Egyptian Honeymoon (4 page)

The dress she put on had wide oriental trousers, with a sequin top that left her arms and shoulders bare. It was in old gold many shades darker than her hair. It was a little daring, but Steve would like that. With it she wore the pearls he had given her, pearl studs in her ears, and the not at all valuable gilt bracelets—Simon's present, the best he could afford, but treasured for his sake. If only her brother were with her now instead of… her husband. She coiled her hair on top of her head, encased her narrow feet in gilt sandals, and completed her ensemble with a chiffon scarf, flecked with sequins and gold-fringed. Standing in front of the long glass, she surveyed herself critically. She had put artificial colour on to her cheeks, but had no need of mascara, for by a freak of nature her brows and lashes were dark. She looked a little like an escapee from a harem, she thought, but the exotic touch was suitable to her surroundings.

'Ready to go down?'

Noelle started violently. Steve had come in on noiseless feet and was standing behind her. She must have taken a long time over her toilet, for he was bathed and dressed in a white dinner jacket which showed up his tan, and complemented his black hair. The contrast of his steely eyes in his dark face was always a little disconcerting, and they always seemed to mock. Her first reaction was surprise that he had come unheralded into her room, until she remembered he had every right to come, and without knocking either. She swung round to face him.

'Will I do?'

'Very nice, my dear. The Arabian Nights touch is so suitable for Egypt.'

She saw his thin-lipped mouth curl sardonically. He did not like her dress, she felt sure, and was consequently dashed.

'I thought you'd appreciate something with it,' she said defensively. 'Or would you have preferred virginal white?' And blushed, for after tonight she would not be a virgin.

'Beauty such as yours needs no adornment,' he remarked cryptically. 'I like simplicity.'

'I'll remember that when next I go shopping,' she returned flippantly, reflecting that it would be his money she would be spending. 'Actually this was a model I displayed in our last collection and I was offered it at a reduced price.'

'Price need not concern you in future,' he pointed out, then added belatedly: 'You look very charming, my dear. Shall we go down?'

The dining room was as ornately decorated as the rest of the hotel. The long windows overlooking the river were uncurtained, but tightly closed to retain the air-conditioning. The lighting was subdued, so that as they were seated at a table by the window Noelle could see the water and the lights along its banks, boats like fireflies darting over it, and high in the heavens a few great stars.

The food was excellent, but Noelle had no appetite; in every nerve she was conscious of Steve's presence opposite to her, his eyes wandering possessively over her décolletage. He talked impersonally in his low pleasant voice about the country and the places they must visit, but that was only a disguise for his real thoughts. She drank the sparkling wine he ordered for her avidly, until she seemed to be floating in a dream. Steve refilled her glass without comment, only his smile became more ironic as the meal progressed. When they reached the dessert, her tongue was loosened and she began to chatter, about her family, her work as a model which had terminated with her engagement, her early struggles and disappointments, but she never once mentioned Hugh, who had been the central figure in her past; she had enough discretion left not to do that, though he filled her mind. Steve listened perfunctorily, watching the play of expression across her mobile face, until he said repressively:

'All that is over, my dear, and I hope your new life will compensate you for the deprivations of the old.'

'But I wasn't deprived,' she protested. How could she have been, with Hugh there to support her every inch of the way? Their love and comradeship had lightened the darkest prospect and they had been well on the way up when he had died. But that she could not enlarge upon to Steve, instead she told him:

'It was a fight to get a foothold, but I made good in the end.'

'Ah!' Steve's face lighted up. 'The triumph of achievement—I know the joy of that.' He looked at her oddly. 'And wasn't it your final achievement to marry me?'

Noelle was too confused to understand what he meant or to interpret his probing glance. She had not regarded her capture of Steve as a triumph and his wealth and position meant nothing to her except as a means of helping her family. That she might be considered mercenary did not occur to her.

'We made a sort of bargain,' she said uncertainly. 'We neither of us pretended to be in love.'

'Good God, no!' he exclaimed. 'That folly is for adolescents. I'm long past it.'

'Weren't you ever in love?' she persisted, becoming curious about his love life. There must be some romance.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Calf love.'

'And all your girl-friends, didn't they love you?'

'Only what I could give them.'

'Did none of them love you for yourself alone?' She would not normally have dared to be so inquisitive, but the wine had emboldened her.

'That,' he said harshly, 'is something I've ceased to expect.'

'Poor Steve,' she murmured, reflecting that she had been richer than he had ever been, for she and Hugh had loved without thought of material benefits.

'Keep your pity,' he said scornfully. 'Only failures need pity. I've acquired all I want without mawkish sentiment.'

She looked curiously at his hard face with wide wondering eyes. 'Have you always been self-sufficient? Has there been no softening influence in your life?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I've always had to rely upon myself alone. My mother was only interested in my contributions to the household budget. She's dead now and I didn't mourn her. Softness, my dear, is weakness.'

A man of granite, Noelle thought with dismay, and she was his wife. She said faintly:

'You don't need love?'

'Thank God I've grown out of that.'

Well, Noelle thought, she need not reproach herself with having none to give him, but it made their union all the more distasteful. Passion without love or tenderness—she shivered.

They had coffee in the lounge and several people came up to speak to Steve. Noelle realised that he had stayed there before and had acquaintances in Cairo. Some of them were women, and very stylish ones too, who looked at Steve with predatory eyes, weighing up their chances. He might be with a woman, but Steve Prescott's fancies never lasted long. For he introduced his wife informally, merely saying, 'This is Noelle,' and they thought she was the lady of the moment. Nettled, she asked him, when they were for a moment alone, if he were ashamed to own her for his wife.

'Of course not, but I don't want to advertise the fact that we're on honeymoon. There's always something a little embarrassing about that situation or else an occasion for lewd jokes. I prefer to be incognito, as it were.'

She didn't appreciate this explanation, which might or might not be genuine, but she was too weary and fuddled to think it through. Seeing her head nod, Steve suggested it was time to retire, and instantly she became alert. This was the moment she was dreading.

'It's not very late, is it? Couldn't we go out somewhere?'

'My dear, you're dropping on your feet. Tomorrow we'll go sightseeing, we're not pressed for time.'

So perforce she must go up to their luxurious suite. He walked with her up the wide staircase, since they were on the next floor it was not worth taking the lift, but Steve did not touch her. Arrived at their bedroom, he said casually, 'See you anon,' and went into his dressing room. Noelle drew a breath of relief; she had feared he would want to strip her himself, as impetuous lovers did in the best romances, but she was to be spared that indignity. She slipped out of her exotic dress which he had not admired into her nightdress and negligee. She brushed her hair and let it hang about her shoulders. She ought to go and clean her teeth, but from the sounds Steve was in the bathroom and she did not want to meet him there. She sat on the dressing stool staring at nothing, unable to bring herself to get into bed. She would try to imagine Steve was Hugh, she thought—wasn't there a saying that all cats were grey in the dark? The idea comforted her.

Steve came in wearing a dark robe, his eyes glittered as they rested upon her slender form drooping over the dressing table, and his nostrils quivered. He did not speak, but reached for her hands, pulling her to her feet. The mirror reflected them, the girl a white wraith against the man's tall dark strength.

'You're somewhat overdressed,' Steve said with laughter in his voice, and stripped off her negligee. It sank, a flimsy mass, at her feet. Her nightgown was long but nearly transparent with only straps over her shoulders. Steve drew a sharp breath, and putting his arms around her drew her close. Noelle realised then he was naked under his robe, which fell apart, and she was crushed against his bare chest, which was as hard and lean as that of a professional athlete. Noelle closed her eyes and willed herself to be acquiescent, but her body was stiff and inert in his clasp. His mouth wandered over her neck and shoulders, and then to the soft curves of her breasts, which were like those of a waxen image. He sought her lips, which were closed against his kiss. Finally, almost violently, he pushed her away.

'What's the matter with you? Are you a woman or a doll? Didn't that childhood's sweetheart of yours teach you anything?'

Hugh—he was speaking of Hugh, and to mention him in the present circumstances was little short of sacrilege. They had never indulged in heavy petting, somehow there had not been much opportunity, and Hugh had always treated her with tenderness and reverence. He was, though she had not realised it, a little effeminate, and his urges were nothing like as strong as those of the man she had married. Becoming even paler than before, she said frigidly:

'I'm prepared to do my duty as your wife, but please don't remind me of Hugh.'

She saw a jealous frown gather on Steve's face, and realised too late how her voice had softened when she uttered Hugh's name. She had meant to try to identify the two men as one lover, but knew now such self-deception was impossible.

'Your duty!' Steve almost spat out the words. 'Do you think I want an icicle in my bed?'

'I… I can't help it,' Noelle whispered. 'I… I told you I didn't love you. I haven't deceived you.'

'But you're a woman, aren't you, made of flesh and blood?'

He seized her again, pressing her against his naked flesh, his hands stroking her body, and deep, very deep within her something stirred, a flicker of flame that died again. If only he had not mentioned Hugh she might have been able to arouse some response, but her dead lover was between them, a ghost of what might have been, whose lips and arms had been so gentle and so loving, entirely different from the fierce demanding passion her husband was betraying. That Steve, normally so aloof and self-restrained, could unleash such a torrent of desire was terrifying. Her lips were bruised from the kisses she had not returned, her body ached from the stricture of his arms. He picked her up and laid her upon the bed, but her body was rigid in his hold, and she turned her face away from him into the pillow, murmuring despairingly: 'I can't.'

She felt his weight pressing down upon her and involuntarily she whispered: 'Oh, Hugh! Hugh!'

She became aware that he had moved off the bed. Turning her head, she stared up at him, where he stood looming over her, a dark, menacing presence. She murmured weakly:

'I'm so… sorry. I didn't mean to cheat.'

She wanted to hold out her arms to him, to somehow make amends, for she intuitively knew that she had wounded his masculine vanity; he, the invincible lover, had failed to rouse her. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, even now it was not too late; she could plead virginal recoil—he might not know she was a virgin, from what he had said about Hugh he probably didn't. If he would be gentler, more patient… but she could not move; some icy stricture seemed to imprison her, and she could only lie there, staring up at him with eyes like a hunted hare.

Steve laughed harshly, his black brows drawn down over eyes like grey ice.

'Don't mention it, my dear. I don't want a human sacrifice, nor do I want to act as a substitute for the dear departed.' Noelle flinched, for she had had that thought in mind, and he laughed again. 'Keep your memories inviolate, and much good may they do you!'

He wrapped his robe about him and moved towards the dressing room door.

With an immense effort Noelle sat up, forcing a way through the inertia that had bound her. Dismay and regret were mingled with other emotions which she could not define. She only knew that she did not want Steve to leave her like this. Her eyes were big and beseeching, her soft hair falling about her face, while her lips trembled. She looked piteously appealing, but her husband's face remained stony.

'Steve, don't go. I'm so sorry… I… can't we…'

Bitingly sarcastic came his retort:

'Don't put yourself out on my account. I've no use for martyrs.'

'But… but where are you going?'

'To find a more welcoming bed than yours.'

'At this time of night?'

'Cairo's a nocturnal city. Goodnight, and pleasant dreams… of Hugh.'

He went through into the dressing room, closing the door quietly but firmly behind him. It had another entrance, so he could leave without her knowledge if he wished.

It was only as he disappeared that the full implication of what he had said hit her. A more welcoming bed… one of those hussies who had been making eyes at him all the evening, to whom he had introduced her simply as Noelle? Perhaps he had foreseen she might repulse him and had thus left open a way of retreat? Or he might leave the hotel and seek some former love residing in the city. Her frigidity had driven him to it.

But she was not frigid; in spite of her fear and dismay she had experienced a faint stirring of desire in his arms, like the fluttering of a bird seeking to escape. She knew then he did have the power to arouse her, but something had gone terribly wrong.