The Garden Of Dreams. Sara Craven

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      Paul! If he knew! She shuddered and buried her face in the ivory-coloured quilt. Would the Denis man tell him? Somehow she doubted it. But he must never find out. He would be incredibly hurt, and rightly so, that she could behave like that with a man who was not only a stranger, but whose whole manner from the beginning had betrayed a strange kind of contempt for her.

      The worst of it was that she was still conscious of him. It was as if the pressure of his lips and hands was a lesson that once learned, she could never forget. She sat up slowly, raking the silky mass of pale hair back from her face, her eyes brooding. She looked down at her torn dress with revulsion, then jerking at the fastenings, stripped it off and flung it to the floor. She would throw it away and make some excuse for its disappearance. It had been her favourite, but now the sight of it was unbearable.

      It was chilly in the bedroom, and she put on her black and silver housecoat before wandering restlessly back into the warmth of the living room. She looked round, wishing with all her might that Jenny was not staying the night with Roger and his parents. Normally Lissa had no objection to being on her own, but now she desperately needed to hear a friendly voice, and not have to sit alone with her thoughts.

      A hot drink of milk and a couple of aspirins. That was the answer—and some noise. She picked up the transistor radio, twisting the controls until she found some quiet, rather sentimental music, and carried it into the kitchen with her while she heated her milk.

      She returned to the living room and set the milk down on the coffee table, still littered with the cups she had used for coffee with Raoul. Then she went over to the sideboard for the aspirin. Her eye was caught by a message on the pad there in Jenny’s writing. ‘Maggie popped in just after you went, full of beans, full of mystery too. Something wonderful has happened, but she’s going to tell you herself tomorrow. Be good. Love. J.’

      Lissa frowned a little. This was getting to be a night for mysteries and she would welcome a little plain speaking from now on. She put the pad down and picked up Mrs Henderson’s magazine.

      It might not be the most stimulating reading in the world, but that was all the better if it helped her put the evening’s events out of her mind and helped her get to sleep. As she sat down on the sofa with it, it fell open on her lap, and she saw a corner of one of the pages had been deliberately turned down. Not only that, but someone, presumably Mrs Henderson, had carefully outlined one of the pictures on the page in blue ballpoint pen.

      ‘What in the world …?’ Lissa looked down unbelievingly. The occasion that was being reported was a dance at the French Embassy some weeks ago when she had first started going out with Paul. And there they both were, standing together at the foot of a staircase, quite oblivious of the fact that they were being photographed. There was a paragraph about them too, referring to Paul as a ‘playboy diplomat’ and describing Lissa as ‘his latest girl about town’:

      As if she was something rather nasty in the City, Lissa thought, her sense of humour reasserting itself. So this was what Mrs Henderson meant by her cryptic note! How awful, she thought, hoping that no one else she knew had seen it.

      Her thoughts stopped there with a vivid memory of searing anger in a man’s eyes, and the magazine being thrown down contemptuously.

      That must have been what made him so angry, Lissa realised, but it certainly did not explain why it affected him like that.

      It was beyond her, she decided, as she drank the last of her milk. She could only be thankful that she would never have to see that Denis man again as long as she lived. And if Paul mentioned him, she would just have to change the subject.

      But the thought brought her surprisingly little comfort, either then or in the long hours that followed before she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

      Lissa did not feel particularly refreshed when the buzzing of the alarm brought her unwillingly back to wakefulness the next morning. As she sat up to switch it off, she sniffed experimentally. There was an unmistakable odour of coffee, and even as she threw the covers to go and investigate, the bedroom door opened and Jenny walked in smiling with two cups on a tray. It was then for the first time that Lissa realised that the other bed was crumpled.

      ‘So you didn’t stay at Roger’s after all?’ she exclaimed.

      ‘No, his mother wasn’t feeling too well—some virus thing, I think, so he brought me back here late. You were dead to the world. By the way, you owe me thanks for doing the washing up.’

      ‘Washing up?’ Lissa stared at her, puzzled, then remembered, crimsoning, last night’s debris still left in the living room.

      ‘And you’d left the gas fire on,’ Jenny said reprovingly. ‘Whatever was the matter? Surely the Pirate King didn’t have that much effect on you?’

      Lissa sipped her coffee, trying to avoid Jenny’s gaze, but it was no use. Jenny came and sat on the edge of the bed, and gave her a long, even stare.

      ‘Come on, tell me all about it. Was it lucky or unlucky that I returned last night?’

      Lissa put the cup down on the small chest of drawers that separated the twin beds, and her lips trembled.

      ‘Oh, Jen,’ she mumbled, ‘it was awful!’ And in brief, staccato phrases she outlined the events of the evening, leading up to his attempted seduction.

      Jenny sat open-mouthed with astonishment. ‘But he was a friend of Paul’s! He brought that note. What kind of a man is he to behave like that to his friend’s girl?’

      ‘He didn’t actually say they were friends, but old acquaintances,’ Lissa said miserably. ‘Perhaps he dislikes Paul and was trying to do something to hurt him.’

      ‘Are you going to say anything to Paul?’

      ‘Oh, no!’ Lissa gave a quick shiver. ‘What could I say? That … creature was right—he could have had me. He nearly did, if it hadn’t been for that brooch. Oh, heavens, I’ve just remembered! It fell off, and I’ve probably lost it. He probably took it with him for spite. Oh, Jenny, what am I going to do?’

      ‘Drink the rest of that coffee before it gets cold,’ said Jenny calmly. ‘And stop worrying about the family heirloom. I found it on the rug. I just avoided stepping on it, and it’s safe and sound back in its little velvet box. I was right, you see, to persuade you to wear it. Otherwise think what I might have found when I walked in …’ She sighed and cast a pious look at the ceiling, and Lissa gave an unwilling chuckle.

      ‘Jenny,’ she said, after a slight pause, ‘how do you feel with Roger?’

      Jenny put down her cup and gave her a straight look. ‘You mean when we’re kissing, and making love and all that?’

      ‘Yes.’ Lissa drank some more coffee. ‘It’s an awful cheek asking you, I know, but I can’t judge what I should feel with Paul. I thought everything was perfect—but last night …’ she paused and the colour came into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know anyone could feel like that.’

      ‘Men like Raoul Denis should either be locked up securely, or be made more readily available to us all,’ Jenny said, grinning. She took Lissa’s hand. ‘I can’t tell you about Roger and me, because it wouldn’t mean anything. All I can say is that when you meet the right man, you’ll know. There won’t be any doubts. But don’t be deceived by some Continental Romeo who’s probably had more women than we’ve had hot dinners. That’s not love. Passion СКАЧАТЬ