She couldn’t help it. She felt herself reach up to snap at him, like a terrier. Her teeth had dug into the soft tissue of his lip before he could pull out of reach.
‘You bitch!’
He whispered the words, but she saw the fire in his eyes and wondered if he would bite her back, or knock her senseless with the back of his hand. She wasn’t frightened, although she knew she should be. She just wanted to battle it out, tooth and nail, with the man she had hated for over ten years. She had never had a violent thought before, but now all her suppressed aggression came to the surface. The sight of his blood on his lip, the taste of it on her own, turned her into a savage.
She closed her eyes, fighting her feelings, trying to cling on to some remnant of civilisation. She felt dizzy, tumbling out of control. It was like the stage of drunkenness when you know you’ve had far too much to drink, but retain enough clarity of mind to bitterly regret it.
Somehow, she must get a grip, become a human being again, but the weight of him, holding her down, kept her hatred hot and powerful.
She looked up at him, bitterly resentful of his successful efforts to control her.
‘Let me up, Lucas, or I’ll report you!’
‘Oh, yes? Who to? I wonder. And what will happen when I tell them that you bit me, drew blood, and probably left a scar?’
She got a leg free and kicked him.
It was a pathetic attempt, and he laughed. ‘Don’t you know when you’re outclassed? And don’t wriggle, or you’ll find yourself lying on broken glass.’
‘I’m not staying here all night!’ she hissed. ‘Let me up!’
‘Not until I can be sure you won’t try and savage me again.’
She still felt bursting with pent-up emotion. She wanted to take hold of his neck and shake it until his teeth rattled. She glared up at him, feeling like a tiger in a cage, infinitely powerful but declawed.
He seemed to sense her frustration. ‘Now I warn you, I’ve had enough of being kicked and bitten, so from now on don’t do anything to me you don’t want me to do right back. I would have absolutely no qualms about slapping your face if you try to hurt me again.’ He let this sink in. ‘I’m going to help you up now.’
In spite of his warning, although she knew she’d gone so far beyond the norms of civilised behaviour it was unlikely she’d ever get back to them again, she couldn’t stop herself. His soothing tone heightened her madness. The moment she was standing she flew at his neck, unable to bear his patronising attitude any more than she could tolerate the maelstrom of conflicting feelings which made her dizzy, wild, miserable, and yet elated.
This time he didn’t spare her. He grabbed her wrists and lifted her so that she was half sitting, half lying on
the worktop, then he stood over her legs so she couldn’t hurt him, gathered her into his arms and kissed her, in a teeth-clashing, lip-bruising kiss that was as painful and passionate as it was arousing. Suddenly she found herself kissing him back, and she didn’t want it to stop, ever. By some mysterious alchemy, all her hatred had turned to desire. She no longer wanted to kill him, she just wanted to make violent love to him, to have him make violent love to her.
He raised his head cautiously, not aware of her change of mood. ‘You have to accept that I’m stronger than you and, however much you attack me, I’m always going to be able to fight back harder. I don’t want to hurt you, but for God’s sake, stop hurting me!’
She blinked up at him, not wanting him to know that he was no longer in danger, to reveal her vulnerability to him.
His voice sounded husky as he went on, ‘I know I’ve probably just made you hate me more than ever, but I warn you, unless you’re very careful, this could get way beyond kissing. I think I’d better take you home before this gets out of hand.’
There was no way she was going to let him leave her full of unsatisfied passion. Before he could stop them, her fingers flew at the buttons of his jacket, ripping them open, baring his chest. He hesitated only for a second before he returned the favour, tugging her shirt out of her jeans, undoing the buttons almost as fast as she was undoing his.
They kissed as if they hated each other, she bit and scratched and pulled at him, but she wouldn’t let him go. He was less fierce, but just as passionate. When they stopped for breath his jacket hung open, exposing his naked chest, and Perdita’s shirt was falling off her shoulders, joining her bra straps halfway down her arms.
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘Not on the workbench, for God’s sake. Come with me.’
As if not trusting her to follow him, he picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen, through the deserted foyer of the hotel and into the Ladies, kicking open the door. He rested her on the broad, mirror-backed Formica counter used as a dressing table, and, still holding her, swept everything off it. Potpourri, hand-towels, hand-cream and bottles of scent landed on the floor unheeded.
He slid her around and back so there was room for her legs. She didn’t resist but her passion was beginning to fade. Cold air touched her bare flesh, cooling her. Back there, under the hot lights of the kitchen, where tempers and passions were heated beyond reason, the fieriness of her emotions seemed reasonable. Here, in the cool, soothing surroundings of a ladies’ powder room, they seemed suddenly inappropriate.
And how did he know about the ladies’ loo? How did he know there was a counter top suitable for making love on? Had he taken other members of staff there, for a little post-service fornication? There might have been a thousand innocent explanations for his familiarity with the Ladies, but none occurred to her. Sanity began to push through her dying passion, and leave her confused and full of doubts.
‘Lucas – I really don’t think we should be doing this.’ Her voice seemed to separate her from her desires, reminding her of the sensible, down-to-earth person she usually was, disconnecting her from the wild, uncontrollable, passion-led woman Lucas had turned her into.
He was breathing audibly, not only because he’d carried her several yards. He swallowed. ‘There’s no should about it. Do you want to?’
She did want to. She wanted very much to make love to Lucas, to have him make love to her. She knew perfectly well that otherwise her sexual frustration would probably stop her sleeping for months, would haunt her now in a way that it hadn’t for years. But she
knew it would take her years to get back to being the contented, fulfilled person she had been, if they did make love. For her, lovemaking could never just be a simple release of sexual tension, and for Lucas she doubted if it would ever be anything else. She’d make herself vulnerable to him again, and this time she might not recover. But nor could she be anything but honest with him.
‘I do want to, Lucas. You know I do. But not here, not like this – and I don’t mean not in the ladies’ lavatories, for God’s sake! I’d have made love on the kitchen floor a moment ago …’ She closed her eyes, briefly regretting that they hadn’t done just that.
‘But not now?’
She shook her head. ‘I got very carried away. I did – want you. But I was angry with you. I wanted to hurt you, tear you apart, scratch and bite and leave bruises.’ She noticed some marks on his torso. She reached out to touch them, but he stepped back sharply. ‘I probably have left bruises,’ she smiled, ‘not that you didn’t deserve it, but sex isn’t about revenge. For me, it’s about love.’ He cleared his throat, watching as she buttoned up her shirt. ‘I’m terribly sorry if I led you on,’ she added.
He turned away from her and gave a brief laugh, starting to do up his own buttons. ‘I suppose I’ve only myself to blame. As usual.’
‘I don’t usually mind contradicting you, Lucas, but I think I have to take my share of responsibility. Sad, isn’t it?’ She pushed her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. She watched him tidy himself in silence for a few moments. Then she said, ‘What about this mess?’ She indicated the potpourri, the towels and the bottles. ‘Shall I get a dustpan and brush?’
‘If I see you in close proximity to the floor, it’s unlikely you’ll get out of here with your virtue in tact. Wait here and I’ll get your coat.’
When he came back he looked weary, and a little cynical. ‘I think I should warn you that I wouldn’t have made love to you for revenge, or to punish you – I’ve done enough of that this evening – but because I wanted you, very much. Now go away before I remember I’m the villain of the piece, and ravish you.’
When Perdita got home, although it was one o’clock in the morning, she had a very hot bath. Then she poured the remains of Kitty’s brandy into a glass and took it up to bed with her. She gulped it down, feeling it tingle against her recently brushed teeth, hoping, but not believing, it would make her sleep.
‘So,’ asked Kitty, the following lunchtime, ‘what was it like working for Lucas?’ She had made Sunday lunch – roast beef and Yorkshire pudding – because, she said, she knew Perdita would need her strength building up.
‘Hell. The sooner I get Janey out of there, the better.’ Perdita drained her sherry glass and refilled it, in spite of the headache which nagged at her.
‘I dare say Janey likes it. After all, she’s trained.’ Kitty stirred some flour into the meat juices.
‘Shall I set the table?’
‘Yes, just clear one end of it. That’ll do.’
As Kitty’s kitchen table had never been seen clear by anyone, this proviso was unnecessary. Perdita picked up the book which was open face down in front of Kitty’s chair. ‘Is this yours, or borrowed?’
‘Borrowed.’
‘I’ll find something to keep your place, then.’ Perdita found a leaflet offering cheap car insurance and slipped it between the pages. Then, to distract herself, she opened the book and looked inside. The name Lucas Gillespie, written in thick black ink, shouted at her. At first she thought she had imagined it.
‘Kitty?’ she demanded, having made sure she hadn’t. ‘Who lent you this?’
‘Oh – I can’t remember. Can you put some mats down for the vegetable dishes?’
Kitty wasn’t usually vague, and Perdita had been putting mats down for the vegetable dishes since she was twelve.
‘It was Lucas, wasn’t it?’
‘If you know the answer, why are you asking?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me he’d lent you a book? Why did you keep it from me?’
‘Well, I would have told you, but he asked me not to, thought you might feel betrayed. And he was obviously right. You’re getting all worked up. Now, pour some wine, there’s a dear.’
‘But I didn’t know you knew him! Socially!’
‘I didn’t, but he came to see me shortly after I got back from the Ledham-Golds, to see how I was. Very polite, I thought. We got talking about books and he lent me some. Now, do start, or it’ll get cold.’
Perdita sawed at her meat somewhat savagely, wondering if she was being totally unjust suspecting Lucas of having an ulterior motive for visiting Kitty.
‘But why did he come?’
‘I’ve told you, to see how I was. Of course, if you feel I’ve been disloyal, I’ll ask him not to come again, but I do appreciate a little male company from time to time, and he has a very good mind.’
‘I’m sure he has.’ His body’s not bad either, she added coarsely to herself. ‘But when does he have the time to visit you?’
‘It’s just the odd afternoon. He rings to check you’re not here, and not likely to be. He thought you wouldn’t like it. I thought he was talking nonsense, but he obviously wasn’t. I can see you’re quite put out.’
Perdita got a grip on herself. ‘I’m not put out at all. I
think it’s very nice that he visits you, and it must be lovely to have someone to talk about books to. I’m just overtired from last night. It took me ages to get to sleep, I was so tired. My feet and legs are dreadfully stiff. Oh damn, I forgot the horseradish.’
Janey rang Perdita on Sunday night. She was ecstatic, she had had a wonderful weekend, and was determined to give Perdita a drink-by-drink account of it. Somewhat unwillingly, Perdita agreed to meet Janey at the pub. Once they were established by the fire in the snug, each nursing a glass of cold red wine, Perdita said, ‘Fire away then.’
She listened patiently, but it felt like a Pyrrhic victory. Soon, no doubt, she would revel in Janey’s happiness, and not think her own peace of mind was too great a sacrifice. Just now, she felt too raw.
‘ … So William turned out to be a really nice person when he’d had a few beers. He’s just really shy, isn’t he?’
‘Mmm.’
‘He borrowed his dad’s car to drive us down, and I was sort of dreading it. I mean it’s dreadful being in a car with someone you don’t know, and you don’t know if they want you to chat or shut up.’
‘Yes, I know that feeling.’
‘Anyway, the journey was a bit awkward, but it turned out we both like Mogwai, and he had some tapes, so that helped. When we got there, I felt dreadfully shy, although William had warmed up a bit by then, and I must say, he was ace about introducing me to everyone. He seemed sort of – proud of me – know what I mean?’
Not from personal experience, thought Perdita, though she murmured agreement.
‘So I met all his friends, and one of their girlfriends – a really nice girl called Carol – took me off to the B & B to get
changed. Then we all went to the pub before we went to the ball. We were walking everywhere, so it didn’t matter if we got a bit drunk …’
‘Wasn’t it a bit uncomfortable going into the pub in a ball dress?’
‘Well, yes, we were all a bit overdressed, but the dress I borrowed wasn’t exactly a ball gown, more just a long dress.’
Perdita suppressed a yawn, not so much because other people’s accounts of splendid evenings are less entertaining than tales of disaster, but because she was very short of sleep. ‘So did you get off with each other?’ she asked, in an attempt to cut to the chase.
‘Well, we didn’t – you know …’
‘Oh, come on, Janey! Spit it out! I’m on pins here!’
‘We didn’t go to bed. In fact – he didn’t even suggest it, which I thought was rather sweet. And I must say he looked lush in his dinner jacket.’
This was good news, but it wasn’t quite enough. For some reason she couldn’t understand, Perdita very much needed Janey to have gone further along the road to destruction than she and Lucas had. ‘But you did kiss?’
‘Oh, yes. A lot. How about you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Perdita’s voice was sharp with guilt.
‘I mean, how did your evening in the kitchen go? What on earth did you think I meant?’
‘Oh, nothing, it’s just you were talking about kissing and then you said what about me.’ She managed a laugh. ‘I thought for a moment you were asking if me and Lucas had kissed.’ Her laugh was more desperate this time. ‘He is such a bastard! The dishwasher broke down and he made me wash all the pans and glasses.’ In fact, she’d never finished the glasses. ‘I don’t know how you work with him, Janey, I really don’t. He should be reported to the RSPCA, or something.’
Janey seemed to think she was joking. ‘We’re not animals!’ she chuckled.
‘Well, you’d never guess that from the way Lucas treats you all! The only person he was at all nice to was the washer-upper. Oh, and the person who did your job. But he didn’t thank them properly, he just didn’t kick them.’
‘I hope you looked after him all right, Perdita. I mean, I know he is a bit of a pig, but he’s so talented. And all the great chefs are—’
‘Pigs?’
‘Well – yes. But it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Watching everything happen, all that chaos, and then, beautiful plates go out as if there was all the time in the world to do it.’
‘He threw my parsley on the floor. He said it was gritty.’
‘I don’t suppose you washed it in enough changes of water. I always wash the parsley the day before I use it, so it’s really dry. Didn’t Lucas tell you about the dry parsley? It’s in the fridge, not the cold store.’
‘He didn’t say a word. He hated me being there, in fact I would have walked out—’ Just in time Perdita stopped herself announcing that the reason she didn’t was because Lucas had threatened to sack Janey; it wasn’t fair to put that responsibility on her.
‘Yes?’
‘Except you’re right. It is very exciting, and there was supposed to be a Michelin inspector in that night.’
‘What! Oh, no! Oh God, I hope everything was all right. It’s so important for Lucas to get his star.’
Perdita hadn’t personally worried about stars since she was at primary school. ‘Why?’
‘A Michelin Star is such an accolade. I mean, they’re really difficult to get and everything, and it’ll give the hotel such kudos. Mr Grantly would have to put up Lucas’s wages.’
‘So it’s just about money, is it?’
‘No! It’s about pride in your work. It’s a public declaration that you’re cooking to a certain, enormously high, standard.’
‘Did Lucas tell you all this?’
‘Of course.’ She sighed. ‘If he gets it, of course, he’ll be all out for a second star. Men like him are never satisfied.’
‘Well, I couldn’t comment on that.’
Janey laughed. ‘Really, Perdita.’
In spite of herself, Perdita began to feel twinges of guilt. It would be a shame if Lucas failed to get his star because of Janey having the night off. ‘So, this star? Is it all or nothing? I mean, if you fail when the inspector comes, is that it?’
‘Well, it’s more like, if you succeed on one night, that isn’t it. You have to prove you’re consistent. The inspector will come several times. You don’t know how many. Lucas was telling me. Some inspectors you get to know, although they only do it for two years, or they get too well known. And they do one visit they tell you about. But they could come five or six times and you’d never know. Why?’ Janey paused. ‘Nothing went wrong on Saturday, did it?’
‘No, no, not that I know of.’
‘That’s all right. Only I’d never forgive myself if I’ve blown Lucas’s chances.’
‘Well, of course, we weren’t sure there was an inspector, but you’d think they’d be easy to spot …’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, you know. All those white tyres round their tummies, and those goggly eyes.’
Janey didn’t think this was funny. ‘If I’d known there was the smallest chance of an inspector coming, I would never have skived off like that.’
‘Oh well, can’t be helped. When will you knows, anyway?’
‘Not until the beginning of January.’
‘A whole year away? Oh that’s all right, then.’
‘No it’s not!’
‘Oh, come on, Janey. We can’t be worrying about next January now. Forget the Michelin thing and tell me more about William. You’re not sorry you went to the ball?’
‘No, I had a lovely time. Quite romantic, really. We went for a walk along the river afterwards.’
‘In January!’
‘He gave me his coat.’
‘Ah, sweet! And are you going to see him again?’
‘I bloody well hope so! If he doesn’t ring me—’
‘I’ll sack him. Now, I must go, Janey, my feet are still killing me from last night. I can walk for miles and dig all day, but standing about on those hard floors …’
‘I’ll let you take your ancient old bones back home to bed then. Night, night. And thanks again.’
It was when she was in bed that Perdita’s troubles really began. It was worse than the night before because she wasn’t so exhausted, and had no brandy to take the edge off her tension.
She couldn’t concentrate on her book, and instead of being soothing, the radio irritated her. She lay in the darkness, trying to relax, mentally reorganising her poly-tunnels in an attempt to get to sleep.
All her strategies were useless. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas, about whether she felt better about him now she had finally expressed her anger physically. But she couldn’t decide, she couldn’t get past speculating how it would have been if she hadn’t come to her senses. She did know that if Lucas hadn’t swept her into the Ladies she wouldn’t have stopped, she would have willingly made love to him, in the kitchen, surrounded by the debris of the night’s work. Thank goodness Lucas was too fastidious to do that. He had saved her from himself.
Then what would have happened? If they had made love? Would they have both gone back to their respective
homes? Or would she have invited Lucas to come back here?
She suddenly objected to sleeping in a double bed alone, and regretted that because double beds folded in half and single ones didn’t, it was only a double that could be got up her twisty stairs. She’d never minded before, but now it seemed to mock her single status.
She yearned for Lucas, not only for the passionate, red-hot sex she remembered, but for the comfort of hearing him breathing next to her – snoring, even. She yearned to put her head on his chest and hear the thump of his heart under her ear, to warm her feet against his calves, to be aware of the faint scent of his body, his after-shave, his shampoo.
Inevitably, her mind returned to their honeymoon, so many lifetimes ago. They had had a small, informal wedding, and then driven in Lucas’s battered and noisy sports car up to Scotland, to where his family owned a shack on the shores of a loch.
It was very primitive. It had no electricity, running water came from the burn by the side of the building, and there was no loo. They had to put the two single beds together to make a double, but the cottage did have a wood-burning stove and the most beautiful setting one could wish for. It was May, and the surrounding woods were full of bluebells, scenting the air. The weather was wonderful, and Perdita and Lucas spent each day rowing on the loch, gathering wood for the fire, and boiling billycans, reading aloud to each other. They ate every meal they could outside, looking at the stars, smelling the bluebells, anticipating the night to come. And when it got too cold to stay outside, they raced back inside, built up the stove, lit candles, and then went to bed.
Because they spent so much of the night making love, they caught up on their sleep at odd times during the day. Perdita got used to washing her hair in rainwater,
brushing her teeth in the burn and finding pretty, private spots to relieve herself. Lucas was so kind, teaching her to row, reading to her while she dozed, hunting among the stones for jewels for her.
He gave her a perfectly egg-shaped piece of rose quartz, which she still had, somewhere. She had found it impossible to throw away this symbol of love, although her wedding and engagement ring had been happily donated to a good cause. She had compromised by flinging the stone into one of the boxes of her parents’ things, but not noting which one.
The honeymoon was a summer idyll which vanished when they got back to civilisation. They bought a small flat in London. Lucas had a high-powered job he was too inexperienced and young for. To keep on top of it, he worked long hours and when he came back to find Perdita had spent the day painting rather derivative watercolours, he grew angry. With hindsight, Perdita realised that her paintings really were awful, and that it was probably the job which made him angry, not her. But it was her he took his feelings out on. To please him, she got a part-time job in a bar, but he got jealous of the customers. He invited his high-powered colleagues home for meals, but Perdita couldn’t cook, and her fey, romantic looks seemed childish and unsophisticated set against the sleek, well-paid women he mixed with. Perdita didn’t even try to compete with them. She adored Lucas unrestrainedly, but even the sex, which had been so wonderful in Scotland, never worked for her again.
She never refused him, but she faked every orgasm, and though it was utterly devastating when it happened, she wasn’t surprised when he found someone else.
When she eventually fell asleep her dreams were still full of the evening before, both the hectic, high-stress
temperature of the kitchen, and what nearly happened afterwards.
‘Bugger Lucas,’ she said aloud when, heavy-headed and still tired, she got up the following morning. But she knew that the person she really held responsible was herself.
‘Bugger Lucas,’ she said again. ‘If he’d been a gentleman, he’d have forced himself on me, and then he’d be feeling guilty and not me.’
The ambiguity made her smile, lifting her mood to a couple of degrees above deep depression, and she went downstairs for a cup of tea.
William was humming to himself when Perdita tracked him down later. While he wasn’t actually grinning from ear to ear, his happiness was apparent.
‘So, it went well then?’ she asked him. ‘You had a good time?’
‘Oh yes. It was great.’
William was obviously not going to tell her in poetry how lovely Janey was, and how deeply in love with her he was, but Perdita could tell how delighted he was with his weekend away.