A Savage Beauty

There was plenty to choose from: cold ham, plenty of bacon and eggs, salad, a cold meat pie. Deciding Victor would prefer something hot, Emma decided to make a cheese omelette, and she was beating eggs in the pan when the telephone rang.

Frowning, she waited a moment to see if Victor would answer it, and when he did not, she dried her fingers on a cloth and went out into the hall. Lifting the receiver, she gave her number, wondering who could possibly be ringing at this hour of the evening.

‘Hello, Emma!'

The deep accented male voice was instantly recognizable and she almost dropped the receiver from her nerveless fingers.

‘Y – yes, señor?’ she murmured huskily.

‘You enjoyed the concert, si?

Any doubts she had had about his possible recognition of her presence fled away. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered, stiffly, politely. ‘You played brilliantly.'

‘Gracias, señorita!’ There was a trace of mockery in his tones. ‘I was sure your – fiancé – would use the tickets.'

‘You were sure – you mean—’ Emma broke off, breathing jerkily. ‘You sent Victor those tickets?'

‘But of course. Did you think otherwise?'

Emma glanced at the lounge door. It was closed, but she could not be sure that Victor could not overhear what she was saying. A pulse pounded heavily in her forehead, and her palms were moist. ‘I – I didn't realize,’ she managed unevenly.

‘But you came.'

‘Naturally.’ She infused a tone of indifference. ‘Why not? Was that why you rang? To find out whether I enjoyed it?'

There was silence for a long moment, and she thought with an awful feeling of bereavement that he had hung up on her. Then he said in a quiet voice: ‘No, I rang because I wanted to speak with you, to hear your voice. I want to see you, Emma.'

Emma's legs turned to jelly beneath her. ‘I'm afraid I can't talk now,’ she said uneasily.

‘Does that mean that you wish to talk at some other time?’ he queried lazily. ‘I gather the worthy Señor Harrison is there.'

‘How do you—’ she lowered her voice – ‘how do you know my fiancé's name?'

‘I made it my business to find out.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Will he be gone soon?'

‘Why?'

‘I've told you. I want to see you.'

‘Tonight?’ Emma was horrified.

‘Why not? Tomorrow I have a rehearsal and another concert. My time is limited.'

‘I'm afraid that's impossible,’ she exclaimed, glancing again towards the lounge door.

‘Why is it impossible? Unless…’ his voice cooled perceptibly… ‘you sleep with this man Harrison—'

‘Of course not!’ Emma was furious. ‘I don't sleep with anyone!'

‘No?’ His accent was very pronounced suddenly. ‘What time will he leave?'

The lounge door suddenly opened, and Victor's broad frame filled the aperture. ‘What's going on?’ he demanded, sniffing strongly. ‘Is something burning?'

‘Oh, heavens, the omelette!’ Emma looked down at the phone helplessly, and Victor made an angry gesture.

‘Who is it?'

Emma put the receiver to her ear. ‘I can't talk any more now – J-Jennifer. C-could you ring tomorrow?'

Without waiting for Miguel's reply, she thrust the receiver down on the rest and fled into the kitchen, grabbing the smoking pan from the flame. The eggs were ruined, a brown and lumpy mess in the bottom of the pan.

Victor had followed her and looked over her shoulder critically. Wrinkling his nose at the remains of the omelette, he said: ‘Who's Jennifer?'

‘Jennifer?’ Emma sought wildly for an explanation. ‘You remember Jennifer. She – she and I used to be great friends before she got married.'

‘I thought that was Sheila.'

‘I did have more than one friend,’ retorted Emma, with an amazing amount of composure in the circumstances. She looked down into the pan. ‘Go and sit down again, and I'll make another omelette.'

‘No, thanks.’ Victor stretched his arms tiredly. ‘Quite honestly, after waiting so long my appetite's somewhat diminished.'

Emma bit her lip. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘So'm I.’ Victor turned and walked back into the hall. ‘I'll just finish my drink and then I'll go. You look tired. Aren't you sleeping well?'

Emma moved her head helplessly. ‘Reasonably well,’ she answered. She followed him into the lounge. ‘At least let me get you another drink.'

‘No, thanks. I've had enough. I have to drive home, remember?'

Emma nodded and stood uncertainly, twisting her hands together as he swallowed the remains of his Scotch.

‘What did she want anyway?’ Victor returned to the subject of the phone call and Emma who had thought that matter over made a deprecatory gesture.

‘Oh, she'd tried to ring me earlier, and when I wasn't in, she decided to ring back.'

‘Was it something important?'

Emma managed a smile, feeling the guilt burning in her cheeks. ‘Not really. She's – expecting her first baby.’ That was an inspiration and seemed to satisfy Victor at last.

‘Oh, well, I must go.’ He came towards her, taking her by the shoulders and holding her firmly as he bent to kiss her lips. It was meant to be a very chaste kiss, but Emma, disturbed and needing reassurance, allowed her lips to part beneath his, pressing closer against him.

Victor drew back at once, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth rather vigorously. ‘I must go,’ he said, his face flushed for once. ‘Good night, Emma.'

‘Good night, Victor.'

Emma pressed her lips together and accompanied him to the door. If only he showed a little more emotion! Heavens, they were to be married soon. What kind of a relationship were they going to have if he backed away from the most natural demonstrations of their love for one another?

Victor didn't kiss her again. He squeezed her hand warmly, and then went down the steps. Emma closed the door with a kind of suppressed violence, wishing for the first time in her life that she had a little more experience where men were concerned.