Outsider (20 page)

eventually.'

She had looked at him with contempt, seeing with merciless clarity the

weakness and self-satisfaction that underlay the surface good looks.

She'd said, 'You're lucky, Tony, finding another wealthy idiot to lap up your

little-boy charm. But it's beginning to wear very thin, so don't count on it

happening a third time when Jan throws you out.'

'You're not throwing me out.' He'd been shaking with rage as he zipped up

the case, cursing obscenely because something was caught in the fastening.

'I was leaving you anyway. You think I'd live any longer with you, you...'

He'd stormed on and on at her, heaping insult on insult, while she'd faced

him, outwardly calm, but inwardly cringing.

When he finally left, closing the door behind him with a slam which made

the whole flat reverberate, Natalie had sunk down on the floor because her

legs wouldn't support her.

Tony, her husband, had finally left, and although she had told him to go, she

should have been devastated. Instead she had felt an appalling sense of

relief—and found herself wondering if the unknown Jan would be as

delighted to have him moving in with her as he had so confidently averred.

But that was something none of them would ever know. Tony's driving, like

his riding, had always verged on the reckless, and that night he had taken

one chance too many, his car ploughing into the side of a goods train on an

unmanned crossing.

Her father had grieved for Tony, and she had allowed him to do so, keeping

the truth about his flagrant infidelities a close secret. She told herself she had

to be partly to blame for the failure of their relationship. She should have

recognised her initial feeling for him for what it was—a brief,

soon-to-be-burned-out infatuation. But once married, she should have made

more effort to make the marriage work, especially its intimate side. Her

abysmal failure in this direction made her believe that Tony could have been

right—that maybe she was incomplete in some way, incapable of being a

real woman.

What she hadn't bargained for was Eliot—the outsider—coming into her

life. Or for that one wild, passionate night which had taught her the

devastating truth about herself and her own sensuality.

She sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool glass, relishing the

stillness of the night. And the next morning she'd panicked and run from

him, like a frightened animal seeking sanctuary.

She stiffened suddenly, frowning because the silence outside was being

disturbed. There was something alien in the pattern of the night, something

that should not have been there. Somewhere—diminishing into the

distance—the unmistakable ring of a horse's hooves.

Natalie leaned out of the window, listening feverishly, straining her ears as

she tried to gauge distance and direction. Then she ran for the door, almost

flinging herself down the passage and into the sitting-room. Eliot was

standing by the hearth, looking down into the flames. His head turned

abruptly at her tempestuous entry, his eyes widening in incredulity as she'

ran towards him. The glass went flying, its contents scattering on the carpet

as he strode towards her. He caught her by the shoulders, jerking her forward

savagely into his arms.

He said harshly, 'I told you to go to bed, Natalie. You shouldn't have come

back. You shouldn't be here...' His mouth fastened on hers, urgently,

hungrily. His hands scorched through her nightdress, seeking the contours of

breast and hip and thigh, as his lips tore from her the response she could not

deny him. But as her need for him drove her senses to the brink of fainting,

and rose like a sob in her throat, some remnant of sanity still remained.

'Eliot.' She could barely control the words, utter them coherently. 'One of the

horses is loose—I heard it!'

He was very still suddenly. He held her away from him, his eyes searching

her face.

He said, 'Is—that what you came to say?'

As she bowed her head in silent acquiescence, she heard him sigh, briefly

and bitterly. There was a silence, then he said, 'This horse—you're sure you

heard it?'

'Ninety-nine per cent sure,' she said huskily. 'I'd opened the bedroom

window, you see, and at first I didn't realise what I was hearing.'

Eliot nodded, but she knew he didn't really believe her. Security was always

so tight in the yard. At evening stables each night, the fastening of each box

was always checked.

He said, 'I'll take a torch and have a look.'

'Shall I phone the police—warn them?'

'Later, if it's necessary.'

Natalie went back to the bedroom and dragged on jeans and a sweater,

sliding her arms into a quilted bodywarmer.

When she entered the yard, she could see Eliot's torch moving. She went to

join him.

'Anything?'

'Nothing,' he said curtly.

She flushed. 'I wasn't imagining it—I know I wasn't.' She paused. 'Have you

looked at the new boxes?'

'I checked them first,' he said impatiently. He walked into the small yard,

Natalie following, and swept the torchlight round it. At the end of the block,

one of the doors swung open on its hinges.

Eliot swore furiously under his breath. He muttered, 'How the hell...'

'Oh God!' Natalie clapped her hands over her mouth. 'It's Jasmine's box. It

must be my fault. I came down tonight and gave her some apple, like I

always do. I must have leant against the bolt, dislodged it somehow.'

Eliot said grimly, 'I fail to see how, but we'll discuss that later. The thing

now is to get the horse back.' He paused. 'Can you drive the Land Rover?'

She nodded. 'Go and get the keys from the office, and get the thing out. I'll

fetch a halter.' He added more gently. 'She can't have got far. We'll catch her,

and I'll walk her back.'

Jasmine wasn't young any more, Natalie thought as she headed the Land

Rover down the long private drive that led to the road from the stables. It

was unlikely she would have put on a great burst of speed. They'd probably

find the horse grazing at the side of the road, she assured herself out of the

welter of guilt which assailed her.

But there was no familiar shape moving on the verge, no whinny of

recognition.

She said, 'Which way?' and Eliot shrugged.

'We could toss a coin. Let's try left first.'

Natalie drove carefully, peering through the windscreen. After a while she

said tautly, 'This is hopeless. We must have gone the wrong way.'

'I'm afraid you're right. We'd better turn round.'

They had driven back, past the entry to the stables, when Natalie saw ahead

of her the blaze of headlights cutting the night sky. She said, with a gasp,

half to herself, 'Oh, I prayed there wouldn't be any traffic. She's not good in

traffic, she never has been.'

Even as she spoke, she heard the distant crash, the breaking glass, the sound

of shouting, a girl screaming.

Eliot groaned. He said tersely, 'Drive.'

It was a Ford Sierra. It had slewed across the road and half mounted the

bank, narrowly missing a tree. The headlights were broken, and the offside

wing was a mess.

Natalie took this in almost involuntarily. She saw the dark shape of the mare

lying in the road, making frantic efforts to rise, and pulled in at the side,

slamming on the brakes. As she fumbled with the door, Eliot's hand

descended on her arm.

He said, 'Stay here, darling. Let me go and look.'

She'd heard that note in her father's voice on more than one occasion, and

knew what it meant. With a sob, she dropped her head forward on to the

steering wheel.

He wasn't gone long. She looked at him, saw the compassion in his eyes and

said weakly, 'It's bad—isn't it?'

Eliot nodded. 'She's broken her leg. And I think she has other injuries.'

Natalie made a little sound in her throat.

He said, 'There's a cottage a bit further down. The crash woke the people

there, and one of them's ringing the vet now, and the police.' He paused. 'The

couple in the car are very shaken up. They're only young. They were coming

back from a party. The girl was driving, so she'd been on orange juice all

night. It seems she adores animals and she's nearly hysterical. Her

boy-friend can't cope, and neither, frankly, can I. Will you come and talk to

her, try and calm her down.'

The girl was sitting on the verge, crying monotonously while her dishevelled

young mar. fussed over her. He let Natalie take his place with evident relief.

The girl took Natalie's hands into a grip that hurt. 'It's your horse, isn't

it—your husband said so.' Her voice was choking. 'I couldn't do

anything—that's what's so awful. I just couldn't! I hadn't had a drink all

night, I wasn't even speeding, and when I came round the corner, there she

was in the middle of the road. I—I swerve even for hedgehogs. I tried—I did

try...'

Natalie put her arm round the heaving shoulders. 'You could have been

killed yourself,' she said gently. 'Just be thankful that you're both all right.'

'But what was she
doing
there?' the girl asked unanswerably. She began to

sob again. 'And Daddy's car— what will he say when he sees it?'

A procession of people began to arrive—the vet, the police, and ambulance

to take the young couple to the nearest casualty department for a check-up, a

breakdown van for the crippled Sierra.

In the middle of it all, Eliot came over to Natalie. 'One of the policemen is

going to drive you home,' he said quietly. 'I've explained that I've been

drinking, and undoubtedly over the limit.'She knew what he was trying to

spare her, and got to her feet. 'Won't they need statements?'

'Yes, but not this very minute.'

The policeman could not have been kinder. The worst moment came as

Natalie climbed down from the Land Rover, and saw the unused halter still

waiting in the back. The policeman took one look at her white face and

quivering lips and put an arm round her. He said, 'Come indoors, love, and

show me where the kitchen is. I'll make you some tea.'

They were on their second mugs when Eliot returned. His face looked

haggard under his tan as he came into the kitchen. He came over to Natalie

and dropped to one knee beside her chair. He said gently, 'Are you all right?'

She nodded wordlessly, and he pressed her fingers swiftly with his. 'Why

don't you go to bed for what's left of the night? I'll see the officer out.'

She was too weary, too heartsore to protest. In the bedroom, she found

herself shivering uncontrollably as she undressed and put on her nightdress

once more. The bed felt vast and chilly, a desert in which she was stranded

alone. She lay listening to the sounds of leave-taking, the closing of doors.

She heard Eliot's returning footsteps pause outside her door. She said, 'I'm

awake.'

He stood by the door and looked at her. 'Can I get you something?' He

looked round. 'Do you have any sleeping tablets—tranquillisers?'

'No.' She sat up. 'Eliot, will you tell me about it, please? Did she suffer?'

'No,' he said. 'Derek's a terrific guy. He wouldn't have allowed it.'

'Yes.' There was a silence, then she said, 'I feel so terrible—like a

murderess.' 'Don't say that. Don't even think it.' He came and sat down on the

edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. 'Natalie, you can't unbolt a door by

leaning on it, you know that.'

'But what other answer is there?'

'I wish to God I knew.' He gave her a strained smile. 'Goodnight. Try and get

some rest.' He made to stand up, but she clung to him.

'Eliot, don't leave me. Stay with me—please!'

His mouth tightened. He tried to release himself from her clasp. 'You're

upset. You don't know what you're saying.'

'I do—I do,' she told him desperately. 'Eliot, do I have to beg you?'

There was a silence. Bitter hazel eyes looked into imploring green ones, and

he sighed.

'What do you think I'm made of—stone?' He kicked off his shoes and shed

the waterproof jacket he was wearing, before lying down beside her.

Her heart was beating so rapidly it hurt. She said, 'Aren't you going

to—undress properly?'

'No,' he said curtly. 'I'm staying, and that's it.'

His arm held her, her head rested on his shoulder, but it was far from the

reunion she'd dreamed of.

From now on, Natalie thought, her mind drifting as sleep closed down on

her, she would make do with reality.

But when she eventually opened her eyes to the full light of day, much,

much later, she found that reality was waking up alone once more.

'DARLING,' Beattie said. 'You must stop blaming yourself. It can't be good

for you, or the baby.'

Natalie sighed. 'I can't help it,' she said quietly. 'I'm almost thankful Dad's