Alison Fraser - The Strength Of Desire

‘Her solicitor telephoned me,’ Hope went on to explain, ‘saying it was your mother’s wish I should be there. So I was…sort of.’

She’d gone down by train to Penzance, then waited until the actual service was over, before going to the graveside. She’d placed an anonymous wreath among the others and said a tearful goodbye to a nice lady.

Hope frowned as she thought of him watching her. What had he felt? Anger, she supposed, that she’d had the nerve to appear.

Guy watched her now, much as he would have done then, with contempt in those wintry grey eyes. ‘The solicitor meant for you to come to the house—for the willreading…’ He left the sentence hanging in the air, waiting for her reaction.

Hope didn’t rise to the bait. She hadn’t expected Caroline to leave her anything, and, if she had, Hope would have heard of it by now. It had been almost two years since Caroline’s death.

‘Didn’t you ever wonder if she left you something?’ Guy added at her silence.

‘Why should she?’ Hope shrugged. ‘I wasn’t her responsibility.’

‘No, you were Jack’s.’ Grey eyes scanned the room, taking in the state of the kitchen.

Hope wasn’t ashamed of her home. It was small and the furniture shabby, but she’d done her best and it was comfortable. The kitchen table and chairs were old and marked, but they were made of solid pine. She had no money for new units but she’d splashed out on some good tiling and wallpaper which she’d hung herself.

But Guy Delacroix was hardly impressed. With a luxury flat in Truro as well as the magnificence of Heron’s View, a terraced house in Putney probably seemed one step from poverty to him.

‘You didn’t get much of a settlement from Jack, did you?’ he finally remarked.

She stared back incredulously. He dared say that to her? ‘Well, you saw to that, didn’t you?’ she retorted bitterly.

His brows rose, feigning surprise. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain that remark.’

Hope’s lips pursed. He knew well enough. ‘Come on. You were the one who advised Jack how little he could get away with. Did you think he wouldn’t tell me?’

This time there wasn’t a flicker of reaction. Reading anything from Guy’s face had always been difficult, and nothing had changed.

‘Jack told you I advised him on your settlement,’ he stated flatly, rephrasing what she’d just said.

Hope nodded. ‘Don’t deny it’ she snapped back.

‘All right, I won’t,’ he agreed coolly, his eyes fixed on her face.

Hope refused to be intimidated, and stared back. It was a mistake. She saw reflected in his eyes too many memories, and for a moment felt, as she had all those years ago, that curious mixture of attraction and fear.

She turned away, and started to busy herself in the kitchen, talking to hide her confusion. ‘I’ll ask Maxine if she wants to go to the funeral. If she does, I’ll let you know…Now, if that’s all, I have to make tea.’

She ran water into a pan, and banged it noisily on to the cooker, then tried to light the gas with a sparking device. If there was a technique, she seemed to have lost it. She clicked the sparker ineffectively. The smell of gas filled the room.

‘The flint’s gone,’ she was coolly informed.

It did nothing for Hope’s humour. She rounded on him, with an idea of telling him to get lost, and they semi-collided as he reached past her to turn off the gas. She grabbed at his arms as she threatened to overbalance, then wished she hadn’t. He held her for a moment, and his touch was like a burn on her bare arms. She flinched visibly, and he let her go, but only so that he could turn off the gas. He didn’t move away and she was effectively trapped by his proximity.

Hope wasn’t frightened of him. She was frightened of betraying herself. Over a decade, but nothing had changed.

He felt her body tremble. His eyes caught hers, trying to see into her very soul.

Appalled by her own weakness, Hope forced herself to remember all of it. Not just the love, but what followed. The hurt. The loss. The ultimate pain of betrayal.

It didn’t seem to make any difference: her body continued to tremble at his nearness.

It made no difference to him either, as his hands began to caress her bare skin.

‘All this time, and nothing’s changed.’ He spoke the words in her ear as they stood there, caught by the past.

She shook her head and breathed, ‘I hate you,’ meaning it.

‘And I hate you,’ he breathed back, clearly meaning it too.

But he was right. Nothing had changed. Desire was as strong as hate, and just as destructive.

She told herself to break free. She tried to; he held her easily. Not just with his hands but with his eyes. It was strange how such cold grey eyes could be so mesmeric.

‘Mum…Mum?’ Maxine stood in the doorway, looking from one to the other, unsure what she was witnessing.

At last Hope broke free, almost leaping back from Guy as she caught sight of her daughter. ‘I didn’t realise you were there,’ she said unnecessarily.

Maxine said nothing, but stared hostilely at Guy. He didn’t seem to notice, greeting her with a peculiarly soft, ‘Hello, Maxine.’

Maxine continued to stare, and Hope stepped in, saying, ‘Maxine, this is your uncle—’

‘Guy,’ Maxine completed for her mother. ‘I remember. My father told me about you.’

Not your mother, Guy’s eyes said as they slid in accusation to Hope.

Hope’s lips tightened. Did he imagine that she had any memories of him which she would willingly share with her child?

His eyes returned to Maxine as he said, ‘I’m sorry about your father.’

‘Thanks.’ Maxine took sympathy from him more readily than from her mother.

‘I know he hasn’t seen you much lately,’ he ran on, ‘but he’s spent most of the year performing in America.’

‘Is that where—where he died?’ Maxine asked, a catch in her voice, and, at Guy’s nod, added, ‘Will he be buried there?’

He shook his head. ‘No, we’re bringing him home to Cornwall. That’s why I’ve come…to tell you about the funeral arrangements.’

‘Do I have to go?’ Maxine looked slightly alarmed at the prospect.

Hope decided it was time for her to speak up. ‘No, of course not. Only if you want to…’

Maxine still looked uncertain. ‘I’ve never been to a funeral.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Guy told her quietly. ‘It’s just…well, a way of saying goodbye.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ Maxine accepted his reassurance with a thoughtful nod.

Hope had to give him full marks. For a man without children, he certainly knew how to speak to them.

But perhaps he wasn’t—without children. She’d just assumed. Who knew? He might be married, with his own family, by now.

‘I can look after Maxine at the service, if that suits you,’ he directed at Hope, catching her deepening frown.

‘I…um…’ Hope looked to her daughter, who gave a nod. ‘Yes, OK, if that’s possible.’

Hope felt she’d been left with little choice. Maxine had a right to be there if she wanted, and it appeared she did. Her initial hostility towards her uncle had faded rapidly and Hope was left wondering how he’d managed it. She watched them exchanging smiles, acknowledging kinship, and her heart sank a mile.

‘Where’s Katie?’ Hope purposely changed the subject.

‘Working in the living-room,’ Maxine relayed. ‘I came for drinks.’

‘All right.’ Hope went to the fridge and found two cans of Coke, almost throwing them at her daughter in her hurry to be rid of her.

Thankfully Maxine took the hint.

‘See you later,’ she said to her uncle, then paused in the doorway to ask, ‘Are you staying for tea?’