Outsider (19 page)

dress seemed to have endless possibilities. She grabbed her dressing gown

and the minimum underwear the dress required and went to the bathroom. A

damp towel on the floor and a tang of cologne in the air revealed that Eliot

had been there before her. She listened, but could hear no sound from the

room next door. She ran a bath swiftly, and washed with equal speed,

splashing cold water on her face to remove any lingering marks of tears.

Tonight, she thought, she was going to look radiant if it killed her!

She rehearsed silently what she would say when Eliot came to say goodbye

to her, and ask her to change her mind, as she knew he would. She would

keep it simple and down to earth, she thought, so that there would be no

more misunderstandings.

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Back in the bedroom, she made up her face with care, accentuating the

colour and shape of her green eyes with shadow and liner, and painting a

clear bright coral on to her lips. She slid the dress over her head and brushed

out her hair on her shoulders, then stared at herself. She looked exotic, she

thought with satisfaction, and distinctly provocative.

Then she sat down and waited. The minutes dragged past, and she began to

glance restively at her watch. Where was Eliot? They would have to be

leaving very soon.

She waited a while longer, then went along to the room he was using, and

knocked on the door. There was no answer, and after a moment, she turned

the handle and looked in. The room was empty, the clothes he had been

wearing earlier lying across the still unmade-up bed.

Natalie turned, and almost run down to the sitting- room. It was empty too,

the fire banked up behind a spark guard. She swallowed. The flat was

quiet—too quiet. All she could hear, apart from the faint crackling of the

logs, was the sound of her own rapid breathing.

She went slowly to the window and looked down through the gathering

darkness at the place where the Porsche had been standing since their return.

But she already knew it would not be there.

Eliot hadn't come to say goodbye, or to persuade her to go with him. He had

taken her quite cynically at her word, she realised dazedly, and gone to meet

Oriel Prince, leaving her here alone, and more frightened than she'd ever

been in her life.

SHE STAYED where she was, staring sightlessly out of the window for a long

time, the she quietly turned and went back to the golden bedroom, and took

off the beautiful dress, replacing it with the jeans and sweater she had been

wearing earlier. She went into the kitchen and took an apple from the bowl

of fruit in the centre of the table, cutting it into quarters before going

downstairs.

Evening stables was over, and the horses settled for the night, as she slipped

into the second yard and made her way to Jasmine's box. She saw the mare's

head turn as she approached, and the elegant ears lift as her name was called.

Natalie fed her the apple, and laid her cheek against the soft muzzle. Sharon

exercised Jasmine for her now, as Grantham had given strict instructions

that she wasn't to ride any more while she was pregnant. She'd been disposed

to argue, but had thought better of it, reminding herself that her mother's

early and tragic death must be colouring his thinking, although he never

talked about it openly.

'I miss you,' she whispered. Horses were such uncomplicated beasts. They

didn't hurt you, or betray you— unless they were spoiled, imperious and

bad-tempered like Midstream, that was. But he was a law unto himself, as

befitted a future champion. Because that was what he undoubtedly would

be. Already his progress was being followed in the racing columns, and

predictions were being made which Grantham raged over, and Eliot

shrugged away in displeasure.

Natalie stayed talking to Jasmine for a few more minutes, petting her and

rubbing her neck, then she turned away with a sigh, jumping visibly as a

shadow detached itself from the surrounding shadows and came towards

her. It was no one she'd seen before.

'Who are you?' As she stared at him, she had the odd feeling she'd seen him

before.

'Roland Bakewell, miss. I only arrived yesterday. Hope I didn't startle you.'

'Well, you did,' she said rather shortly. 'What are you doing?'

'I left my jacket in the tack room—got all the way back to the digs before I

realised. Really mild it is tonight.'

'Yes.' Natalie went on staring at him. She said, 'Haven't we met before?'

'Oh, no, miss. I'd have remembered.' He gave her a pleasant smile. 'But they

say everyone has a double, don't they?'

She shrugged. 'I suppose so. Well, goodnight, Roland. Or is it Roly?'

'That's what the other lads call me, miss.'

'Then I will too. Now get back to your digs, or you'll be late for supper.' She

watched him disappear, then turned back towards the flat with another sigh.

Her mind must be playing her tricks, and small wonder.

She was half tempted to go up to the house for company, but Beattie would

want to know what had happened to the dinner invitation she'd mentioned,

and she didn't feel equal to inventing a plausible explanation. And her

stepmother clearly thought the marriage was going to be a great success. She

wouldn't want to hear it was on the rocks already.

There was some cheese in the refrigerator, and she made herself a sandwich,

and washed it down with a glass of milk. She wandered back into the sitting

room and turned on the hi-fi. There was a tape of Eliot's in the machine

already, and the sound of Roberta Flack singing 'The first time ever I saw

your face' filled the room. Wincing, Natalie switched it off. She didn't need

reminding of the first time she'd seen Eliot, or kissed him, or lain with him.

She found some nice safe Debussy instead.

And when she'd had as much music and as much loneliness as she could

stand, she went to bed.

She heard the case clock in the passage chime midnight before she finally

fell asleep, only to wake with a start a couple of hours later. She sat up,

wondering what had disturbed her, and saw a crack of light under the door.

And yet she had switched all the lights off before coming to bed. So Eliot

had not spent the whole night with his lady.

She pushed back the covers and got out of bed, treading softly over to the

door, and listening. She thought she could hear music very faintly in the

distance, and after a brief hesitation she opened the door and walked,

barefoot, down the passage to the sitting-room.

The door was closed, but the music was stronger now. She pushed opened

the door and walked in. Eliot was sprawled on one of the sofas, his long legs

stretched out in front of him, jacket off and tie loosened, his eyes closed, and

his hand clamped round a tumbler containing a generous measure of whisky.

The decanter, Natalie saw, was on the floor at his feet.

She didn't think she'd made any sound, but his eyes opened, focusing on her

as if he was having difficulty in remembering who she was.

She said inanely, 'You're back.'

'So it would seem.' He frowned. 'What is it? Why did you wake up? Did I

have the music on too loud? Or are you not feeling well?'

'I'm all right.' She sat on the sofa opposite, tucking her bare feet under the

hem of her sprigged Victorian-style nightdress.

'Did you have a pleasant evening?' As soon as she'd asked the stupid

question, she could have bitten her tongue out.

'How kind of you to enquire,' he said too courteously. 'I had--' the pause was

deliberate, she knew, 'a fantastic time. Shall I go into details for you?'

'No,' she said tautly.

There was a silence. Eliot watched her, a cynical smile playing round his

mouth. 'How sweet you look tonight, my dear wife.' He drank some of his

whisky. 'Like some innocent schoolgirl—a little virgin, untouched by

human hand. Except that you're not a virgin, are you, darling? You've been

married before to a man called Tony Drummond, and now you're married,

for want of a better word, to me. So why, when I look at you, do I get

"virgin" in word association?' He thought for a moment, then nodded. 'I

remember—it's because you can't stand my touching you, or coming

anywhere near you.'

Natalie said in a low voice, 'Eliot, please.'

'Eliot does not damned well please,' he said with swift bitterness. 'If you

don't like the conversation, Natalie, you can always go back to bed. I've had

a surfeit of female company this evening already.'

Now, she knew, was not the time, but if she remained silent she might lose

her courage altogether. And the words she had rehearsed earlier that evening

were there, begging to be spoken.

She said, 'Eliot, I came to say I was sorry—about the honeymoon—and--'

she swallowed, 'and everything that's happened since.'

There was a pause. Then, 'Your gracious apology is equally graciously

accepted, darling,' he said. 'But if you're waiting for me to grovel in return,

.you'll wait a hell of a long time.'

'No, I didn't intend that. I—I shouldn't have behaved as I did, said the things

I said. I—I blame myself...'

'Well, you can stop grovelling too,' he said brusquely. 'It's neither pretty nor

necessary.'

'But I need to make you understand.' She looked down at her hands, locked

together in her lap. 'In spite of everything, can't we begin again—make a

fresh start?'

There was an even longer pause. 'Now, why should we want to do that?' he

asked politely.

Because I love you.

She looked at him, at the mockery on the dark face, and swallowed back the

words, twisting a fold of nightgown between nervous fingers.

She said, 'For the baby's sake—maybe we should try...'

'Ah, for the baby.' Eliot reached for the decanter, liberally topping up his

glass. 'That, of course, makes all the difference.' He drank some of the

whisky, staring down into the glass. Then he said quietly, 'Go to bed,

Natalie. We'll talk some other time.'

'Why not now?' She bit her lip.

He looked at her derisively. 'Because, my darling, I am in the process of

getting drunk—not a condition that lends itself to serious conversation. So,

on your way, sweetheart, there's a good girl.'

She said quietly, 'Don't treat me like a child.'

'Why not?' he jeered. 'It's altogether safer than treating you like a woman, as

we both know to our cost.'

Uncertainly, Natalie got to her feet. She said shakily, 'Are you planning to

ride out to exercise tomorrow?'

'Naturally. I never allow a mere hangover to get in the way of my duties.'

'But you won't ride Midstream—will you?'

'I certainly will.' He sent her a cordial smile. 'It will be interesting to see

which of us is in the bloodiest mood.'

'That's madness!' she protested. 'You'll be in no fit state to ride him. You

have to have all your wits about you—you've said so yourself.'

He shrugged. 'Then call this a change of tactics. Besides,' he swallowed

some more whisky, 'I might even fall off and break my neck, which would

be the solution to all sorts of problems. You could revert to being a widow—

all the status of marriage, without any of the more distasteful obligations.

And my money as a bonus. It should suit you very well.'

Natalie said quietly, 'If that's what you think, there's no more to be said.' She

walked to the door, stumbling a little over the hem of the nightdress.

Back in the bedroom, she closed the door and leaned against it for a moment,

trying to regulate her breathing. What a fool she'd been to think that a single,

simplistic approach could solve all the problems between them. What a

crass, naive idiot!

She undid the small pearl buttons at her throat and walked over to the

window, opening the casement and taking deep, grateful gulps of the cold air

which streamed in.

She'd spent a lot of nights at this window in earlier days, sitting out Tony's

increasingly delayed returns from race meetings. She'd experienced

bewilderment, shock, hurt, and finally anger as their marriage had

deteriorated into bitter recrimination.

'You don't think I married you because I fell madly in love with you?' Tony

had asked derisively that last evening, as he threw a change of clothing into

an overnight bag. 'I quite fancied you at first, but I married you for a stake in

Wintersgarth. But the game isn't worth the candle any more. I'm not hanging

round here, getting frozen to death in bed each night, just so that I can step

into a dead man's shoes some time in the unforeseeable future. Jan's divorce

settlement is big enough to keep us in comfort for a very long time. She's

thinking of buying a pub, anyway, and she'll need me to help her run it