I'd have to join a queue.' With a lightning movement he pulled the bedclothes— that fragile barrier behind which she had been hiding —to the foot of the bed. 'What are you doing?' she cried. 'Don't touch me, don't lay a hand on me! You must keep your promise. You'd ask nothing of me, you said ...' He mustn't discover the truth, somehow she must stop him, say something, anything to force him to hold his hand ... She might have succeeded before, but this time he wasn't even listening. 'That nightdress, that terrible creation which no schoolgirl would be seen dead in.' His eyes narrowed. 'I'll treat it just as you treated that dress I bought you.' His hand went to her neck and fastened on the material. His grip was so strong he ripped the gown from top to bottom. He looked at what his action had revealed. 'So this is what Hallam Munro has been enjoying all this time.' 'No,' she shrieked, trying to grasp his arm, 'you're wrong, wrong!'

But her words made no impression. 'Why am I wasting time?' he rasped. 'What am I doing standing here, when -' . 'A second before he threw himself upon her she saw Derry in Liam— Derry as he used to look before his accident—tall, lithe, virile. In Liam's anger-twisted face was the terrible look she had seen so often on his brother's after the accident and when she was his wife. When he was about to abuse ... 'No!' she screamed as Liam began to make love to her. 'Please, please understand ...' But he was lost, lost in a mist of ferocious demand, of brutal kisses and pain-inflicting hands. 'My secondhand wife,' he murmured, 'widow of my brother ... And after my brother came Hallam Munro ... That I cannot, will not, forgive.' She fought him until she knew the time had come, when resistance was useless. Didn't she love him, hadn't she loved him for years? If she could tell him, plead with him, 'Be gentle, he gentle ...' Only submission and unresisting surrender would help her now, but at the moment her husband took possession of her; she could not prevent herself from crying out at the pain he was forcing- her to bear. All movement ceased. It was as though he had even stopped breathing. When at last he moved away from her, he lay as if stunned, an arm over his eyes as if he could not stand even the light from the bedside lamp. 'My God,' he whispered, -and she could hardly hear him, 'why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me go on?' Was he regretting it already? If he had known she had been wife only in name to Derry, would he, she wondered, .with a twist of anguish, have regarded himself as free of his brother's last request and bearing

no obligations whatsoever towards her? Would he have had the marriage annulled so that he could marry Vanda? 'I tried,' she said feverishly, 'I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen.' Now the tears began as the shock took hold. 'You're like your brother in every way,' she sobbed. 'You're brutal, you're unfeeling, you're barbaric and selfish.' He did not even try to defend himself. 'Aren't you going to abuse me, like he did? Aren't you going to call me— 'For God's sake,' he groaned, 'spare me something. Haven't I done enough?' 'Useless, he called me,' she choked, pressing her swelling lips, 'hopeless as a wife. I couldn't arouse a man however hard I tried. I couldn't help a man like Meryl could. I knew nothing, he said, nothing ...' Her tears filled the silence and Liam roused himself to sit on the side of the bed, head in hands. Into the long silence he said, 'So they were lies he told me about you, all lies.' She said nothing, nursing .her bruised body. He went on, 'To make him feel manly, normal... And I believed him, everything he said about you.' 'You needn't have married me after all, need you?' she said bitterly. 'No,' he -said quietly, his head against his hands, 'I needn't have married you.' At his lack of tenderness, at the absence of compassion, the slightest show of feeling, her sobs broke out again and she cried hopelessly against the pillow. He found his clothes and pulled them on. He looked down at her, at her tumbled hair, at the marks which were beginning to show all over her. Carefully he covered her with the bedclothes. 'If I said I'm sorry, I suppose that would do nothing to help?'

'Nothing,' she said, crying quietly, 'nothing will help now.' He went to the window, hands resting on the low sill, and stared out into the darkness for a long time. His face was bitter as he turned and came to stand beside the bed again. Alyson cowered under the bedclothes. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'I won't touch you again—not in that way. You're safe from me now. We'll forget there's such a thing as marital rights.' His gaze did not shift from her anxiety-wide eyes. His hand came out in a strangely compulsive way, and ran over her hair, smoothing it down. The unexpected show of gentleness had a devastating effect on her and try as she might, she could not control the quiver of her lip nor the filling of her eyes. 'It's all right,' he whispered, bending down and talking as if she were a frightened child, 'it's all right now. Everything's over, finished. Nothing more will happen to you at my hands.' He straightened. 'Will you sleep or would yon like something to help you?' She could not speak, she could only shake her head. 'Want a nightgown?' he asked, and she nodded. 'Where do you keep them?' She indicated a drawer. He went to it and looked in it and pulled out a diaphanous piece of pink froth which they had chosen together the day he had insisted on taking her shopping for new clothes before their marriage. He held it up, looked at it then, without expression, tossed it on to the bed. 'Goodnight, Alyson.' He lingered at the door and heard her whisper,

'Goodnight. I'm—I'm sorry for being so useless to you. Derry told me over and over again how ineffectual I was as a woman.' His lips tightened grimly and he went away.

Everything over, finished ... The words spun in her head like a roulette wheel. Her marriage to Liam had been a gamble, a gamble she had lost. He had been the winner and he had taken all—her virginity, her heart and all the love that heart contained. Next morning she left for work before Liam could offer her a lift. Hallam called her into his office as soon as he heard her arrive. 'I'm off to an all-day meeting, Alyson -' He stopped, seeing her face. 'Good God, my dear, what's wrong? Are you ill, or -?' 'Thanks for your concern,' she said quietly, 'I really do appreciate it, but,' anguished eyes rose to his, 'I'd rather not talk about it.' 'Is it—Liam?' She nodded. Unable to bear the compassion in his face, she looked down at her notepad. All the same she felt his regard and the pity in it and for 'a few moments, nothing was said. The door of her office opened and seconds later the caller, having found her room empty, opened Hallam's door. For a full minute, Liam studied them. In fear, Alyson turned. What would she find on her husband's face? Nothing, it was blank. Hallam said, remarkably evenly considering the scene Liam had interrupted the day before, I'm off to an all- day meeting, Liam.' 'That's just as well,' Liam answered. Alyson, sensitive to every nuance in her husband's voice, detected a quiet restraint in his tone. 'Vanda's off sick—a sore throat-or something—and I was going to ask you if I could borrow your secretary.'

Hallam managed a smile. 'She's all yours.' He looked from husband to wife, saw far more than his face registered and with a brave attempt at humour, motioned Alyson towards Liam. 'Go and join your new boss for the day. He needs you.' Alyson glanced at Liam, catching the narrow, fleeting look of irritation before it disappeared into a tight smile. In her office she pushed nervously at her hair, straightened her dress—and acknowledged to herself that she dreaded the day ahead. After all that had happened between them the night before, how could she keep their relationship on a strictly employer-employee level? But of course, she told herself bitterly, that shouldn't be difficult. Was Liam not having an affair with Vanda? Yet, when they worked together, there was not a sign between them that their relationshipwas anything but on a business footing. If Vanda could hide her feelings for her' boss so successfully, why couldn't she? After all, there had been intimacy between herself and Liam only once, but how many times had Liam made passionate love to Vanda? When Alyson went into Liam's office, he was at his desk. He looked up briefly and motioned her to the secretary's chair. They worked together with speed and completer-understanding. It was almost as if she anticipated his every thought and every need—information from the filing cabinet about other companies and the number of research projects in hand. The contents of reports, dates and times of meetings. Her hand reached out seconds before Ms, intercepting every phone call and, when necessary, passing the caller on to the appropriate section. Every one of Alyson's actions was automatic, coming from training and expertise. Not one was inspired by a desire to prove to Liam' Langham how efficient she was as a secretary, however much

of a failure she might be as a wife. When she left his office to type the letters and reports he had dictated, he watched her go. She felt his eyes upon her and, with a move which was involuntary, turned at the door. What had she hoped to find? Admiration, for her efficiency if not for her femininity? Apology, for what he had inflicted on her in the early hours of last night? A blankness met her questioning glance, an uplifted eyebrow as if asking her what it was she wanted of him. The quick colour touched her face. He was humiliating her. He was proving himself as good at it as his brother had been. Before she had finished the work he had already given her, he called her in for more dictation. He did not say he was sorry for having to work her so hard in his own secretary's absence. Maybe he took it for grafted that she had finished the first batch of work and should by now be ready for more. Maybe, after all, she was not proving such a good secretary. Perhaps she had fallen below his very high standards, the standards it seemed that Vanda must have reached—in both work and play, Alyson thought bleakly. As she was leaving Liam's office, he handed over a pile of letters which, he said, with her intelligence she should be able to answer on her own initiative. He gave her a quick smile and she turned, biting her lip because of the mockery which she was sure was embedded in his manner. It was plain that she would have to work overtime in order to get through the piles of letters and correspondence he had given her. Although she worked fast, by the time the afternoon was officially over, there were still pages of shorthand to unravel and type, not to mention the letters which needed an answer from her. Hearing the typewriter, Liam opened her office door. 'Time to go home,' he said. 'I'll give you a lift.'

She shook her head. 'Thanks, but you'd better go.' She looked at her watch. 'I estimate another hour before I finish.' He frowned. 'Sorry to have given you more than you can get through in the allotted time.' She took this as a reprimand and sat like a statue at her typewriter, staring at the keys until he had gone. His manner all day had been cool and detached. Loving him as she did, and with the knowledge that their marriage was now something real and no longer merely evidenced by a piece of paper, his sarcasm now, instead of understanding and praise, hurt beyond words. An hour later he came into the room. 'Get your coat,' he said curtly. 'I'm not waiting any longer. An hour, you said.' Alyson panicked. 'I only meant an hour for your work. I've got Hallam's to tackle now.' He said narrowly, 'Hallam's work can go to the devil. You've got all day tomorrow to work for him. Vanda will be back by then. I had a phone call from her. So,' he motioned to the jacket hanging on the coat hook, 'we're leaving.' He opened the door. 'Come into my office when you're ready. And don't be long.' If took her a few minutes to gather up the letters awaiting his signature. He looked irritated when she put them in front of him. 'Can't these wait until tomorrow?' 'No. Some of them are urgent.' He lifted his eyes. 'You know what you are? A slave- driver.' He grinned up at her. It was the first time he had smiled, really smiled at her and her heart somersaulted. An answering smile lit her eyes and for a few moments something intangible, indefinable and infinitely

precious passed between them. His smile persisted. 'Who'd have you for a secretary—or a wife?' Her smile became fixed, hiding the pain he had once again inflicted. But he seemed to sense that something was wrong. It might have been the way she turned from him. He came swiftly round the desk and his hand caught her wrist. 'We're going out to dinner.' "There's no need,' she replied. 'I don't require payment for the overtime I've put in. A lift home will suffice.' 'Wait for these letters.' His tone become businesslike, putting her back in her place as an employee. She had to stand at his side while he put his signature to the letters, one by one. As he pushed them towards her, she folded them and put them into the envelopes. When he had finished, Alyson said, 'There'll be no one in the downstairs office, so I'll have to frank them all. You might as well go -' He retrieved the letters. 'While you get ready, I'll frank them.' 'You frank them? You can't do that! You're the top man, you can't -' His eyebrows rose. 'Can't I? Are you challenging me, Mrs Langham?' She coloured deeply. His use of her name was a mixture of formality and familiarity. 'You're the top man's wife, and top men's wives should learn to do as they're told. So,' he opened the door, 'run along, wife, and put on whatever you women put on your faces. We're dining out. I've already told Ellen.'.

He took her to dine in a restaurant with coloured lighting embedded into the ceiling, candles flickering on the tables and a menu that read like a book. The head waiter, who seemed to know Liam, wished them good evening. In the semi-darkness the man peered at Alyson. 'Another lady this evening, sir?' 'My wife,' Liam said shortly. The head waiter looked just a little embarrassed, but. his training came to his aid. He corrected himself and —as he probably considered—saved the situation. 'I must have been confusing you with some other gentleman. It's this poor lighting, you know. The customers enjoy it, but for us, the staff -' He shook his head, dismissing it. For a long time after they were seated, Alyson was silent. She made a play of being absorbed in her surroundings and studying the clientele. Yes, there were many 'Vanda-type' women. Few of the male patrons' companions could have been their wives. It was that kind of place. By the time the first course had been served, neither of them had spoken. Does he find me so dull, Alyson tortured herself, that he can find nothing to say? If it had been Vanda sitting here ... She had not been, fooled by the head waiter's correction of his faux pas.' 'Do you -' She stopped, but having found the courage to begin, she had to continue, 'do you often bring Vanda here?' 'No.' The reply was curt. 'The head waiter's mistake was genuine.' Alyson stiffened. She was convinced Liam was lying. Something had gone wrong with the evening. It was the first time since their marriage that he had taken her out, and here they were quarrelling—

silently but unmistakably quarrelling. Nonetheless, she could not prevent herself from saying, 'You take Vanda somewhere else, then?' When their eyes met, his were cold. 'If I keep a girl working late, it's a practice of mine to give her a meal.' Which, Alyson thought forlornly, puts me in my place. I worked late, so I merited 'a meal'. 'So,' she pressed on, in spite of a voice inside telling her to stop, 'you do take Vanda out.' 'You want me to say "yes", don't you?' His voice was challenging and hard. 'All right, I'll say yes. It was a condition of our marriage, wasn't it, that we should both be entitled to go our own ways? No conditions, no ties.' Jealousy burnt her feelings like an arm accidentally touching a candle flame. 'Anyway,' Liam went on, 'why should you care? You've got Hallam Munro. Haven't you?' The last two words were spoken in a voice which dared her to deny the assertion. She took refuge in silence. There was the sound of music from another part of the hotel. As the meal progressed, Liam's mood changed. It was notice mellowing of the personality which such surroundings and superb food normally induced. It seemed to be deliberate policy on his part. He talked—of his boyhood, his chequered relations with his brother, how academically he had outshone Derry, and how Derry had resented his brother's greater brainpower. He said, 'I've known you some time now. Strange as it may seem,' he took her hand and looked at the rings he had placed on her finger, 'I'm married to you. Yet I know little about you, your past, your childhood, your family. Tell me.' He did not relinquish her hand.

He was so tall his eyes were in flickering shadow, but she, being shorter, sat almost on the level with the candle flame. It was to his advantage—he could see the expression in her eyes. His suit was dark, his shirt a deep blue, his tie striped diagonally blue and black. Was it only last night that she had known the touch of the man beneath that veneer of respectability, felt the savagery of his kisses, the brutal demands of his hands— and his desire? Even the thought of him began to have an effect, stirring in her a longing to feel his arms around her, to run her hands over the skin of those broad shoulders and cling to the muscle-tough body. A hand reached out and tipped her chin. 'Tell me what you're thinking?' The tell-tale colour stained her cheeks and she looked down, anywhere but into those keen eyes. 'You asked about my childhood.' He released her chin. She had successfully sidetracked him. She lifted her shoulders. 'There's little to tell. My mother was wonderful. She loved me and I loved her deeply, too.' A small pause. 'No one has ever loved me as much as my mother did,' she continued, only half aware of the sharp movement which he made. 'My father loved me, in those days. I was their only child. Then my mother died.' A longer, more painful pause. 'It took me years to get over her death. Within the year, my father had married again. His second wife had a daughter—as you know. She was spoilt, selfish -' She stopped herself. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying such things.' 'Carry on,' he said quietly. Alyson pushed away her coffee cup. 'I came second after that, even in my father's estimation. I helped in the house while Meryl went out. I cleaned and I cooked while Meryl spent the mornings in bed. So,' she drew a deep breath, 'when Meryl did—what she did to Derry, it

was only natural that I should take Meryl's place. Derry begged me to marry him. Said he couldn't live without me. Of course he couldn't,' bitterly, 'he needed a nurse night and day, didn't he?' There was a long silence. The beat of the distant music intruded. The chatter of the guests around rose and fell, punctuated with laughter. Alyson pushed around a small vase filled with flowers. 'It wasn't a real marriage. It—couldn't be.' She was speaking in a whisper and Liam had to bend his head to hear he. 'We—we tried. It wasn't any good. I—I was no help. I knew nothing, Derry—Derry cried in my arms.' The fingers holding hers tightened. 'But next morning he turned on me.' She sighed. 'You know the rest.' Another pause. 'I became hardened in the end. I—I lost all feeling.' 'Until now?' The question puzzled her. 'You've found someone who loves you—returns your love?' Had he guessed? Had she told him last night, somehow without realising it, even in the fiasco that had made their marriage a reality, that she loved him? And did he—did she dare to let herself believe that he loved her in return? He settled the bill and seized her hand. 'Let's find that music. 'There, must be dancing somewhere on the premises.' In the lounge-bar, the chairs had been pushed aside, forming a circle for the dancers. The lights had been lowered and Liam pulled Alyson into his arms. The joy of being close to him again! The pleasure of his arms about her, his cheek on her hair ... Was it possible that they could dance so well together the first time they had ever tried?

There was a singer who sang sad, romantic songs. Was that a kiss on her cheek or had she imagined it? In a dark corner Liam's fingers found their way to the buttons on her office blouse, undoing them until the neckline plunged. His hand loosened the blouse from her skirt and she felt his palm against her skin. If her cheek found its way to his chest, she could not help it. If her hands clung to his body, it was because her legs were weak. When the music stopped, he asked, with a glint, Why so loving? Imagining I'm—somebody else?' The magic went like the sun going down. Alyson tucked in her blouse, fastened the buttons, and after the next dance—they moved together like strangers—she said, 'I'd like to go home.' So he took her home and in the hall he said, 'Thanks for all the work you've done for me today. Hallam's lucky in his secretary.' A small smile played about his lips, then she was left standing in the hall. Later, in her bedroom, she heard him leave the house and open the garage doors. Moments later the car was driven away. Where was he going at this late hour? There was only one place she could think of where he would be welcome at that time of night. However much he had fenced about his relationship with Vanda, it was plain that she held a strange kind of fascination for him and that he could not resist her. It seemed he didn't even try. It was not to his wife's bed that he went for love and consolation. It was to his mistress's. It was a fact to which Alyson still could not harden herself and she doubted if she ever would.

The following day Hallam was back at his desk and Vanda at hers. She came into Alyson's room grumbling that all her personal

belongings had been moved, that the filing had been messed up and that her in and out trays were in chaos. Alyson listened quietly, but her silence only seemed to goad Vanda into greater anger. I'm going to tell Liam— oh, so sorry, Mrs Langham, I mean Mr Langham.' Alyson said, with restraint but also with a sharpness which held authority, 'I could report you for insolence; Vanda.' Vanda turned scarlet. She went out, muttering, 'Pulling rank? That "wife of the boss" routine? I'll soon put her in her place!' It seemed that Vanda had indeed gone straight to the top, because a few minutes later Alyson heard Liam's voice in Vanda's office. Her heart sank. If anybody could reduce Alyson Langham to the ranks, her husband could—in his capacity as division head. But unbelievably the censure was not for her—it was for Vanda. Liam's voice was raised—but in defence, and praise, of his wife. 'You would do well,' Alyson heard him say, 'to copy her. She's quick, neat and accurate. And what's more, conscientious until it hurts.' 'Good grief, what's come over you?' The insolence in the girl's voice was too clear to be mistaken for anything else than familiarity which stemmed from an intimacy over a prolonged period. 'Defending your wife—after all you've said to me about her?' Vanda knew her shrill voice could be heard easily in Hallam's secretary's room—and so didLiam.' The answer came quietly. 'If you speak to me like that again, if you so much as raise your voice to me in that insolent way, I'll fire you on the spot! Is that clear?'

The girl tried other tactics. Alyson, head in hand, could not control her imagination. Was Vanda twining her arms round Liam's neck? Were her lips hovering near his? 'Liam, please,' the kittenish voice pleaded, I'll be good, I promise. I do a lot for you, I'd give you the earth, everything you want...' The door slammed and there was silence. Liam did not appear for dinner that evening. Alyson knew he was home because the car stood in the driveway. She assumed he had asked for his meal to be served in his room. She was tormented with thoughts of what Vanda had meant when she had simulated surprise at his defence of his wife. What, in their private moments together, had Liam said about her to his secretary? What a terrible wife she was, how uncommunicative and uncooperative, especially in bed? ' Only a woman on intimate terms with a man would have spoken to her boss as Vanda had spoken to Liam. He had reprimanded her, but Alyson was convinced it was only because he knew his wife was listening. . That night Alyson went to bed early. Weary, dispirited, wondering where her marriage, her life, was going, she bathed, put on her nightgown—the filmy, pink gown Liam had found in the drawer—and slipped between the covers. Moments later she slept. It was a sound that awoke her in the early hours, a series of noises which, in her dazed state, she could not place. Her watch told her it was half past one. At such & time the opening and closing of drawers was distinctly out of place. Into the timeless limbo between sleeping and waking, a sense of foreboding manifested itself, forcing her to full consciousness. The noises came from Liam's room. Her instinct was to get out of bed and investigate. He might be ill, needing her help yet refusing to

demean himself by seeking his: wife's assistance. She stirred restlessly, moving on to her side. She had always had the feeling that he had never really regarded her as his wife, his chosen woman constantly at his side, going with him through life, whatever it might hold. Hadn't she been thrust upon him by a dying brother? He rarely allowed her to forget the fact; The strange sounds continued, as if he were searching for things and having found them, searched yet again for more. Now and then there came a smothered curse. It was no good, she could not sleep while Liam was in trouble, and if she could not sleep what was the point of lying there, listening? She swung out of bed, took the long silk robe from the hook on the door and pulled it on. The corridor was quiet as she crept into it, then the sounds came again, louder now she was nearer to them. There was a groan, followed by yet another curse. Summoning her courage—it took a great deal, like tapping on the bars of a lion's den— Alyson knocked on Liam's door. 'Who the hell's that?' the occupant growled. 'Alyson.' A pause, then, incredulously, 'Who?' 'Me, Alyson. May I—may I come in?' A longer pause, then, 'I suppose so, if you must.' Hardly encouraging, but enough to give her access to the room. What she saw made her grip her throat. The colour drained from her face and she looked up at him, eyes wide with unslept sleep—and fear. He was packing his cases.

CHAPTER NINE THE room was in chaos. Shirts lay in heaps on the floor, ties were strewn across the dressing-table and bed. Trousers, tee-shirts, socks were draped over suitcases and air travel holdalls. Liam wore only his pyjama trousers. His robe lay in a heap on an open drawer. His powerful frame, the height of him, the dark tousled hair and fine growth of stubble which shaded his cheeks and jawline reached out to her like a magnet of overwhelming power. Fingers of fear clawed at her heart. Was he leaving her? Packing up, going away, leaving the house and all its contents to her, regardless of their value? Was he willing to trade all his possessions—and his home—for freedom from matrimony, from marriage to her} 'Where—where are you going, Liam?' she whispered hoarsely. 'Abroad.' 'When?' 'Tomorrow. Didn't you know? I thought I'd told you. I meant to.' He ran a hand through his hair. So casual, information so carelessly given, yet an act, a departure which could alter the whole course of their lives! He searched helplessly for more things to pile into the already bulging cases. 'I'm attending an international convention in Stockholm.' 'Isn't there a branch of the company there?' He nodded. 'Will you— will you be visiting it?' 'Yes.'

It took Alyson a long time to ask the next question. She watched him searching for handkerchiefs. 'Are you going alone?' The answer, she hoped, would be, No, some of the managers and department heads are going with me. 'No,' he answered. 'I'm taking my secretary with me.' His back was to her, 'I shall need her secretarial services while I'm away.' He did not see his wife sink down on the bed, crushing some shirts. 'I'll be there two or three weeks. Possibly longer.' Her iron self-control asserted itself. She did not say, That's a lifetime away from you. Take me with you. I can't live without you. I'm your wife, have you forgotten? 'I'll—I'll help you pack.' With difficulty she rose—her legs were so weak they would hardly carry her. Deep down, she knew it was a turning point. deep down, she knew things would never be the same again. He looked at her with relief—and something else. Her robe had fallen open, revealing the nightgown beneath. And beneath that—He turned away with a touch of indifference, asking, 'Are you better at packing than I am?' She forced a smile. 'That wouldn't be difficult. May I -?' He swung a hand. 'It's all yours.' The cases were seized and their contents tipped out, sorted through and folded neatly. Shoes were pressed together and wrapped in paper to prevent them from soiling the clothes. Then, layer by layer, the packing was done, every corner of each case filled with a small item or a folded handkerchief.

Liam watched, hands on hips, as if transfixed. Alyson thought of necessities he had quite forgotten, asking him where she would find them. Instead of getting them himself, he indicated which drawer or cupboard. Uncomplainingly she found every article, packing it neatly with all the others. Liam might have watched her actions, but it was, she thought, as well that he could not see inside her head. Everything that belonged to him was precious to her touch. All his possessions she handled lovingly, fondling them momentarily as if for the last time, v Ironic, she thought, as she bent low over the cases on the floor, that she should be packing for a husband who, it seemed, was leaving her without a shadow of remorse. Leaving her—for how long? For ever? Going away with his secretary ... What man with a secretary like Vanda could resist the invitations she would give—companionship by day, intimacy by night? Only a man in love with the wife he had left behind, she told herself, and to whom he intended, as soon as the opportunity arose, to return home to her loving arms. Thoughts floated in her head like weeds torn from -a river bed—shall I do your mistress's packing now? Shouldn't Vanda be doing this instead of me, since she's the one you love? Who will repack your cases when you return—your secretary? But the thoughts did not materialise into words. At last, her face flushed with effort, she stood up. 'Now, if you'll fasten them -?' He looked at her. 'Lady's maid, secretary, lover—what other accomplishments are there hidden away inside your personality?' 'Nurse, companion, wheelchair attendant,' she supplied, keeping her expression blank. 'Forget the lover.'

'Yes, forget the lover.' His voice was hard. He closed the cases and strapped them up. 'Thanks for your help. I appreciated it.' 'Gall it overtime,' she returned, and went to the door. His jawline hardened. 'Goodnight.' He wandered to the window and stood with his back to her. It took her a moment to reply. First she had to still the trembling of her lip. 'Goodnight.' She returned to bed, but not to sleep. Her ears were alert, her mind would not settle. Her thoughts would not leave her alone. Tomorrow Liam was going away. He was taking Vanda. It could only mean one thing. Vanda had won. No wonder, as she awoke, she had experienced that sense of foreboding. There were more sounds from Liam's room. He seemed to be walking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. He could not rest, nor even keep still. What was on his mind? Again Alyson left her bed and, leaving her' robe hanging where it was, she went outside and tapped on Liam's door. He opened it and stared at her, stared his fill. He seemed unable to wrench his eyes away. 'What do you want?' The question was irritable and curt. 'May I come in?' A muscle moved in his cheek, but he opened the door' wider and let her in. 'Well, you're in.' Her feelings were in a turmoil. All her actions up to this point had been deliberate. She had known what she= was doing. Now she was there, dressed—if that was how it could be described—as she was,

she was as helpless as an uninitiated young girl. Useless, Derry had called her,- incapable of arousing a man ... 'Liam,' her hands rubbed together, 'what's wrong?' He-looked her over insultingly and her cheeks flamed, 'You know damned well what's wrong. A man has—his? needs.' The window, despite the darkness outside, drew' him again. 'You can't supply them.' 'Liam,' her voice faltered, 'I'll try. Let me try.' She was pleading with him, offering herself. But wasn't she used to humiliation at the hands of a man? Hadn't she suffered it for over eighteen months? He turned towards her, leaning against the sill, arms folded. His eyelids drooped. 'So, having tasted the honey, you want another spoonful?' She ran her tongue over her lips. How could she say, I love you so much I want to say goodbye to you in the only possible, most fulfilling way? Instead, she nodded in answer to his question. His contempt deepened. 'No, thanks. I don't believe in self-sacrifice where sex is concerned. Either it's paid for all on the level and everyone's happy, or it's motivated by love. Neither applies in this case.' He presented his back to her again. She returned to her room and flung herself face down on the bed. Tears would not come. The reservoir was parched, empty, dry. And, like.a wound without water to cleanse it, the pain was all the greater. This was Langham cruelty, Derry's cruelty, but in another, subtler form. The physical kind, from a man she had pitied, she had been able to bear with stoicism. The mental anguish inflicted by the man she loved was like a living death.

The door opened and she grew rigid, listening. There was a click of the door closing, footsteps approached, arms turned her. Liam sat on the side of the bed, drew her across him, slipped the gown from her shoulders. He pulled her against him and her cheek felt f lie soft hair on his chest, her hand the lean flesh at his waist, his hips ... His lips wandered at will all over her, lingering, moving on, now and then staying, caressing, drawing the very lifeblood of her into him. Her hands found their way over him, too, and it was strange, untried land they explored; the feel of his skin, the hard shoulder blades, his neck, his cheeks, his hair. All these she must store in her mind, she told herself hazily, pack them securely in her memory as she had earlier packed his cases. One day, when she was left alone for ever, she would take them out and linger over them, treasuring them to her dying day. Then his mouth found her parted lips and his lovemaking began in earnest. He was gentle at first, tender, loving, blotting out all memories of the brutality he had displayed the first time they had come together. Gradually he became more possessive and demanding and whatever he asked of her, she did not deny him. When at last he made her his, she cried out in sheer joy at belonging to him again. She had lost all sense of time—but as it passed, so her pleasure increased. The more she gave of herself, the greater her joy became. She was lifted by his lovemaking to heights of such ecstasy it was as though she had been transported to: another plane, another world. They had become as one person', indivisible in body and mind. Now it was a true marriage. She had proved her womanhood. She had had no need to cry in her husband's arms. She had laughed in them instead.

Next morning her arm stretched out to find her husband, only to discover that she was alone. She restrained her impulse to run next door and find him. Instead she showered, dressed and combed her hair. The radiant face which gazed back at her from the mirror needed no make-up to enhance its looks. When she had finished she went from her room, lifted her hand to tap at his door, but opened it instead. No need now to ask permission to enter. They belonged to each other. The room was empty, the suitcases had gone. Alyson frowned and ran to the window. Was he walking in the garden? The garage doors were open, which meant that his car had gone, too. Had he left without a word of goodbye? When Alyson arrived at the office, she went in to Hallam who was, as usual, in his seat. He had nothing, no one, he would say ruefully, to keep him in his bed these days. 'Hallam,' Alyson said, her voice wavering, 'where's Liam?' She added hopefully and with a smile, 'In his room?' Hallam frowned. 'Didn't he tell you? He made an early start with Vanda. They didn't come in this morning. They went straight to the airport.' He looked at his watch. 'They'll be in the plane and well on their way by now.' She drew in her lips, steadying them, then smiled.. It was a brave attempt. 'I didn't remember—he must have told me he'd have to leave early.' She made for her own office door and turned. 'It's an international convention he's gone to, he said,' she remarked brightly. 'How— how long will he be away, Hallam? When I asked him, he wasn't certain.'

Hallam rose from his chair and went across to her. Something told her it was a protective gesture, but why? 'A long time, probably, Alyson.' He took her hands. 'Didn't he tell you, my dear? He's been offered a new job over in Stockholm. He's given a tentative acceptance.' He dropped her hands. 'I'm to take over from him here. It took him a long time to make up his mind. Personal reasons, he said,. Now he seems to have decided.' His hand lifted her chin. 'For heaven's sake, are you ill? Sit down, my dear. You look as if you need a drink.' Alyson shook her head. 'No breakfast,' she mumbled. 'Tea, coffee,' she raised wide, despairing eyes, 'but not a drink, Hallam.' He picked up the phone, ordered coffee for two and went back to her. 'He gave me to understand that your marriage was breaking up, Alyson. He said you'd both come to the end of the road, had found someone else. Was he right?' 'Where he was concerned, I suppose the answer's yes— Vanda. Me?' She shook her head. The coffee came and they drank it in silence. Alyson could only stare in front of her. It was as though all thought and action had been suspended. For her, all the meaning of living had come to a stop when, after their lovemaking last night and the long, contented sleep that followed, he had left her bed and walked out of her life. Alyson heard nothing from Liam except by way of Hallam. He was, it seemed, in constant contact with the company, but there was no letter, no message for her personally. Until one day a letter arrived for her at home.

'You probably know by now from Hallam,' Liam's letter said, 'that I have decided to accept the position offered me here in Stockholm. I shall look for suitable accommodation in due course. 'I have given the matter of our marriage a great deal of thought while I have been away and have come to the conclusion that the only solution is divorce. I am aware of how you feel about Hallam Munro, and it is only too obvious to me how he feels about you. When you are married to him, he will give you a good life and—something that seems so important to you—financial stability. He is, as you must know by now, taking over the position I have vacated.' Alyson found her. way. without even being conscious of doing so, into the main living-room and sank on to the settee. The letter continued, 'I shall contact a solicitor in England and begin divorce proceedings immediately. It will be based on the irretrievable breakdown of our marriage. I shall continue to support you financially for as long as it is necessary to do so. Thank you for all you have given me. Thank you, also, for everything you did for my brother. Neither of us could have asked more from a wife than you were prepared to give. I wish you and Hallam every happiness in the future.' Mechanically, Alyson folded the letter and put it into her bag. Then she took it out, read it again and folded it again. What should she do with it? Re-seal it and send it back to him? Pretend it had never arrived? Tear it up, imagine it had never existed, that it was only a terrible phantom haunting her dreams, night and day? Finally she took it upstairs and pushed it into a drawer. When she got home, maybe it would no longer be there ... As she arrived at the office, Hallam burst in. He had a letter in his hand. His eyes were dazzling in their happiness. 'My wife,' he said,

'my wife's written to tell me she and our little daughter are coming back to me. In two months' time she'll be free of her job. She's a housekeeper, you see, to a doctor. She promised to give him two months' notice. Two months! What's two months after three long years of loneliness?' Tears welled up in Alyson's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Hallam thought they were for his good fortune and hugged her. 'Here,' he pulled out a clean handkerchief, 'mop up. Thanks, my dear, for sharing my pleasure. When I tell her about my promotion ...' He was lost in a dream. 'I don't know,' he went on, 'what I've done to deserve such happiness, but——' He shook his head, still dazed, and returned to his room. It took Hallam a few days to come down to earth. It was for this reason that he did not notice the change in his secretary, until one morning she came to work looking so ill he commented on the fact. 'My dear girl, you shouldn't he here. When is that husband of yours going to send for you?' Alyson pursed her lips and shook her head. 'You're so pale,' Hallam went on. 'And I swear you've lost weight. Are you sleeping? Shouldn't you go to the doctor and get something?' 'I'm ill right,' she managed. EI—I just haven't felt hungry lately, which,' she smiled weakly up at him from her seat at the desk, 'accounts ^for my weight loss.' 'Your eyes—there's something wrong with them. Where's the brightness, the sparkle? Are you missing Liam so much?' She stared at the half-typed letter in the machine. She said, her voice flat, 'He wants to divorce me.'

She put her hands to her face and burst into tears. His hand rested gently on her shoulder. 'Another woman? Vanda?' If she told him 'yes', it would solve so many problems. She nodded without raising her head. It was probably true, anyway, and Liam was only using what he regarded as her affair with Hallam as an excuse. 'I'll write to him. Ill get him back somehow,' Hallam promised. 'What would be the use?' she sobbed. 'He doesn't love me. He never has. He only married me because—oh, because I was there. Wanted a hostess, he said, someone to entertain the wives of foreign visitors when they came over on business. It's Vanda he wants, and Vanda he'll get, as soon as the divorce comes through.' There was a long silence, then Hallam said, 'Go home for the day, Alyson. I'll get a girl from the general office to help me out.' When she protested, he said, 'You're no good as my secretary at the moment, are you?' He smiled at her bent head. 'Tomorrow you'll feel better about everything, I expect.' She was about to shake her head, but stopped herself. This terrible pain would go on for ever. But how could he, in his newly-recovered happiness, understand that? At home, Ellen was surprised to see her, Ellen who, Alyson was convinced, had always disliked her, but had never known why. Ellen saw the state of her. 'Is there something wrong, madam?' she asked. The housekeeper had to know some time. 'Mr Langham and I, Ellen—we're getting divorced.' The woman was shocked out of her usual stiff composure. 'Divorced, madam? But why?'

'There's someone else, I think.' 'That secretary woman?' The condemnation in her- voice was unmistakable and startled Alyson into gazing at her. 'Mind if I say something, madam?' Alyson shook her head. 'I never thought much of you, madam, if you'll pardon my saying so. I always thought you married Mr Derry for his money. Then I thought you did the same to Mr Liam—you were just after his money. But I've watched you, madam. I've watched you and Mr Liam. I know love when I see it. You love him, madam, don't you?' 'Unfortunately, Ellen,' with a rueful smile, 'I do. Much good has it done me!' 'Don't say that, madam.' Alyson shrugged helplessly. 'It's too late now, anyway. He's left the country. He's settling in Stockholm. They've offered him a job and he's accepted.' 'He's keeping this house on, madam. He wrote and told me.' So he had written to the housekeeper about such matters, but not to his wife! 'Will you be in to dinner tonight, madam?' Alyson managed a smile. 'I'm just not hungry, Ellen.' 'No breakfast, Mrs Langham, no evening meal. No lunch?' 'A—a little.' 'You can't go on like this, madam. You'll make yourself ill.'

'I don't care, Ellen,' Alyson said wearily, 'I just don't care any more.' Ellen pulled a letter from her apron pocket. 'This came for you by second post, madam.' Alyson took the letter and gazed blindly at the envelope. Her heart jerked—but steadied seconds later. The postmark was an English one, which meant that it was not from Liam as she had hoped. In her room she read the letter. It was short and was signed, 'Simon Frend.' 'Remember me?' it began. 'When I met you at the Horse and Wagon Inn, I looked up your name and address in the register, so I hope you don't mind my writing to you now. 'I just wanted to tell you, for the first and last time, how much I admired you, Alyson. If you had been—what you said you were, I think I would have fallen in love with you—no, I know I would have done! But you were married, so that was that! I went around miserable for a long time, then I met a girl who was so like you I couldn't believe it. I really did fall in love with her, and she with me. Her name is Judy and we're engaged. 'I thought you might like to know this, Alyson. I did enjoy meeting you. Although it was only for such a short time, it changed my whole life! May I wish you a very happy future with your husband. I'm sure the quarrel you seemed to have with him was soon patched up. Yours, with happy memories, Simon Frend.' Tears were not far away as Alyson folded the letter. Well, at least one of us is happy, she thought, swallowing the tears. Her 'quarrel' with her husband! If Simon had known the truth of their marriage, he would also have known that not only would it never be 'patched up', it had grown even more disastrous, the gap between them even more unbridgeable.

Alyson sighed and pushed the letter into a folder. She must answer it soon, sending her congratulations. Later, she went for her favourite walk across the downs. It was drizzling with rain, the air was chill, but it helped to clear her head more than an evening of golden sunshine. She was alone in a world of greyness and chalk paths, with only a grazing horse now and then to share the solitude. That was what she needed—to be alone, time to think, a holiday from all her problems and most of all, from herself. Next morning she told the housekeeper, 'I'm going away. Only a few days—I don't know where. Would you ring Mr Munro at the office? Apologise, but I know he'll understand.' Ellen offered to help her pack, but she was taking so little, the offer was refused. When the taxi came to take her to the railway station, Ellen said, with something like emotion^ 'As soon as you get to wherever you're going, send me a card with the address, won't you?' Alyson promised, feeling touched at the housekeeper's concern and waved until she was out of sight. She would not see Ellen again. That much she had decided. Never again would she return to Liam's house, nor accept his money. The clothes he had bought her were hanging in the wardrobes. The wedding and engagement rings she had pushed into his dressing-table drawer. Her wedding finger was empty with only the marks the rings had made to remind her that they had been there. She remembered the evening Liam had thrown Derry's ring as far from him as he could reach. In effect, he had done the same to the wedding ring he had given her, the only difference being that this time it was she who had pulled the ring from her finger.

The train took her towards the West Country, but she left the train en route and stayed a few nights at a village pub. The day she left, she sent Ellen a postcard. After that, she took a bus north into Wiltshire, finding another village pub. The morning she moved on, she posted a card to Hallam. She omitted, every time, to put her next -destination on the cards, partly because she did not know it herself and partly because, even if she had, she did not want them to know. The days passed and the nights crawled by. At last she began to find relief from the pain that nagged continuously at her mind. Finally she caught a train again and it took her eastwards, back to the Sussex Downs. Back to the village near which Liam's cottage stood. That would be her haven for the next few days. It would be the last thing she would do for him. She would sweep it and clean it and make curtains—somehow she would find the means to sew them. If there were tins of paint and brushes, she would paint the cottage. And then she would walk away, leaving it behind and passing into obscurity. She would cut loose from all her previous ties, telling no one where she was and taking on a new identity.

CHAPTER TEN THE door of the cottage gave when Alyson put her shoulder to it. She had guessed that it would. When, she had gone there exploring the morning after the wedding, when Liam had stayed with her at the village inn, the cottage door had been without bolt or key. She hoped it would be the same now and, to her joy, she found the situation had not changed. It had probably never occurred to Liam that anyone would want to go anywhere near the cottage in its present state. Alyson's clothes were well worn and travel-stained, which was just as well, she thought, as she surveyed the chaos. Liam had as much idea, she reflected, with a thrust of pain and loving amusement, of making a cottage clean and habitable as he had of packing suitcases. The village store stocked all the cleaning materials she required. It took her two days of uninterrupted working to scrub through the place, with its bedroom and tiny, converted bathroom upstairs and downstairs the small kitchen and living-room. In the village, an enterprising draper's shop sold curtain material and Alyson was able to hire a hand- operated sewing machine from them with which to make the curtains. These she folded neatly and put away. It would not he for her to hang them with the pride of creation and ownership. No doubt it would be Vanda who did that. There was even the possibility that Vanda might disapprove of her taste and throw them out. The thought was too painful to entertain and was thrust to the back of her mind. A week passed. She had finished painting the kitchen, which Liam had started. Then she prepared the living-

room for wallpapering, first stripping the cracking walls free of die old paper which must have been in place, she estimated, for countless years. It was about then that she sensed she was slowing down. Fatigue had overtaken her and forced her to a stop. All her energy had run out and with it, she had to admit, much of her enthusiasm. Why was she putting all this work into improving the cottage? At first, she had told herself it was for Liam, but now she had to admit that Liam, after their divorce, would not come-to stay here alone. Vanda, as his wife, would not be barred from the place. She, unlike Alyson, would be welcomed, and with Vanda's obvious attractions, Alyson did not have to seek long for the reason why. During her time there and, indeed, since Liam's departure, she had eaten little, sufficient only to keep her going. Sleep had not come easily at night. The sleeping bag she had found in the cottage and which Liam almost certainly used when he was there was reasonably comfortably, but the folding bed on which it rested was full of bumps and had obviously been bought secondhand. However, that particular night it was heaven to haul herself up the creaking stairs and crawl into the sleeping bag. Even though sleep eluded her, at least her body was resting. Towards dawn, as the birds began to sing, she slipped into an uneasy sleep. When the door of the cottage creaked open, she thought it was part of her nightmare—she had had so many lately. With a hammering heart and the blood roaring through her head, she returned to consciousness. She swung her .legs out of bed and hastily pulled on her jeans—she had not removed her sleeveless top. Whoever it -was that had come in was wandering about downstairs, opening and closing doors. Then those footsteps came stamping up the stairs. The bedroom door opened and the intruder stood there, looking down at her thin, shivering figure, her white face and dark, shadowed eyes.

Liam had come back! Her eyes insisted that this was the truth, but her brain refused to accept the messages which were thundering into it. It's a mistake, her brain insisted, it's a trick of your mind. It's an illusion you're looking at, you must be feverish. She closed her eyes. Look, said her brain, there's no one there. They opened again of their own accord. It was imperative that this time her eyes should get it right. Was the man standing in the doorway, looking at her so strangely, really her husband, or an intruder to be feared? It is your husband, her eyes told her; and he is also a man to be feared. Hostility was in his hard eyes, in the long, lean outline of his body. Alyson was confused. Why was he not pleased to see her? Why didn't he praise her for all she had done? The answer came like a blinding flash of the sun on a chance pane of glass—she had found, and invaded, his haven. He wasn't even aware that she knew where the cottage was! It didn't matter that she had exhausted herself trying to help him. What did matter was that his sanctuary was no longer secret and secure from an interfering wife. His clothes were carelessly worn, his short-sleeved tee- shirt unbuttoned at the neck and breaking free from the leather belt around his waist, showing the lean, hard flesh beneath. His trousers, like hers, were creased and travel-worn, as though he, too, had spent his time moving from place to place. His words confirmed her thoughts. 'I've chased halfway across England looking for you.' There was no sympathy, no kindliness in his tone. ' "Your wife is missing," they said. "Anything could have happened to her. She could even have been kidnapped. We keep getting cards," they said, "from different places, but with no addresses. Come back at, once," Ellen said, "and find her. You'll have to return on the next plane," Hallam said. "Alyson's gone".'

Her head drooped, her hands slipped in and out of the pockets in her jeans. ' "She's pining for something," Ellen said,' he went on. ' "She looked ill, Mr Langham," Ellen told me when J telephoned from Stockholm.' He came to stand in front of her, arms folded. 'Yes, I thought. And I know who she's pining for.' Eyes bright with hope, Alyson looked up, but the brightness dimmed when Liam said, 'Hallam Munro, that's who she's pining for.' 'You—you heard about Hallam's wife going back to him?' she asked, her voice dead. , 'Yes, I heard. So you're left high and dry. My heart goes out to you.' She flinched from the sarcasm. 'And ill?' looked around him. 'Ill? When you've done all this work?' She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. I'm ill inside, she wanted to tell him, can't you see that? 'I'm sorry,' she said slowly, 'if what I've done doesn't meet with your approval.' 'Why did you do it?' It was a question she could not answer. 'I know why.' Patiently she waited for the sarcasm and it came. 'To work off the frustration you felt as a result of Hallam withdrawing his loving caresses because his wife's going back to him. To work off the thwarted desire you felt as a result of sleeping alone in bed.' She could not allow herself to deny his accusations. Wasn't it Vanda he wanted, not Alyson Langham? Didn't he want a divorce so as to make Vanda his wife? It would make it easier for him to do so if she allowed him to believe it was Hallam she was pining for, and not her own husband.

She rose, looking around dazedly for her belongings. The rucksack she had been carrying around with her lay in a corner. Into this she thrust whatever she could find —her clothes, shoes, cosmetics. 'Where are you going?' She shrugged. 'Anywhere, nowhere. I'm not welcome here, am I? Anyway, why should you care? I married you for your money, remember. I can't think why you bothered to come back. I'd have thought you'd be delighted to get me off your back.' She rose and lifted the rucksack, swinging it over her shoulder—and nearly bending in two with the weight of it. Had she grown so weak she couldn't carry it any more? She panicked, forcing herself to straighten, willing herself to stand upright. She would give him no reason to laugh at her, to mock her for her weakness. His fingers settled on the rucksack and she thought he was attempting to help her, but she shook him off. 'I don't need your assistance. This time it's I who's going— for good. Goodbye.' But he barred the way and wrenched the rucksack from her. 'Are you mad, girl? How far do you think you'll get in the condition you're in?' 'How far?' Her self-control broke, that self-control which had sustained her through the years of misery with Derry, the months of desperate unhappiness with his, brother. It broke like a dam breached, a dam which all through the years had valiantly and strongly held back the waters. A crack had become a fissure, the fissure a chasm, and the water was through, pouring and roaring in terrifying torrents, breaking through all barriers in its path. 'How far will I get?' she screamed. 'Why the hell should you care? You've never cared about me ever. So why should you start now? Conscience? Remorse?' Bitterly she went on, 'Don't let it trouble you.

Don't give it another thought. I was wished on you, wasn't I, by your ' dying brother, the brother I married for his money.' She did not pause to think what she was saying. 'I'll tell you why I married him. Out of pity, out of compassion, because no one else cared about him, because of what my stepsister had done to him. Because he begged me to marry him, saying that if I didn't, he'd take his own life. That's why I married your brother.' Liam stood, feet apart, hands thrust into trouser pockets, his jawline rock-hard as if his teeth inside were clamped together. His eyes were cool, watchful, waiting. 'And why did I marry you?' she shrieked, goaded and maddened by his implacable refusal to be moved by her outburst. 'What else was there for me to do? I had nowhere else to go, did I? No money behind me. You offered me a way out, so I took it. Who, in my impoverished circumstances, wouldn't?' Her heart was splitting, like earth in a drought, breaking up, crumbling away. Soon he would be so disgusted with her he'd walk out. Or tell her to go. 'And you've got Vanda, haven't you?' she accused at last, unable to keep her bitter jealousy in check any longer. 'You've always had Vanda. All through our sham marriage, she's been there whenever you've wanted her —and my God, you've wanted her, haven't you? And got her, many, many times!' Her voice had risen to shrillness again. 'Do you think,' she raged, 'I don't know what's been going on between you? Do you think I've been the proverbial blind wife—the last to know that her husband's got another woman? Not on your life!' Her loss of control was complete. 'Go back to her,' she screamed. 'How could you have forced yourself to leave her? She's the one you want to marry, once you've got rid of me, so take her, take her. Have your divorce. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner the better.'

Tears ran down her cheeks. She dived for the rucksack, but he was there before her. 'All right,' she shrieked, 'you can have it. I'll make do without it. All my life I've done without,' she sobbed, 'without love, without anybody but myself. I'm going ...' She was out of the door, but he was after her, catching her wherever he could lay his hands on her, gripping her arm, her top, her shoulder. She turned and beat him off, but she could not loosen his grasp. He pulled her back inside the cottage and she turned and used her fists on him, wherever she could hit him. And he let her hit him, taking her blows as if they were as effective as a kitten's paws, all over his chest, his arms, his waist, even aiming at last below the belt. It was then that he came to life, moving swiftly out of range and catching her wrists in a brutal, bruising grip. There was anger in the line of his mouth, in every angle of his body. 'Enough,' he said, through his teeth, 'enough. If you think you can go on using me as a punchball, you're mistaken. You've rid yourself by now of your hatred of me -' 'Have I?' she cried. 'Have I? Let me go and I'll -' 'Let you go?' he grated. 'Not on your sweet life!' He manoeuvred her across the room and hurled her on the bed. She cried out at the impact which knocked out of her lungs all the breath that remained. She did not attempt to get up. All her energy had gone. Her breath came ins gasps, her face was as white as the pillow on which her head lay. Her eyes were closed and she groaned with misery and exhaustion. 'Oh, God,' she murmured, covering her eyes, 'if only I had somewhere, somewhere to lay my head ...' She cried bitterly and

hopelessly. 'That's all I want. A shelter, somewhere to go. I can do without the material things of life, I can do without love ...' There was a movement and she found she was not alone on the bed. Liam lay beside her, on top of the sleeping bag and taking her into his arms. There was infinite tenderness in his touch, comfort in the feel of his body, compassion in his light, fleeting kisses., Comfort, tenderness, compassion? She did not want them! They stemmed from pity, from sorrow and from apology for pain inflicted. 'Now I know,' she said bitterly. 'What do you know?' softly, gently. 'That you don't love me.' 'Oh? Why?' Bemusedly he stroked her hair. 'Because—because of what you're doing. If you loved me, you'd desire me -' 'My beloved, most treasured wife,' he whispered, his lips against her ear, 'if I showed you anything but tender- now, if I began to make a husband's rightful demands upon you, it would be lust, not love. You have so much to learn, my sweet one, so very much to learn about life, about love. You've had it hard—until now. From this moment on, I intend to give you a lifetime of happiness, do everything within my power to make up for all the hardship you've suffered at the hands of the Langham brothers—both of them. I love you, I love you,' he murmured. 'Do I have to say it again? Why do you really think I married you? Not because of my brother's last wish, but because I would have proposed to you, anyway. I loved you too much to let you go. I've loved you from the moment I first saw you at your desk in the office. When I used to see Derry sitting on your

desk, I was racked with the kind of jealousy which only one brother can feel towards another.' He turned her face and kissed her lips, softly, warmly. 'When you took Meryl's place, I wanted to quit, to walk out, go abroad. When you married him I couldn't believe it. I told myself you were after his money—the money he had spent on Meryl. I tried to make myself hate you, but it was no use. So I kept supplying Derry with cash—for your sake and yours only.' The colour seeped back into her face. The dulled eyes grew brighter as the truth began to penetrate her anguished body. She clung to him, burrowing into him, pressing her cheek to his chest. 'And I loved you, Liam, all the time I was married to Derry. Long before I met Derry, the first time I saw you I dreamt about you, wove daydreams around you. But you were so above me, so remote, so high up the executive ladder, it was like an amateur climber looking at the summit of Everest! On our wedding day I couldn't believe I'd really become your wife, even though it didn't mean I would have your love.' He laughed and sat up, half-turning towards her. 'Our wedding day. Do you want to know why I went off and left you, why I came to the cottage? Because I couldn't- bear to be in the same house as you and yet not make love to you! And when I saw you sitting in that pub, in that dark corner, I thought it was an illusion, that it was the drink, that my eyes were playing tricks, wishful thinking ...' 'Why did you get drunk?' 'Why do you think? I believe it was the only time in my life I set out deliberately to get stoned—and my word, did I regret it afterwards! You in bed beside me and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—I could do about you.'

She coloured and moved restlessly. Life was returning fast to her limbs. 'I was jealous of that boy,' Liam went on, playing with her fingers. 'What was his name? Simon Something?' Alyson put in quickly that she had heard from him —he was engaged. 'Good for him!' was the sarcastic response. 'I was jealous of Hallam, too, and when I saw you in his arms -' 'Want to know why?' She rolled towards him on to her side. 'He was comforting me because I was crying— about you. Talking of jealousy,' she taunted, 'what about Vanda? I hate her, Liam, I hate her!' 'YOU were jealous?' he asked, pretending innocence. 'I simply can't think why!' 'It was deliberate on your part,' she accused, seeing the smile on his face. 'You can't deny it.' 'I don't deny it. I used her,' he glanced at her, 'and not in the way you're thinking. That was all a smokescreen. She did her damnedest, but -' 'You can keep your secrets,' Alyson whispered, 'if you want to. I love you enough to overlook -' He laughed indulgently and ruffled her hair. 'You may like to know, Mrs Langham. that I'm returning forthwith to my old job in this country as division head.' Alyson stared at him. 'But what about Hallam? He was -'

'All settled. He's taking the job in Stockholm. It suited him fine. He said he and his wife and daughter could start again in entirely fresh surroundings, so everybody's happy.' He looked down at her as her head rested against the pillow. 'Including Mrs Langham?' She sighed with happiness. 'Including Mrs Langham.' 'By the way,' he said casually, 'I told Bill Mailings at the inn that we were married, so your name is clear. You haven't been labelled as "anybody's woman", if the fact was troubling you.' She nodded and he laughed. 'I told Bill that night that we'd had a row and you wouldn't let me near you. When I disappeared upstairs, I told him I had every intention of "getting near you". He wished me luck. And I did, didn't I?' Liam rolled over and on to his side, pulling her close. She said, 'You don't know what I did on our wedding day, do you?' 'Yes, phoned Hallam to get top secret information out of him about my cottage. And then you had the impudence to follow me to the village.' 'There's something you don't know.' His eyebrows shot up and she outlined them with her finger. 'I found the cottage. I asked the waitress in the tea shop and she directed me. Then I hid in the bushes outside,' her head turned and she nodded towards the window, 'and I watched you for hours—just so that I could be near you.' 'You minx!' He turned her over and spanked her and she shrieked. Then he turned her back. 'If you'd come in -' His eyes smouldered. 'If you'd so much as put your nose in the door that day, you would have been put exactly where you are now. Here, on this bed.' 'But I didn't come in, did I?'

'No, and more's the pity. However, my love, we can make up for that little omission right now...' Fingers found the buttons on her top, opening them one by one. His shirt was discarded, and they closed the gap between them. Soon, as their bodies touched, desire sprang to vibrant life. They made love, tender then passionate love, and as Alyson became his again, she experienced the ecstasy she had known before. But this time it was different—she knew he loved her as deeply as she loved him. Later, he held her. Mutual contentment and fulfilled desire had brought a radiance to her face and to his a tranquil joy she had never before seen in him. He lowered his head to her breast and said, on a sigh, 'The fulfilment of a dream, my darling. Somewhere to lay my head.'