Anne Mather - A Trial Marriage

She crunched impatiently at her toast, returning the Colonel’s impudent stare with less animosity than usual, and earning herself a wink from that quarter. She looked away irritably, annoyed that he should imagine she was interested in him, and Della caught the angry tightening of her lips.

‘What’s the matter with you this morning?’ she inquired, pouring herself more coffee. ‘Just because I had to chastise you about Minstrel, there’s no reason to get huffy.’

‘I’m not—huffy.’ Rachel reached for her own coffee cup, and then almost choked on its contents when the two women she and Jake had encountered on his landing the night before entered the dining room and approached their table.

Della watched her with evident impatience, and then smiled disarmingly as the two women stopped beside her. ‘Good morning.’ she said, and indicated Rachel’s discomfort with a casual wave of her hand. ‘These young people! They’re always in such a hurry.’

They both regarded Rachel without sympathy, and she wished she could dissolve into the floorboards at their feet. Then one of them said:

‘Did you have a good game last evening, Della? I heard that you and Colonel Jameson made quite a killing.’

Della flushed with pleasure. ‘Well—not exactly,’ she demurred modestly ‘But we did do rather well.’

‘Yes.’ The other woman’s eyes flickered over Rachel, recovered now and watching the interchange warily. ‘What a pity your companion doesn’t play cards. We might make up another table with Mr Allan.’

Rachel’s hands clenched together in her lap as Della said: ‘I didn’t know he played until the Colonel mentioned it. But he seems to keep very much to himself, doesn’t he?’

The two women exchanged a glance and Rachel waited for the explosion their revelations would ignite. But instead of exposing her, they agreed with Della, and then excused themselves to move to their own table.

Rachel breathed a silent sigh of relief, but Della’s next words were hardly reassuring:

‘I’m thinking of giving a small dinner party tomorrow evening, Rachel Just myself and the Colonel, and one or two others. I wonder if Mr Allan would care to join us?’

The rest of the morning passed in a rather one-sided discussion of whether Mr Yates would allow Della to use one of the smaller reception rooms for her dinner party. She got rather excited at the prospect of presiding over her own dinner table again, and it was as well that she was too absorbed with her own plans to notice Rachel’s white features.

During the afternoon, Rachel escaped from the hotel and made her own way to the dunes, some distance from the town itself. She would have welcomed Minstrel’s company, but for once Della had decided she would exercise the poodle, and had given Rachel permission to do what she liked for the afternoon. Perhaps she had seen Jake taking his solitary walks, Rachel speculated miserably. Perhaps Della hoped she might encounter him while she was out with the poodle.

It was colder now, and although the chill air was refreshing, Rachel was shivering by the time she boarded the bus back to town. She remained in her seat long after the bus had stopped at the harbour station and eventually the conductor came along the aisle to ask her whether she was feeling well.

‘What?’ Rachel stared at him without comprehension for a moment, and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh—oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry!’

Colouring hotly, she followed him off the bus, and was aware that his eyes followed her as she hurried along the esplanade towards the hotel. She entered the lobby with her head down, and started violently when a hand closed firmly round her suede-clad arm.

‘Rachel!’ Jake’s low voice was disastrously familiar, and she looked up at him defensively, unconsciously arming herself against his unwelcome attraction. ‘Are you all right?’

He was no less disturbing to her peace of mind, and she was frightened by the knowledge that he could do this to her without any apparent self-involvement. She had never before experienced the emotions he could arouse in her, and the desire to throw herself into his arms was as potent as it was foolish. His fingers gripping her arm were painful, but she revelled in the sensation.

‘Rachel!’ When she made no immediate effort to answer him, he spoke again, glancing impatiently round the lobby, aware that no encounter in such public surroundings went unnoticed. ‘Rachel, where have you been?’

‘Walking.’ She tried to pull herself together. ‘I—how are you? It’s a cold afternoon, isn’t it? My hands are froz——’

‘Rachel!’ He said her name again as if he couldn’t bear this time-wasting small talk between them. ‘God, we can’t talk here! Come with me! We’ll walk along the front.’

But now Rachel found the strength to pull herself away from him, and moving her shoulders in a careless gesture, she said: ‘I’m sorry, Mr Allan, I can’t stop now. Della will be wondering where I am. I’ll see you some other time, I expect——’

‘Rachel!’

The smouldering darkness of his eyes had its usual effect on her knees, but she forced herself to move away from him, keeping a polite smile glued to her lips. She must not make a fool of herself now, not here , and she was very much afraid she might if he said anything more.

The distance to the lift stretched before her like the Gobi desert, but at last she was within the enclosing portals of the small cubicle which would lift her to the comparative safety of her own room. The last thing she saw as the doors closed was Jake standing where she had left him, staring after her, a curiously vulnerable expression on his lean features, and the tears overspilled her eyes.

Fortunately Della was downstairs, taking tea, and only Minstrel was there to share her misery. He was remarkably understanding for once, sensing her unhappiness and nuzzling against her comfortingly.

She managed to make some excuse to Della not to join her for dinner that evening, and had a sandwich brought up to her room. Exercising Minstrel was another matter, but although she looked about her nervously as she crossed the lobby with the poodle, there was no sign of the man who had accosted her earlier. Carl Yates was at the reception desk when she returned, however, and while she wished she could avoid him his undoubted admiration was a salve to her bruised spirit.

‘Mrs Faulkner-Stewart has got all her arrangements made for tomorrow evening,’ he told her casually, after making the excuse of fondling the animal to hinder her progress. ‘That means you’ll be free for the evening, doesn’t it?’

‘I expect so,’ Rachel answered cautiously, disentangling the poodle’s lead from around her jean-clad legs. ‘Stand still, Minstrel!’

Carl straightened. ‘I wondered if you’d come out with me,’ he murmured, low enough so the girl at the reception desk could not hear him. ‘How about it?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I—well, I don’t go out much,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Perhaps you should,’ he suggested, his usual assurance daunted. ‘You need a change.’

Rachel made an apologetic gesture. ‘I’m sorry. I—I’m not sure what Mrs Faulkner-Stewart will want me to do.’

‘Then let me know,’ remarked Carl at once, seizing on her indecision. ‘We could go to a club I know. Have a meal … dance. There’s no need to make a booking at this time of the year.’

Rachel wanted to refuse, but something stopped her, and with a half-reassuring smile she left him, walking away towards the lift without giving him chance to say anything more.

Della was waiting for her next morning when she entered the suite to take Minstrel for his pre-breakfast gallop along the beach. It was unusual for the older woman to be up and dressed so spontaneously, but the reason for her eagerness was soon made apparent.