For The Love Of Sara

With a sigh he said quietly: “Tell me why you disappeared like that. What did I do to arouse such a desire to escape?”

Rachel took a deep breath. “You ask me that?” She shook her head bitterly. “What’s the use of talking, Joel? The past is dead. It’s the future I’m concerned about.”

Joel’s jaw hardened. “At anyone’s expense!”

“That’s not true. You know nothing about it.”

“Then tell me.”

Rachel pleated the folds of her coat. “Joel, I’m going to marry your father. Nothing you — or Francis — can say will alter that.”

Joel’s fists clenched. “You must be pretty desperate, Rachel!” he muttered savagely.

“I am.”

“Why?” He turned to look at her, noticing again the hollows in her cheeks, the lacklustre quality of her eyes. Hardly the face of a bride-to-be. “Is it money? If it’s money you want, I can give you that.”

Rachel’s lips twisted contemptuously. “If I were a man, I’d knock you down for a remark like that!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t marry any man for money! Oh, you should be proud of yourself, Joel! You’re a bastard of the first water!”

Joel moved then, imprisoning her wrist between his fingers, feeling the fragile bones quiver within his hand. He knew he could crush her physically with very little effort, but that was not his intention. He was not an animal. He had a brain, and he intended to use it. But just as this moment he wanted to hurt her, he wanted to see her squirm, as mentally she was trying to make him. She winced as he applied pressure to her wrist, but she didn’t cry out. He was so close he could inhale the warm scent of her body, and his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the opened neck of her blouse. He understood only too well the fire that suddenly stirred in his loins, and with a feeling of self-disgust he let her go and slumped in his seat.

“I want to know about your husband and the child,” he persisted doggedly. “Is Gilmour dead? My father said you’re a widow.”

Rachel was rubbing her wrist. “I am.”

“What was your husband’s name?”

“His name?” She looked startled. “You know his name.”

“Gilmour?” Joel turned cold eyes on her. “Is that what you called him? Gilmour?”

“Oh! Oh, no, of course not.” Rachel flushed then. “His Christian name was — Alan.”

“Alan Gilmour. What did he do?” Rachel looked puzzled, and he added: “His occupation? What was his occupation?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think so.”

She sighed. “He was an engineer. He — he worked for the government.”

“I see.” Joel digested this. “How long were you married?”

“Two — three years. What does it matter now?”

Joel didn’t altogether understand why he was so curious, except that there was a certain sadistic satisfaction to be gained from forcing her to talk about something which must be painful to her. He threw the end of his cheroot out of the window. “I suppose you must have found it hard bringing up a child alone,” he remarked probingly. “Is that why you took the job as this Colonel Frenshaw’s housekeeper?” He paused. “Is that why you’re marrying my father? For Sara’s sake?”

“Don’t you dare to mention her name!” she cried fiercely. “You don’t know her. You don’t know me. Why don’t you go away and leave me alone!”

“I want to know.”

“It’s not your affair.”

“Damn you, isn’t it? I have a right to know —”

“A right! A right, Joel!” Her voice had risen. “You have no rights, no rights at all. You forfeited them when … when …” Her voice trailed away and she turned away from him, staring down at her hands. “I want to go back now. Will you take me — please?”

Joel levered himself up in his seat, staring at her averted profile. For a moment, just for a moment, he had been near to learning the real truth behind all this. He knew it, and he exulted in it. But she had withdrawn again, and frustration filled him. He sat there, his fists clenched, wishing for once that she was a man. With a man, he would have felt no compunction about beating the truth out of him. But Rachel was not a man, she was very much a woman, and somehow he had to find a way to release the pent-up emotions which were silencing her tongue. But how?

Rachel was controlled again, and she glanced briefly into his face. “Will you take me back?” she asked again.

“Not yet,” said Joel tautly. “Not yet.” He forced his mind to go back over what had been said, trying to find the key to open the locked door. What had he said to arouse her to the extent that she had almost betrayed herself? What words had he used to create such an upheaval? What had they been talking about? Her husband? Gilmour? Yes. And — and the child … He tried to remember what he had said about the child. Was it his suggestion that she was marrying his father for the child’s sake which had triggered her outburst? He had to try again.

Reaching for another cheroot, he said quietly: “And when do you plan to get married?”

Rachel sighed impatiently. “I don’t know exactly. In a few weeks.”

“And until then you’re going to go on living here?”

“I — perhaps.”

Joel controlled his irritation. “And Sara? Will Sara live with you once you’re married?”

She stared angrily at him. “Of course she will. Where else would she live? Oh, stop this, Joel, stop it now! I want to go back. I’ve been away long enough. Sara might waken —”

“I’m sure Hanson will be more than pleased to look after her for a while,” returned Joel coldly. “She’s not a baby, is she? What is she — three? Four? Old enough to understand when her mother isn’t available.”

Rachel drew an unsteady breath. “Are you going to take me back?” she repeated tremulously.

“And if I say no?”

“I can walk. I’m not helpless.”

Her hand went to the door handle, but he forestalled her, reaching across her to prevent her from opening it. His arm was pressed against her breasts, and although she shrank away from his touch, he deliberately moved closer.

“What’s the matter, Rachel?” he demanded mockingly, suddenly realising he had a far more potent weapon than force to arouse her. “If you’re going to be my stepmama, what’s wrong with us getting better acquainted? As I recall it, you used to like me to touch you.”

She struggled to free herself, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and while mentally he could stand back and be appalled at the way he was behaving, something stronger than his self-respect was driving him on. Indeed, her nearness was having a most disturbing effect on him, and while love did not enter into his thoughts, lust was beginning to rear its ugly head. In spite of her slenderness, in spite of the severe hairstyle and unfashionable clothes, Rachel was still a very beautiful woman, and she had always had the power to disrupt his sensual processes, a power which he had once resented.

“Let go of me!” she stormed at him, her face twisted with contempt and bitterness. “I might have known it would come to this! This is all you’re good for, isn’t it, Joel!”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“It’s the truth!” she choked. “You want everything and nothing, don’t you? The body, without the mind. The pleasure without the pain?”

“What are you talking about?”

He was gripping her shoulders now, and while his brain told him he was achieving what he wanted to achieve, cold logic warned him that he might not like what he was about to hear. He shook her violently, and her hair came loose from the knot and fell in a silken curtain about her shoulders. She had never looked more abandoned, more desirable, and emotions, long dormant, returned to torment him. He was remembering the last time he had seen her like this, and then her needs had matched his own…