Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (15 page)

'So—why?'

'Because, from the little you'd told me, I'd begun to suspect that the
programme you were planning could be dangerous.'

She turned to look at him, her eyes frowning. 'Dangerous?'

'For you—and for the women you've been interviewing.'

'How could
it possibly be—?'

'Think about it, Tasha,' he interrupted forcefully. 'These are famous
men you're dealing with, not nonentities. Famous people have power,
otherwise they wouldn't be able to exploit the women in the first place. If
just one of them finds out what you're planning—and you can be sure as hell it
will be found out—then they'll use every means in their power to stop you. And
powerful men play dirty, Tasha. The more powerful the more unscrupulous and
ruthless they can be. Just talking to these women will have shown you that.'

'I'm not
afraid.'

She lifted her chin as she said it, a fierce light of determination in
her eyes. She looked so incredibly beautiful that he felt something like pain
in his chest, but Brett ignored it as he said with all his persuasive power,
'You're just a young woman at the outset of your career. Some of those men
could break you in an hour, make sure you never work
in television again. They could even have you hurt physically. An "accident" in your car, being mugged in the street.
Even a fire in your flat,' he added with deliberate brutality. She gave an
incredulous gasp, but he went on, 'You've picked on men in high places and
they've a lot to lose. Do you really think they'd take a chance on you exposing
them when they could put you out of the way?'

Tight-lipped, she said, 'Yes, you're right; it's because they are in
responsible positions that I chose them, and that's why they should be exposed
for what they are. Are you saying that I should drop the whole idea?' Tasha
added indignantly. 'That I should let them get away with it?'

'You're digging up too much dirt. It will only rebound on you. At the
very least untold pressure will be put on your boss to stop the programme. Has
he read your notes? Does he know exactly what you intend?' She didn't answer,
looked away. 'I thought not. I bet you're deliberately keeping him in the dark,
stringing him along. When he finds out, the programme will never be shown. But
there are other ways to—'

But she interrupted angrily, 'I won't give it up. Those women are
putting their trust in me to avenge them.'

He looked at her, saw that she was completely unconvinced, so he said
deliberately, 'Are you avenging them—or yourself?'

She
stiffened. 'What do you mean?'

'You told me about the college tutor who tried to rape you. You plan
to denounce him in this programme, don't you?'

'So what if I
do?'

Striding over, Brett put both
hands on the table and leaned towards her. His voice harsh, he said, 'So take a
look at your motives for doing this programme. You may have convinced yourself
you're on a crusade for others, but in reality you're completely governed by
your own desire for revenge. The only reason you went looking for those women
was to pad out the programme. You want to get your own back, Tasha, and you're
using those women to help you do it. You are exploiting them, just as
ruthlessly as the men who used them.'

Tasha's face had gone pale, but
there were bright spots of anger in her cheeks as she said, 'That isn't true.'

'No? Have you thought about what
will happen to those women once the programme is shown? You only have their
word for it that they've been used. Have you tried to corroborate their
stories?'

'How can I when there weren't
any witnesses? The very basis of sexual exploitation is that it's between two
people and is done in secret.'

'Exactly!
So what's to stop every one of those men suing you? They'll take you to the cleaners,
Tasha. You'll still be paying off your debts when you're a hundred years old.'

'I'm not
afraid of that.'

She had such courage that his
heart smote him, but he said, 'It's not just you. Those women will be sued for
slander, too. Have you told them that could happen, warned them of what they
might have to face? No, of course you haven't—because all you can think about is getting revenge on the man who hurt you. You, Tasha. This is what it's all about.'

In sudden rage, she pushed
herself to her feet and burst out, 'Why shouldn't I have justice? I got thrown
out of college. I lost my chance of a degree. And I had done nothing. Nothing!
But he wasn't even punished. It was all hushed up. He was just pensioned off.
They even made a ceremony out of it and the college gave him a presentation! It
was a clock. They gave him a damn clock as a reward for raping his students!'

Suddenly tears were coursing
down her cheeks. Brett caught her to him and held her close in his arms. 'Oh, my sweet. My poor darling. I
know it's unfair. Life is bloody unfair. But you can't do this. Believe me, my darling, you've got to let it go.'

She sobbed against his shoulder,
murmured incoherently. Brett stroked her hair, said soothing words of comfort
and kissed her forehead. 'I know it's rotten, but you'll hurt yourself far more
than you'll hurt him. Believe me, sweetheart.'

Her tears still flowed and she
made a protesting noise, but not so vehemently as before. But it was a while
before she gulped and raised her head from his shoulder. Brett gave her his
handkerchief and Tasha wiped her face, then gave a
croaky laugh. 'I can't believe I broke down like that. I've never cried about
this before. Not even when it happened.'

'Maybe that's been the problem;
you've been bottling the whole thing up all these years, letting it grow out of
all proportion.'

She looked at him, her eyes
still wet and deeply troubled. 'Could those women I've interviewed really be
harmed if I go ahead?'

'I think you already know the
answer to that one,' he said gently.

She sighed in
deep unhappiness. 'Why are men so cruel to women?'

Realising that she had given in,
Brett smiled and said lightly, 'Who knows? In another generation it might well
be the other way round.'

But Tasha
shook her head. 'Somehow I don't think so.'

'Hey, this isn't like you.
Where's your optimism?'

She gave him
a sombre look. 'I'm sorry I soaked your shoulder; I'm
not usually this weak. This stupid. This
feminine. This—'

Brett stopped
her words with his mouth, kissing her gently. 'You just got lost for a while,
that's all. But you're OK now, aren't you?' There was a question in his voice;
he wanted to be sure that she'd been persuaded.

Stepping away
from him, she said, 'I promised those women. Especially that
girl who works as an air stewardess. She's depending on me.'

'She won't
thank you if something happens to her because of it. She's in a foreign country
working for an all-powerful man. She wouldn't stand a chance, Tasha.'

Her eyes
widened, then she said bitterly, 'You seem to know all
about man's inhumanity to woman.' Then she shook her head a little and sighed.
'Sorry, I didn't mean to be nasty. I think I'll go for a walk, try and sort
things out in my mind.'

'Do you want me to come with
you?'

'No.' She shook her head. 'I'd rather be alone. I've got a lot of
thinking to do.'

Tasha walked
down to the beach. The tide was out and she kicked off her shoes and began to
walk along the water line. The sun was low in the sky, deep red, turning the
shore and the rocks to a delicate pink and leaving shadows where her feet sank
in the wet sand. She realised that since she had first had the idea for this
programme she hadn't even considered the consequences it might have. It had
seemed such a beautiful way of getting revenge at last. And
the same for all those other women. She had been looking for a way of
getting her own back for such a long time, and she could still remember the
thrill of excitement she'd felt when she'd first realised she could do so
through this programme.

It had all seemed so simple and straightforward. A friend had told her
about someone she knew, a personal secretary to a powerful businessman, who'd
had it made clear to her that she was expected to be available sexually
whenever they went abroad or to conferences together. Career girls talked to
each other, confided their problems, their secrets, and one had led her on to
another, until Tasha had known she had the makings of a really good,
controversial programme.

Looking back, Tasha now saw that once the idea of taking part in it
herself had taken root in her mind, then all qualms had been lost beneath the
obsessive idea; she was going to get her own back at last. But Brett had
ruthlessly made her question her own motives. She didn't thank him for it. She
wanted revenge. Needed it badly. And she would have
been quite happy to take any consequences arising out of her actions. But what
about the other women she'd planned to use? Use. Her
thoughts dwelt on the word. Brett had said she was exploiting them herself,
that they would be doubly injured if she went ahead. But maybe some of them,
too, would be happy so long as the men who'd used them were exposed for what
they were. Perhaps she could ask them, perhaps the
programme could still go ahead. But did she have the right to let them risk it?

Tasha kicked moodily at a sea-shell. She knew she was just kidding
herself; there was no way now that she could go on with the programme. All that
work, all the hopes and all the trust that had been placed in her would all be
for nothing, would all go to waste. And, once she told her boss that she'd
decided to abandon the project, it would probably cost her the job with the
television company as well.

She felt stunned by the suddenness of realising
how completely selfish she'd been, but most of all by the way she had blinded
herself to the consequences. It made her feel dreadfully unsure of herself, not
only in this but in every aspect of her life. There seemed to be only one thing
of which she was absolutely positive, and that was that right now she needed Brett
very badly. She needed his strength and his closeness, his clear-headedness
and—most of all—his comfort. With a little sob, Tasha turned and ran back to
the cottage.

He was waiting for her at the door. Catching her in his arms, Brett
held her for a long moment, saying nothing, just letting her feel his strength
enfolding her. Then he picked her up and carried her into the sitting-room. He
had lit the fire, and he laid her on the deep, soft rug in front of it.

They stayed at the cottage for three more days— days of unbridled
passion. But their relationship had subtly changed. It was no longer an equal
partnership; Brett was now the more dominant one. Tasha,
made vulnerable by guilt and uncertainty, had turned to him for comfort and let
him take control, and without realising it was
becoming dependent on him. Her work was abandoned, rejected, and she even went
to destroy her notes, to throw them on the fire. But Brett stopped her. 'No,
don't do that. Never throw work away. Here, give them to me; I'll put them away
for you.'

He locked
them in his desk, then took her down to the beach
again to swim and make love. For him those days were near perfect; he gloried
in her willing body, in the feminine weakness that had made her so submissive.
Soon, he thought, she would admit that she was in love with him. But,
strangely, it wasn't somehow as satisfying as he had expected. He was vaguely
aware that there seemed to be something missing, but he couldn't figure out
what. But then, he was so sated by sex that he hardly had the energy to think
about anything else.

It was
Tasha's mobile phone ringing that broke up the idyll. It was her boss demanding
to know where the hell she was and what was happening about the programme.
Reluctantly, feeling full of guilt, Tasha told him she'd be in the office the
next day.

Listening to
the call, Brett came up behind her. Putting his arms round her waist, he kissed
her neck, then said, 'You don't have to go back.'

Tasha leaned
her head back against his shoulder and put her arms over his. 'But I must.'

'Do you want to?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

Part of the
truth was that she didn't want to have to go back to face the consequences of
her own actions, to face reality. She didn't want to have to contact all those
women she had interviewed and tell them that the project had been ditched. To
do so was to acknowledge failure, to admit that she'd made a terrible mistake,
one that could have led to complete disaster if it hadn't been for Brett. Tasha
had come to see that now and to be grateful, so she told him the other part of
the truth, which was what he wanted to hear. 'Because I don't
want this to end, of course.'

'Sweetheart.' Unbuttoning her dress, he slipped his hands
inside. She was naked underneath; he had soon put a stop to her wearing a bra.
He caressed her gently at first, then more firmly,
expert now at what aroused her the most. 'We still have the rest of today and
all tonight,' he said thickly. 'We must make it special.'

'How?'

'I'll think
of something.' He turned her within his arms so that he could bend to kiss her
breasts.

She watched
him through half-closed lids, giving little gasps as his mouth pulled at her
so-sensitive nipples, and she smiled a little, thinking that they must surely
have explored every way to have sex during the last few days. Sitting down on a
chair, Brett pulled her astride him so that he could go on kissing her while
they made love.

That evening
they cooked a spectacular meal which they ate by candlelight by the open
windows, the sound of the sea soft in the background. They drank a lot of
champagne, and later went hand-in-hand down to the beach where they undressed
each other and waded out through the waves, the phosphorescent spray licking
their legs, their thighs, their chests. In the water they kissed, touched, caressed,
until they were both aroused to fever-pitch.