Outsider (16 page)

Even now the memory had the power to make her cringe, physically and

emotionally.

She shot a nervous sideways glance at Eliot as he drove. Apart from

exchanging their marriage vows, they had hardly said more than half a

dozen words to each other all day. And apart from asking politely if she was

warm enough, and if she wanted some taped music, he was making no effort

to engage her in conversation now.

She wondered what was occupying his thoughts. Perhaps he was thinking of

the girl he had once planned to marry, who had thrown him over because of

the Laidlaw scandal. Maybe the fact that he'd already loved and lost made it

easier for him to accept second best with her, she thought with an odd pang.

The sun was already setting when they arrived at their destination. Natalie

caught her breath as Eliot helped her from the car. It was a very old building,

whitewashed on the outside, and heavily beamed with stone-flagged floors

inside.

Their room was at the side, with an uninterrupted view through a gap in the

bare trees to the lake. Natalie walked to the window, and stared out as if

fascinated by her surroundings. Anything, she thought with a kind of

desperation, to keep her from considering the implications of the big

four-poster bed, with its pretty chintz canopy and coverlet, which dominated

the room. The whole room had an air of old-fashioned comfort, from the

solid, polished furniture to the fire burning in the grate, although the

adjoining bathroom made no such concessions to the past in its gleaming

modernity.

She listened to Eliot thanking the porter who had brought up their luggage,

and adding the appropriate tip. Then the door closed, and they were alone.

She could feel tension spreading through her, turning her rigid.

'God, I want you, Nat,' Tony had mumbled. He hadn't even bothered to

undress property. She remembered his weight 6n her, the desperate

thrusting into her unprepared, unaroused flesh.

Eliot said from just behind her, 'Why don't we leave the unpacking until

later?'

Her hands gripped the windowsill, the knuckles white. 'I—I'd rather unpack

now.'

'As you wish.' He sounded faintly surprised. 'I thought maybe you'd prefer to

have some tea in the lounge, and go for a walk before dinner.'

'Oh—yes.' She gestured at the silk suit. 'But I'll need to put something

warmer on.'

'Fine,' he said equably. 'I'll wait for you downstairs.' Do you simply want tea,

or can you manage a sandwich?'

She shook her head. 'No—nothing to eat, thanks,' she managed.

He nodded, watching her quizzically. He said, 'Relax, sweetheart. You don't

have to put on an act for our respective families any more. Now, I'll go and

order that tea.'

By herself, Natalie opened her case and hung her things away in the

cavernous wardrobe. She bit her lip over the last items—the white chiffon

nightgown, misted with hyacinth blue flowers, and matching peignoir,

which Beattie had insisted on.

'You're not wearing brushed nylon or winceyette on honeymoon,' she'd

vetoed firmly.

Natalie hesitated for a moment, then unpacked Eliot's case too. No pyjamas,

she noted, in any fabric. No doubt he was remembering the night when he'd

made her—behave like an animal, and was hoping for a repetition. Well, he

would soon discover his mistake, she thought, sending a speculative glance

at the Victorian chaise- longue, upholstered in the same chintz as the bed

which stood near the window. It was intended for purely decorative

purposes, she knew, but it could be put to practical use as well.

She changed into a simple pleated skirt in russet tweed, topped it with a

high-necked cream sweater, and, draping a casual jacket over her arm, went

downstairs.

'You didn't eat much,' Eliot commented critically later as they made their

way into the lounge for after-dinner coffee. 'Are you feeling sick again?'

Natalie flushed, shaking her head. 'It only happens occasionally. I'm very

lucky, really. I—I suppose I'm tired. Today's been rather a strain.'

'Then we'll have an early night,' he said pleasantly, as he guided her to a

table not far from the blazing log fire on the wide hearth.

She hung back. 'Would you mind if I went up now? I don't think I really

want coffee.'

'If that's what you wish.' He shot her a swift glance. 'You don't object if I

have some?'

'Oh, no.' Her response had been too quick and too vehement, she thought

vexedly as his mouth twisted in sardonic acknowledgement. Eliot took the

key from his pocket and dropped it into her hand.

'I'll join you presently,' he said lightly. 'Don't forget and lock the door before

you go to sleep, will you?'

Natalie sent him a weak smile in return, but her heart was beating rapidly, as

she went up the stairs. The glitter in the hazel eyes had warned her quite

succinctly that he was capable of summoning the manager with a master

key, if necessary.

There were plenty of extra blankets in the wardrobe, and she made up the

chaise-longue as comfortably as possible, adding one of the fat,

lace-trimmed pillows from the bed.

Then she undressed, put on the new nightgown and peignoir, and sat down

nervously on the edge of the bed to await her bridegroom.

True to his word, Eliot didn't keep her waiting long.

He closed the door behind him quietly and leaned against it for a moment,

his eyes roving over her in unmasked appreciation of the picture she

presented in the cloud of chiffon, her copper hair loose on her shoulders.

Then his gaze went past her to the makeshift bed by the window, and she

saw him stiffen. He had gone very pale, she saw, and a muscle flickered

beside his mouth.

She braced herself for an explosion.

He said quietly, 'I went into this marriage in good faith, Natalie. I meant

what I said about wanting to protect you, and the baby. But I never at any

time intended it to be less than a real marriage.'

Her mouth was dry. She said, 'I—we shouldn't... The doctors say there can

be a risk so early on.'

'I'm not unaware of that,' he said bleakly. 'Believe it or not, I never intended

to spend our time here in some non-stop sexual marathon. But I expected

one of the few perquisites of this marriage to be my wife's presence at night

in my bed, in my arms.' He walked across and sat down beside her, taking

her cold hands in his. He said gently, 'Sweetheart, this is no way to begin.

Sleep with me tonight—please.'

His fingers were strong and very warm as they held hers. She had a sudden

vivid memory of those same fingers stroking her body, caressing her to

some inexplicable madness, and her eyes dilated in panic.

She tore free from his clasp. 'No—I can't. I won't!'

Eliot stared at her for a moment, then he shrugged and got to his feet, taking

off his jacket and beginning to loosen his tie. He said without visible

emotion, 'Very well. But I hope that couch is softer than it looks. I'd hate for

it to give you backache in your delicate condition.'

It was the last reaction Natalie had expected, and she felt her jaw drop.

She said stupidly, 'Me? But I thought you...'

'Then you're under a misapprehension, my sweet.' He began to unbutton his

shirt. 'I intend to pass my wedding night in comfort, not squirming around on

a piece of furniture designed for a miniature version of Quasimodo.

Naturally, you're still welcome to join me, if you wish,' he added casually.

He smiled at her as he tossed his shirt on to the bed and began to unfasten the

belt of his trousers. 'Besides, don't forget I was born in Yorkshire. I don't pay

good brass for a bed to sleep on't bloody sofa.' It was an uncannily accurate

imitation of Grantham at his most obstreperous, and the fact that she knew

an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing made her angrier still.

Her voice shaking, she said, 'Then will you ring reception and arrange

another room for me?'

Eliot said succinctly, and very definitely, 'No.'

Natalie sent him a look of furious outrage, then swept past him, head held

high. The blankets felt itchy without the saving grace of a sheet, and the

chaise-longue was just as hard as he'd predicted, she discovered after a very

few moments. She wanted to turn over and seek a cosier position, but the

light was still on, and the last thing she wanted was to catch any further

glimpse of Eliot undressing.

At last there was a click, and the room was plunged into a darkness relieved

by the remaining glow from the fire.

His voice reached her mockingly. 'Goodnight, darling. Sleep well.'

As if there was any likelihood of that! Natalie thought, grinding her teeth.

It seemed hours before she finally dropped into an uncomfortable doze, a

situation exacerbated by Eliot's doft and even breathing from the bed.

And when she woke, cramped and miserable, the next morning, she was

alone. She sat up, grimacing, and sending an apprehensive look towards the

bathroom, but there was no sound of water splashing. The fire had been

revived and was crackling merrily, she saw, and the curtains were drawn

back, revealing that there had been a sharp frost during the night.

Natalie draped her arms morosely round her drawn-up knees and tried to

consider what to do next. She could stay where she was, but there seemed

little point in that. Besides, she was starving, having eaten so little the night

before.

She got up, wincing, and rubbing various tender points on her body. God,

but he had a lot to answer for! she thought, seething.

Eliot was seated at a table in the dining room window, eating toast and

marmalade, and glancing at the
Times
crossword.

'Ah, here she is now,' he said to the elderly waitress, placing a fresh pot of

coffee in front of him. He rose courteously to his feet as Natalie approached.

'You were sleeping so peacefully, darling, I didn't have the heart to disturb

you,' he said solemnly, the hazel eyes dancing wickedly.

She took the seat opposite, glaring at him.

'My wife will have bacon, eggs and all the trimmings,' he told the waitress,

adding confidentially, 'She's eating for two, you know.'

The woman gave Natalie a motherly smile. 'Well, there's a thing! And I

thought you were newlyweds.' She patted Natalie's rigid shoulder. 'We'll

feed you up.'

She bustled off, and Natalie stared at her husband. She said shakily, 'Have

you no shame at all?'

'Not a great deal,' he admitted, re-folding his paper. 'Have you any plans for

today, darling, or would you like to join me on a tour of the local beauty

spots? No? Well, alternatively, why don't we find a lonely piece of fell and

spend a few hours shouting and screaming at each other?'

'I don't understand...' she began.

'It's quite simple. We need to do something to reduce the tension between us,

and a slanging match might be a way of airing our resentments and

misgivings about each other. But I can see you don't fancy that idea either.'

He pushed back his chair and stood up. 'So, it's your turn to think of

something, my reluctant wife, because I'm damned if any son or daughter of

mine is going to be born into a situation where their mother flinches every

time their father comes near her.' His voice was quiet, but icily, deadly

serious. 'I may be back for dinner, I may not. You can let me know what

you've decided when I do return.'

It was the longest day Natalie had ever spent, she thought. She walked down

to the village and bought some postcards. She strolled part of the way round

the lake. She read some of the magazines the hotel provided in the lounge,

but she could concentrate on nothing.

Eliot's bitter words seemed to have burned their way into her brain, so that

she could think of little else. And no matter what mental arguments she tried

to marshal, she was only able to draw one conclusion: having agreed to

marry him, albeit unwillingly, she had to try and make the marriage work.

It was almost a relief when he failed to put in an appearance at dinner.

Natalie ate grilled trout and drank Perrier water. No alcohol could be

allowed to cloud the issue tonight.

When she'd finished her coffee, she went out into the foyer.

'My husband's visiting friends,' she told the receptionist. 'When he returns,

will you tell him I've gone up to bed, please?'

She was assured the message would be relayed, and went up to the bedroom.

She bathed, and scented herself, putting on her nightgown, before switching

off the lamps and climbing into bed, where she lay quietly, watching the

firelight flickering on the walls.