Take What You Want

She spread her arms extravagantly and then concentrated her attention on the vehicle. ‘This is new, isn’t it?’ she commented admiringly. ‘What is it? An Aston Martin?’

‘No. A Jensen,’ stated Robert flatly, stowing her cases in the boot. ‘Get in. It’s not locked.’

Shrugging, Sophie opened the long door and climbed into the low passenger seat with its curved back and headrest. The instrument panel fascinated her and she was examining the various controls when Robert opened his door and levered his length in beside her. Immediately all else lost significance and she wondered what he would do if she attempted to kiss him again. It was a tantalising proposition and she turned sideways in her seat to look at him.

‘You’d better fasten the safety strap,’ he observed curtly, apparently unmoved by her scrutiny, and with an exclamation she swung round and did as she was told. She quelled the urge to make some insolent retort and looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, she said:

‘This is a super car, isn’t it? I wish I could drive.’

‘I expect your father will arrange for you to take lessons now that you’ve finished school,’ he remarked coolly, inserting the ignition key and starting the powerful engine. He opened his window and looked out, reversing expertly out of the parking space. ‘Congratulations, by the way. I hear you did well in your finals.’

Sophie pressed her lips together. ‘Thanks!’

The sarcasm in her tone must have got through to him, because he frowned and said: ‘Now what’s the matter? I wasn’t being patronising. I think you’ve got a good chance of making Oxford, don’t you?’

Sophie sniffed. ‘I don’t want to talk about school and examinations! I’ve just left all that behind!’ She moved restlessly and then turned to look at him appealingly. ‘How are you, Robert? How long have you been home? And how long are you staying this time?’

Robert concentrated on negotiating the busy late afternoon traffic, but when they reached a quieter thoroughfare, he replied: ‘I’m well. And actually, I’ve been in England a couple of months. I’m working in North Wales at the moment. We’re swinging a rail link out across the Sound to the Isle of Cymtraeth.’

‘You are?’ Sophie’s eyes were wide. ‘That’s marvellous! You must get home practically every weekend.’

Robert’s hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Not every weekend, Sophie,’ he amended dryly. ‘I do have other calls on my time.’

Sophie wriggled into a more comfortable position, watching him surreptitiously. He was so cool and aloof. She couldn’t get near to him, mentally at least, and her physical attempt hadn’t met with much success either.

‘How is everyone?’ she asked, determinedly trying to ignore his detachment. ‘Are Daddy and Mummy okay? And Simon?’ She forced a smile. ‘I had a letter from Simon only last week.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Why did you never write to me, Robert? I thought you would.’

Robert ignored her last question and said: ‘The parents are fine, and Simon seems quite content to remain at Conwynneth school for the rest of his life.’

‘Why not? He’s happy there,’ commented Sophie thoughtfully. ‘He’s not restless. Not like you!’

Robert swung past a lumbering wagon. ‘Is that what I am?’

‘Among other things,’ she retorted sourly. ‘Well, aren’t you? You weren’t content to stay in Hereford, were you? I’m sure Simmonds didn’t want to lose you.’

Robert shrugged. ‘I was offered a better job with more money and the chance to see something of the world before I was too old to enjoy it. I don’t see anything particularly restless in that. No doubt you’ll feel the same.’

‘I shan’t!’

‘How do you know?’

Sophie stared through the car windows. They were leaving the outskirts of the town behind, climbing into the hills. In spite of the darkening skies the countryside opening up before them was green and beautiful, splashed here and there with the dark clutches of forest which had provided cover for fugitives since the days of the Conqueror. The Welsh Marches! Sophie savoured the words. She might have been born in London, but this was her home, her heritage.

‘I’m not the—adventurous type,’ she answered him at last. ‘I’m basically a home-lover.’ She examined her fingernails. ‘Of course, if I were to get married, and—and my husband’s work took him overseas …’

There was a pregnant pause, and then Robert said abruptly: ‘As a matter of fact, Sophie——’

But he got no further. An ominous rumble of thunder echoed and re-echoed round the hills and he was instantly aware of her stiffening and of the shudder which ran through her.

‘You’re nervous of storms, aren’t you?’ he asked quietly. ‘Don’t be alarmed. You’re perfectly safe in the car.’

‘I know it. I’m sorry.’ Sophie tried to act naturally even though storms had always terrified her. ‘Please go on. What were you going to say?’

Robert glanced sideways at her and there was a curious expression twisting his lips. Then he shook his head and said something entirely unexpected: ‘Who were those soldiers at the station?’

Sophie gasped. ‘No one I knew. I had to stand all the way from Paddington. They shared the same cubbyhole, that’s all.’ A smile came through. ‘They insisted on carrying my cases. I can’t imagine why. Can you?’

Robert’s expression softened slightly. ‘Stop fishing,’ he ordered dryly. Then, as a huge globule of rain splashed against the windscreen: ‘Well, like it or not, here it comes!’

Within seconds they were engulfed in a torrential downpour that even the efficient wipers found difficult to cope with. Lightning streaked across the sky with a brilliance that artificially illuminated the brooding hills, and a deafening crash of thunder seemed almost completely overhead. Sophie’s palms were moist, clasped together in her lap, and she was trying desperately not to give in to the terror which filled her. But suddenly, Robert pulled the car off the road on to a grassy lay-by and releasing his safety belt switched off the engine.

‘It’s pointless going on in this,’ he explained in answer to the silent appeal in her eyes. ‘We’d have to crawl, and it won’t last long. It’s only a summer storm. You should be used to them by now.’

Sophie drew a deep breath. ‘I know. I’m a fool.’ She trembled as she pressed the release catch of her safety belt and turned sideways in her seat towards him, drawing her legs up under her. His profile was unyielding and yet she had to suppress an almost irresistible impulse to stroke her fingers down his cheek. ‘Well, at least it gives us time to talk,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘You can tell me what you were going to say.’

‘Yes.’ Robert leant forward and picked up a pack of Benson and Hedges, putting a cigarette between his lips almost absently. He flicked his lighter, applied the flame to the tip of the cigarette and leaned back in his seat, inhaling deeply.

After a few moments he turned to look at her, his gaze travelling over her intently. Then he took his cigarette out of his mouth and studied the glowing shreds of tobacco with equal intensity. Another rumble of thunder sent the adrenalin rushing through Sophie’s veins. Robert’s attitude didn’t help. She was aware of the tautness in the atmosphere, and wondered that it was that was hardening his jawline. She looked down at her knees and saw that her twisting movements had loosened two buttons on her blouse which, like all her school clothes, was getting too small for her. With burning cheeks her fingers sped to fasten the offending buttons, but her hands trembled so much that they fumbled over the task. A rising sense of emotionalism brought the tears to the backs of her eyes. What was the matter with her? What was the matter with him? What had happened to that affinity between them?

With a curt exclamation, Robert had grown tired of watching her unsteady ineptitude, and putting his cigarette between his lips he pushed her fingers aside and tackled the buttons himself.

But before he had the time to fasten them it seemed that everything exploded around them. A shaft of lightning struck a tree only a few yards ahead, splitting its trunk without apparent effort. Overhead the thunder was an ear-rending volume of noise, and the violence of the torrent which fell in a great curtain obscuring all but their most immediate surroundings was drowned as the heavens resounded menacingly.

Sophie trembled uncontrollably and with an oath Robert pulled her towards him, putting his arms around her and pressing her close to his hard warm body.

‘Calm down,’ he exlaimed, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and pressing it out in the ashtray. ‘Everything’s going to be all right. Believe me!’

‘I’m sorry, Robert,’ she whispered huskily, her cheek against the rough texture of his shirt. ‘But I hate storms. I’m not pretending. Don’t be angry.’

‘I’m not angry,’ he retorted in exasperated tones, drawing back to look down at her. ‘Here, let me fasten those damn buttons.’

She looked up at him as his fingers busied themselves near her midriff and almost against his will her eyes encountered his. He stared down at her for a long disturbing moment and then she covered his hands with hers, stilling their activity, holding them closely against her.

‘Sophie!’ he protested thickly, trying to pull away, but she held his gaze and reaching up, put her mouth to his. For several agonising moments he resisted, and then his fingers slid beneath her blouse, closing on the firm flesh, propelling her against him with almost desperate urgency. He was trembling now, she could feel it, and his mouth moved on hers, parting her lips, seeking to penetrate the moist sweetness within. Sophie was oblivious to the storm. Her arms were around his neck, touching the smooth skin of his shoulders beneath his shirt, tangling themselves in the thick darkness of the hair on his nape. This was what she had dreamed about—this was where she had longed to be all those months when she had been working at her studies, taking exams, pretending to enjoy the social round of school life. There had been boys there—it was a mixed school. But Sophie’s relationships with boys had remained purely platonic and none of them had aroused the slightest interest in her. Yet she only had to see Robert, to touch him, to feel an aching, melting weakness inside her …

At last he pushed her away from him, breathing heavily, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting one with none of the precision he had exhibited earlier. He inhaled deeply and then, resting his head back, he said: ‘Oh, God!’ in self-derisory tones.

Sophie ran a hand up to her throat and pulled off the tie which seemed so incongruous after what had just occurred. She folded it and thrust it into the pocket of her blazer. Then she fastened her blouse and tucked it back into her skirt before looking at him again.

‘Robert——’ she began, but he shook his head.

‘Don’t say anything,’ he commanded, drawing on the cigarette again. ‘Don’t say anything. Just give me a minute to think straight.’ He exhaled unsteadily. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have allowed your father to persuade me to come and meet you.’

‘To—persuade—you?’ Sophie stared at him. ‘Did you need much—persuasion?’

She sounded hurt and he shook his head impatiently now. ‘No—no, I suppose not. God, Sophie—you’re my sister——’

‘Stepsister,’ she corrected him tautly.