Deception and Desire Read online

  ‘What is it, darling? What is the matter?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘There must be something. You don’t cry for no reason – nobody does.’

  ‘Oh – it’s being here, I suppose.’

  ‘But you wanted to come.’

  ‘I know, but it’s so sad! Love can be, can’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it’s nothing to cry about.’

  She sat silently staring down the valley.

  ‘It’s not Lorna Doone and John Ridd you’re crying about at all, is it?’ he said. ‘You have been behaving strangely all day. Is it because of what happened last night? Because if it is, that’s nothing to cry about either. You wanted it to happen, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ There was no mistaking the fervour of her tone.

  ‘And so did I. We’ve both wanted it for a very long time. So what is it? You’re not worried that I might have made you pregnant, are you? Because if you are – forget it. I can promise you I didn’t.’

  He heard her gulp, deep in her throat. Then she said dully: ‘No, it’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  Tears were welling in her eyes and he felt a sudden bolt of jealousy.

  ‘Is there somebody else? Somebody you can’t forget?’

  ‘No. No! Oh, please do stop going on at me! There’s nothing wrong. I’m fine. I’m probably just tired – I didn’t sleep much last night.’

  And she would say no more.

  They returned to the car and drove on, and gradually he sensed her mood lifting, returning to the forced elation of the morning as if she had made a conscious decision to put whatever it was that was troubling her behind her.

  That night they made love again, this time in her room, and though she once again insisted that the lights should be out her response had that same feverish quality he had noticed in her all day. When it was over they lay side by side, his hand resting on that slightly rounded stomach and he was surprised when she took it and moved it higher, so it lay instead on her ribcage.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked, though it was the last thing he wanted.

  She curled herself around him.

  ‘No, please stay!’

  It was some time during the dark reaches of the night that it came to him that he wanted to marry her. He had woken to feel her there beside him, heard her regular breathing and reached for the warm softness of her. She moved slightly, murmuring something he could not make out, and with the suddenness of an electric shock he realised he never wanted to leave her.

  The thought startled him. Never before had it occurred to him to want to make one of his many relationships permanent. He enjoyed his freedom too much, enjoyed playing the field, taking his pleasures with no strings attached. He had seen himself as one of life’s natural bachelors, wedded only to the ambition that would one day bring him all the prizes he desired. A wife had had no place in his plans. But then he had never before known a woman like Dinah, never before been in love.

  The realisation that this had all changed frightened him a little. But even as he tried to tell himself that the madness would pass and he would get over it he knew he did not want to. Loving her made him vulnerable and Van did not like being vulnerable. Marry her, make her his, and he would be in control again, both of himself and of her.

  But the desire was not only selfish. He wanted to give to her too, to make her happy, to teach her to trust and to banish forever whatever it was that clouded her horizon. He wanted her there to share the fruits of his success, wanted them to do things together, not just the lovemaking but also the adventures and the striving, even the sheer hard work, as they had shared the making and the trial of the new walking boots and the sandals that he thought of as the ‘Bible boots’.

  The wonder of discovery filled him and he thought how odd it was that someone as ingenuous and childlike as Dinah should have reached his heart where more sophisticated women had failed. And yet at the same time it was not strange at all but absolutely right, for her very naivety filled a gap in him, making him feel strong and powerful whilst at the same time that unreachable core of her fascinated him and posed a challenge.

  They had one day left, one day before they had to return to reality, to the factory and everyday life. He could no longer bear the thought of her sitting at her machine with the other workers, knew it would tear him apart to look through his office window and see her there, one of the least important of his father’s employees, when he wanted her beside him. As for his other lady friends – it amused him to think how outraged they would be to know that they had been usurped by this little girl.

  But how proud he would be! She was beautiful already – when she was dressed, with his money, in designer clothes, she would be stunning. And he would teach her everything she needed to know to fit into his world.

  Tomorrow he would ask her to marry him, he decided. And in spite of all that had gone before, in spite of the doubts she inspired in him, it never occurred to him for one moment that she might refuse.

  He took her to Tarr Steps, in the heart of Exmoor, and on the way back he detoured again to the Doone Valley.

  Van was not a romantic but knowing how she felt about the place it seemed only right to him that it should be here that he asked her the question that had not left his mind since those sleepless hours last night.

  ‘Lorna never made it to the altar in the church,’ he said, sitting on the ridge and holding her hand. ‘ Would you like to do it for her?’

  She glanced up, puzzled, and he knew she had not understood.

  ‘Would you like to be married there?’

  She laughed, a soft little intake of breath.

  ‘Would I … ? I don’t know. What a funny question!’

  ‘It isn’t meant to be funny. I don’t even know if the church is used for services any more, let alone for weddings. But if it is, would you like to be married there … to me?’

  She still looked puzzled, as if she half understood but was afraid she might be mistaken.

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ he exploded. ‘ I’m asking you to marry me Dinah!’

  ‘Oh!’ It was there again in her eyes before she quickly turned her head away, that shadow that had no substance, and for a moment he felt sick inside, as if she had hit him. He had made love to her, and the ghosts were still there. He had asked her to marry him, and the ghosts were still there. What could he do to drive them away? Though he was churning inside with unfamiliar emotions his voice was hard, almost expressionless.

  ‘I take it, then, that your answer is no?’

  She turned back. He was reminded of a gazelle poised for flight.

  ‘Oh Van, there’s nothing in the world I would like better than to marry you. Only …’

  ‘Only what?’

  She hesitated, eyes distant. Then she lowered her lashes, shook her head.

  ‘Nothing.’ Would she never tell him? He wanted to catch her, shake it out

  of her, but he knew he could not do that. One day, in her own

  good time, she would tell him. Until then he would have to be

  patient.

  ‘Will you marry me, then?’

  She buried her face in his chest. ‘Oh Van, I love you so much!’

  It was, he thought, not quite the answer he had expected, but

  he knew that for the moment it was the best he could hope for.

  They drove home next day. Dinah was very quiet but also very loving, her hand resting on his thigh as he drove, her head against his shoulder.

  They did not talk about marriage again. He would give her time to get used to the idea, he told himself, and besides, he could use a little time to get used to it himself! Reaction to the hasty decision had begun to set in; he didn’t regret it, no, certainly not that, but he did want time to adjust to the enormity of what he had done.

  They ate en route at a country pub, and he loved the fact that they were treated as a couple. Back in Over Stowey he drove her to
the little terraced house where she had her digs and stopped outside.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, oddly formal.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, ‘for the happiest few days of my life.’

  ‘At work … will we … ?’

  ‘Tell anyone? We will tell them just as soon as you are ready.’

  ‘And the boots? Do you think they will be all right?’

  He frowned. The boots were, at that moment, the furthest thing from his mind.

  ‘I’m sure they will be. The basic design is good and the experts can work on the technical details.’

  ‘Mm.’ She nodded. She looked, he thought, satisfied.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you – carry your case?’

  ‘Oh no, better not. Mrs Brooks is a funny soul.’

  ‘Mrs Brooks is going to have to get used to me – for a little while, anyway.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said reflectively. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But not tonight.’

  He placed her case on the doorstep, then took her by the shoulders to kiss her lightly.

  ‘Goodnight, darling.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ It was almost a sob, and then suddenly she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Embarrassed, he tensed. He was too old and too sophisticated for such a public display of passion. But before he could even attempt to extricate himself she released him again, picked up her case and turned away. Her key was in the door and she did not look round at him. But somehow he had the impression that she might be crying.

  ‘Dinah …’ he began to say.

  ‘Goodnight, Van,’ she said again, and he wondered why for one ridiculous moment he thought she had said not ‘goodnight’ but ‘goodbye’. Then the door had closed behind her and there was nothing left for him to do but return to the car and drive home.

  Next day Dinah did not turn up for work. Van had arrived early – he always did, but today he had even more reason than usual for wanting to get to the factory; he was anxious to put the modifications for the walking boots in hand, and he wanted to see Dinah. But her place was empty and her clock card in its wallet remained unmarked.

  Van was puzzled but also almost unnaturally worried. All very well to tell himself that the likeliest reason was that she was not well and taking a day off – he was sickeningly certain it was more than that. All very well to rationalise that since Mrs Brooks had no telephone, if Dinah was poorly she would not feel like walking to the kiosk at the end of the street to call in sick, yet still all his instincts clamoured alarm. All thoughts of tackling his father about the production of the boots were forgotten. At eleven o’clock Van told his secretary he was going out; took his car and drove to Wellington Street.

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse. This morning it was drizzling and beneath the overcast sky the terrace of grey stone houses that gave directly on to the street without even the smallest of gardens looked depressing and unwelcoming. A couple of worn-out looking women laden with shopping in plastic bags turned to stare curiously as the Jag drew up outside Mrs Brooks’s house. A Jag here was not a common sight.

  Van rang the bell. For a long while there was no reply, then he heard slippers shuffling across the lino. When the door was opened it was obvious that Mrs Brooks was in the middle of the weekly wash. Her hair hung limply across her thin face, the sleeves of a shrunken cardigan were pushed up to her raw-boned elbows and she was wiping puffy red hands on the skirt of her wraparound overall.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Brooks. I’ve come to see Dinah.’

  The woman sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  ‘Huh! You’ll have a job to do that.’

  ‘Isn’t she well?’

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ Somehow he had known it already and yet it was still a shock. ‘Gone where?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘How should I know? All I can tell you is that she packed up and left, first thing this morning. It’s a good thing I take my rent in advance, I must say.’

  ‘You mean … she’s not coming back?’

  ‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’ She peered at Van suspiciously. ‘Do you know anything about it? Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘I’m her employer,’ Van said. ‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’

  ‘No. I asked her what I should do if there was any post for her and she said there wouldn’t be. Well, if there is I shall just put it back in the box marked ‘‘Gone Away’’. I’m sure I can’t be bothered if she can’t.’

  ‘Could I see her room?’ Van asked.

  The woman looked taken aback. ‘What for?’

  ‘In case she left anything.’

  ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘I’d like to check for myself all the same.’ Van spoke with authority and Mrs Brooks reluctantly gave in.

  ‘I’ve stripped the bed, mind you,’ she said, leading the way up the stairs. ‘I’m washing the sheets and pillowcases right now.’

  As Mrs Brooks had said, every one of Dinah’s personal possessions had gone. Without them, and with the bed stripped, exposing bare, stained mattress, it had a bleak impersonal feel that made it impossible to imagine that it had been Dinah’s home for almost as long as he had known her. Van checked the drawers, each lined with yellowing newspaper, and opened the wardrobe, empty but for a jangling collection of wire hangers.

  ‘You see?’ Mrs Brooks was watching from the doorway, an expression midway between satisfaction and pained outrage on her thin, worn face. She was torn between annoyance at her lodger’s sudden departure and pleasure at seeing him thwarted, he decided, and realised with a sense of hopeless frustration that there was no point pressing her any further.

  ‘Miss Marshall doesn’t owe you anything, I take it?’

  ‘I told you, I take a month’s rent in advance. Mind you, I should have been given notice! I might have trouble letting again,’ she added hastily.

  Van’s lips tightened with dislike.

  ‘You might indeed,’ was all he said.

  Van sat behind the wheel of his Jaguar, staring into space. He was unaware of the mean street now, oblivious to passers-by staring curiously. He was still in shock, his mind reeling with unanswered questions. Where had Dinah gone – and why? Yet at the same time there were facets he could see with startling clarity – Dinah with tears in her eyes, Dinah clinging to him, Dinah walking away from him without a backward glance: ‘Goodbye, Van.’ He was certain now that that was what she had said – not ‘goodnight’, but ‘goodbye’. Part of him had known it even then but he had refused to accept it. But why? Why? Because they had made love? Because he had asked her to marry him? If she didn’t want to she had only to say so. Or did she think working with him afterwards would be impossible? That could be it. She had not wanted to hurt him by outright refusal and had taken fright at the thought of having to face him again. She had not after all said she would marry him. The omission had jarred on him then and it jarred on him now. But she had said she loved him and he believed her. So why should she pack her bags and go without a word to him or anyone? It did not make sense, but instinctively he knew it had to do with that part of her that he had never been able to reach and the shadow that came between them.

  What was it she was hiding? Some secret sorrow? Something she was ashamed of – her background, perhaps? Whatever it was he couldn’t imagine it could be anything so very terrible. Knowing Dinah and her ingenuousness she had probably exaggerated whatever it was, built it up in her mind until it assumed unacceptable proportions. He would find her, worm the secret – whatever it was – out of her and assure her that nothing was more important than their being together.

  Van started the car, driving automatically in the direction of the factory. Already he felt the loss of her like a physical pain, an emptiness growing and spreading to touch every part of him. But shocked and hurt though he was, he had no doubt but that he would find her again and make right whatever it was
that was wrong between them. He needed her, on both a physical and an emotional level, and also as the catalyst for his dreams for the future. Dinah, with her elusive talent, was the other, missing half of his ambition. Together they would move Kendricks into a whole new dimension. That was the way he had planned it – that was how it would be. Her disappearance now was merely a hiccup.

  Van, with his dynamism and determination, would refuse to allow it to be otherwise.

  Mary Colbourne, née O’Sullivan, put her baby son Patrick down for his afternoon nap and went back into the house. In the cluttered but homely kitchen Dinah had just finished drying the lunch dishes, now she stood, still twisting the damp tea towel between her hands, staring listlessly out of the window into the small sunny backyard where the tall scarlet and pink geraniums in their terracotta pots made splashes of brilliant colour against the grey, and the coach-built pram, protected by a cat-net, had been parked in what little shade was provided by the side of the house.

  Mary looked at her friend sadly and shook her head. Dinah was under a great deal of strain – and it showed. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes puffy, and beneath the cheap cotton shift, patterned with flowers the same shades as the geraniums, the bulge of her spreading waistline was clearly discernible.

  ‘Dinah, we have to talk,’ Mary said. ‘We have to decide what you are going to do.’

  It was almost a week since Dinah had arrived on her doorstep, and one look at her had told Mary that something was dreadfully wrong. Dinah had confirmed it – she had left her job and her digs and had nowhere to go. Could Mary take her in for the time being until she sorted herself out?

  Mary had agreed. She had a spare room and Dinah was welcome to that as long as she needed it, she said. She was certain that Bob, her husband, would not mind – he knew how lonely she got since being confined to the house with the baby while he worked long hours and all the overtime he could get in his trade as a plasterer to make enough money to pay the mortgage. But she was puzzled. The last she had heard from Dinah was when she had thrown in her college course and gone to work in a boot factory – a very odd thing for such a talented student. Now it seemed that that too had gone by the board. And Dinah was clearly distressed – and, thought Mary, suspiciously plump. It did not take her long to get Dinah to admit she was pregnant – with her spreading waistline there was little point in denying it. But any details of her predicament were a closed book.