and feel the hard possession of his arms round her again. She wanted it so much that she ached inside—an ache which pleaded for assuagement …
With a little cry, she jerked her head back, bringing up a clenched fist to scrub furiously at her lips. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘You think so?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Where have you spent the last three odd years, Laura? In a nunnery?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ How dare he stand there so utterly unmoved, when her heart was threatening to choke her with its hammering. ‘And may I remind you that you’ve lost the legal right to—maul me.’
He shrugged. ‘Merely an experiment, darling. Nothing to get hysterical about.’ He laughed briefly. ‘And there wasn’t, was there? It’s all quite dead. Not a single pang of unrequited passion on either side. So—no reason why we can’t behave civilly to each other when we meet from now on—as we inevitably will. Shake hands forever. Cancel all our vows. Isn’t that how it goes?’
He paused. ‘We may never be friends, Laura, but we have to be acquaintances. You can surely see that?’
There was another, longer pause, as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction, perhaps even an answer to what he had said.
Then he added, ‘Anyway—think about it.’
He turned, the door gave its familiar monitory squeak, and Laura was alone.
THERE was a lay-by about half a mile from the factory complex. Laura drove the car into it, and stopped, slumping limply forward over the driving wheel.
She’d left Caswells at the run, uncaring about who might see her, or what conclusions might be drawn. She’d fumbled with the ignition, crashed the gears, and missed the concrete gatepost at the exit by a whisker.
It was a miracle she’d got this far without an accident, only she’d stopped believing in miracles. They were on a par with the tooth fairy, who’d stopped calling a very long time ago.
She sat very still, her hands still gripping the wheel as she sought to control the deep inner trembling which threatened to convulse her.
She kept hoping she would wake up and find it had all been just another nightmare—trying, but purely transitory—but she knew that however many times she might pinch herself, Jason was not going to vanish like a bad dream this time.
He was there. He was flesh and blood, and for one endless, searing moment, he’d made her feel like flesh and blood too.
She groaned, nausea rising in her throat, and sat up slowly, fighting her own self-disgust.
How could she have felt like that—even for a second? She knew what Jason was—who better? she thought bitterly—so what in the name of God had she been doing to allow him anywhere near her?
She lay back in her seat, staring sightlessly through the windscreen.
Well, it had happened, and while it was shaming to realise just how close her body had been to betraying her, the situation wasn’t totally irretrievable.
Because Jason had not guessed. She repeated the words aloud to herself, giving each one its own resounding emphasis—because it mattered. It really did.
She’d been a total innocent when they’d first met, but under his tutelage she’d blossomed, discovering depths in her nature, aspects of sexuality which she’d never dreamed existed. Jason was the first man to whom she’d been physically attracted, the first one to teach her sensual delight. It was hardly surprising that she’d imagined she was in love with him, or that she’d been naïve enough to believe that he loved her in return.
She’d soon learned differently, of course—even before that first, crazy, delirious year had wound to a close.
‘Trust me,’ he’d urged. ‘Laura, trust me please.’
I trusted him, she thought. I’d have done anything for him. I’d have followed him naked, if he’d asked me. Only he never asked.
She hadn’t let herself cry much during the long months while she was waiting to be divorced. She hadn’t cried a great deal since, but there were tears now. Laura put her hands over her face and sobbed. The moisture ran between her splayed fingers, and down the backs of her hands. She could hear herself moaning, and the desolation of the sound frightened her into silence, and ultimately into control again.
There was a box of tissues in the car, and she used them to blot the worst signs of her emotional collapse from her face. She didn’t want to have to face Celia with red eyes, and a blotched skin. In fact, it occurred to her, she would prefer not to have face Celia at all just yet.
She sat for a moment, drumming her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel, then started the car with new determination. She would go to Alan’s house—take him up on one of the many invitations she’d always steered clear of in the past.
After all, she liked Alan, she argued defensively to herself. She’d enjoyed their dates together over the past year, but she’d been wary of allowing their relationship to develop along more intimate lines, and when Alan had shown signs of trying to force the pace a little, she’d always drawn back. One day she might be ready for a serious involvement again, but that day had not yet arrived.
And although to seek him out like this might not be altogether fair to Alan in view of the ambivalence of her feelings, it was necessary. She needed the reassurance of his undoubted regard for her. He was the present tense in her life. Jason was the past.
It took Laura just under ten minutes to drive out of town to the small village where he lived. One minute there were suburban houses and neat gardens, and then, as abruptly as if someone had drawn a line, there were fields and trees and narrow lanes, with fingerposts pointing out the hidden life of the countryside.
She parked her car on the verge opposite his small cottage, and crossed the lane to the gate, returning the friendly nod she received from an elderly man working in the neighbouring garden.
As she walked up the path, she could hear the sound of Alan’s typewriter clicking away through the open window, and she hesitated for a moment before knocking at the door.
Alan had trained originally as a teacher, but because of the cuts in education spending, he’d never managed to secure a permanent post in an English department anywhere. So, instead, he’d turned to freelance writing, and was managing to make an adequate living if not an affluent one, eked out by some private coaching. Among other things, he wrote a restaurant column for the local paper, as well as being its drama critic, and in a way it was through this column that they’d become friends, because when they’d been casually introduced at a party, Laura had told him bluntly she didn’t always agree with his praise or criticism of the local eating houses, and they’d enjoyed discussing their differing opinions.
It was clear he was working now, and she was unwilling to disturb him for such purely selfish reasons, but just as she was preparing to turn away, he called, ‘Come in, Laura. The door isn’t locked.’
He met her in the tiny hall, smiling delightedly. ‘Hey—this is fantastic. I was just going to ‘phone you. What brings
