collapsed on to the seat and again closed her eyes. The cab felt stuffy and the list of fares and regulations which faced her was oddly blurred.
‘Oh, God,’ she thought. ‘I’ve had too much to drink. This is terrible!’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked as she pulled herself together and sat up.
‘Fine,’ she lied, smiling carefully. As her mind raced back, she realised she had unwittingly drunk far more than her usual modest amount—sherry before dinner and a glass of wine with a meal. There had been drinks at the party, she recalled, and the vodka at the theatre, and wine in the food at the restaurant as well as with it, not to mention that last brandy.
Coffee, she thought. Black coffee and bed as soon as possible.
Maggie would certainly look a little askance if her secretary turned up for work the next day with an obvious hangover.
The taxi drew to a halt in front of the terraced house where the girls had their flat, and Lissa quailed at the thought of the two flights of stairs to her front door. Raoul paid off the driver and glanced up the street.
‘My car does not appear to have arrived,’ he remarked. ‘Is there perhaps a telephone in the house?’
‘Mrs Henderson doesn’t have one, but there’s a call box just round the corner.’ Lissa hoped that she was not slurring her words. She waited for him to say goodnight and go and look for the phone box, but he showed no signs of leaving. Eventually, she felt forced to ask, ‘Would you—er—like some coffee?’
‘Merci bien.’ He took the latchkey from her unresisting hand and fitted it into the lock. ‘En avant!’
Lissa was thankful to find herself at last alone in the peace and quiet of the kitchenette. Raoul had left her to make the coffee while he telephoned. She set out pottery mugs on a tray and plugged in the percolator. Her head was beginning to clear as she carried the coffee through and set it on the table in front of the gas fire.
‘I lit the fire. I hope you don’t mind.’ Raoul Denis was standing by the table. He was holding Mrs Henderson’s magazine, but as Lissa started pouring the coffee, he put it down and came to sit on the sofa.
‘No, it was a good idea. It always gets chilly up here late at night, even if it is officially supposed to be early summer.’ Lissa helped herself to sugar and passed the bowl to Raoul, who declined it with a slight gesture.
‘Did you arrange about your car?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a tiresome misunderstanding. It will be here presently.’
‘That’s good,’ she said, without thinking.
‘Je suis désolé. Do you wish the evening to end so soon?’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ Lissa began, leaning forward to put her mug back on the table. She was determined that he should not needle her again. Certainly he seemed very much at his ease, stretched out on the sofa.
‘More coffee?’ she asked.
‘I thank you, but no.’ He replaced his own cup. ‘It was delicious, however.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ she smiled, thinking of Paul, who invariably expressed his appreciation in extravagant terms.
It was as if that smile lit a fire in Raoul.
‘Mon Dieu!’ His voice sounded suddenly hoarse, but whether it was anger or some other emotion, she could not tell. Before she had a chance to protest, he had reached for her, drawing her roughly into his arms and silencing her with his mouth.
When at last he raised his head, his eyes burned down into hers, as she lay bruised and breathless in his arms.
‘Bon Dieu, Lissa, do you know what you are doing to me?’ he muttered. He bent to her again, but this time his mouth caressed a feverish path down her throat and searched the soft hollows between her neck and shoulders.
Lissa’s pulses were pounding violently. The room swam, and she felt every nerve ending in her body throbbing insistently. Slowly her hands, which at first had been braced against his chest, crept up to clasp his neck, and her fingers twined in his hair. Murmuring endearments in his own language against her parted lips, he began to slide the chiffon from her shoulders. Her body arched towards him instinctively, welcoming his touch. His grip tightened, and the soft chiffon tore beneath his hands.
Something hard and metallic tinkled to the floor and rolled a little way. The brooch—Paul’s brooch.
Lissa was suddenly, sickeningly aware of what was happening to her.
‘No!’ She tore herself out of his arms, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the fireplace, her hair falling round her bared shoulders, her dress torn almost to the waist.
‘Oh, you brute! You devil … how dare you!’
‘Dare?’ He stared up at her. His eyes glittered and he looked as dangerous as a black panther. Lissa was horribly aware of her complete isolation. The couple in the flat below were on holiday and Mrs Henderson was too far away to hear any cries for help. And he knows Jenny won’t be back tonight, she thought helplessly. He must have planned all this deliberately.
‘I was under the impression, ma belle, that we had come to an understanding. Surely you are not trying to pretend that I am the first to avail myself of your—services?’
‘Services?’ Lissa almost choked. ‘You don’t mean—you can’t imagine that I … that I would let you …’
‘Until a moment ago I had every reason to think so.’ His eyes went over her in insolent appraisal and she felt naked under his gaze. ‘As far as I am concerned, ma belle, by accepting my invitation tonight, you placed yourself at my disposal. I regret that you do not see fit to keep your part of the bargain. I am still more than ready to keep mine.’
‘Get out,’ Lissa said between her teeth. ‘Get out now before I call the police!’
‘How do you propose to do that?’ he asked. He laughed harshly. ‘I would not be so ill-advised as to call the police if I were you. The English police are not fools, and they would know what to make of a young woman who allows a man to wine and dine her for the evening and then calls “Rape” in her appartement. Besides, you are unharmed, except perhaps for your dress—and your pride.’
He picked up his light overcoat from a chair and walked to the door.
‘Bonne nuit,’ he said, with a slight bow, and was gone.
Lissa rushed to the door and locked it, then leaned her forehead against the cool white-painted panels, listening to his footsteps going downstairs. Her breath came in great shuddering sobs, and she shivered violently.
Eventually, as her self-control returned, she walked slowly to the bedroom and threw herself across her bed. She felt numbed, yet her throat ached fiercely and her eyes pricked with tears.
Bitterly she blamed herself for agreeing to go out with him in the first place. Yet Paul knew him and obviously trusted him.
The most
