Semi-Detached Marriage (17 page)

She was so tired that she expected to fall
asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, but her mind was still alert,
defying her fatigue, and kept going back to the party, to Julia deceiving John
with Chris and what the possible outcome would be. She wondered if Sue knew,
whether she'd guessed last night.

Restlessly Cassie turned over, trying to get
more comfortable, trying to will herself to go to sleep. She tried counting,
but had only got to seventeen when her thoughts wandered off as she remembered
that electric moment with Tom. Would he have kissed her, kissed her properly?
Almost from the beginning he had kissed her on the cheek in greeting and when
saying goodnight, but there was a world of difference in that sort of friendly
peck and the look that had been in his eyes at that moment. And if he had tried
to kiss her would she have let him? Cassie couldn't even pretend to herself
that she would have been capable of any resistance. The sexual impact of the
moment had been too great for that. And it had made her afraid.

For the first time since she'd known Simon
she had become attracted to another man, and it had happened at a time when she
was vulnerable and alone. She desperately needed some kind of
reassurance-wanted, really, to be taken in hand and have her life firmly put
back in order again. And perhaps the way she had behaved towards Simon had been
an instinctive urge to rouse his anger and make him do just that. She heard the
door of the bathroom opening and immediately closed her eyes and pretended to
be asleep.

Simon didn't come to bed straightaway, she
could hear him moving about the room in the half light, going to the wardrobe
and putting things inside, opening the drawers in the dresser and closing them
again. All thoughts of sleep had fled now, she was too tense, too busy
wondering what he would do. She heard him come over to the bed and tried to
keep her breathing even as he pulled back the. duvet and climbed gently into
the bed beside her. He lay on his back, quite still. 'T'heir bodies weren't
touching, but even so Cassie was tinglingly aware of his nearness, of his lean,
strong body so close to her own. And it had been so long since they had made
love-nearly three months. A white heat of desire tore through her and she
yearned to turn to him, to make him hold her and love her, feel his skin
against hers, feel the hardness of his body joining with hers and washing away
all doubts, all fear, all frustration. The desire was so fierce that she almost
moaned aloud, but bit her lip in time, pride and obstinacy refusing to allow
her to be the one to make the first move.

But the steady rhythm of her breathing must
have changed because Simon said shortly, 'There's really no point in pretending
to he asleep, Cassie; I know you're awake.'

For a couple of seconds she toyed with going
on with the pretence, but realised it was futile. 'Well, I am now,' she
retorted in a hostile tone.

Putting out a hand, he pulled her over on to
her back. His arm was bare.

`Why aren't you wearing pyjamas?' she
demanded accusingly.

`Why do you always get prudish whenever we
have a row?' Simon countered.

'I am not being prudish.'

`Then take this thing off.' Simon's tone had
altered now, become soft, suggestive as he touched her night-dress.

'No. I told you I want to go to sleep.'

'Are you sure, Cassie? Are you really sure
that's what you want?' His hand touched her neck, slid inside the opening of
her nightdress and moved slowly down to caress her breast.

His touch roused her at once, sending a flame
of sexuality coursing through her body. She wanted to say, yes, yes, that's
what I want, but her stubborn pride wouldn't let her forgive him so easily, so
quickly. Using all her will-power, she pulled away from him and snapped out,
'Take your hand off me! Just what right do you think you've got to walk in here
after three whole months and expect to just have sex on demand?'

'What the hell have rights got to do with
it?' Simon retorted exasperatedly. 'All right, so we've been apart for three
months, isn't that all the more reason to make love now we're together?'

'Having sex isn't going to solve anything,'
Cassie told him vehemently, so vehemently that she almost believed it. 'The
same problems will still be there afterwards. It won't make any difference.'

Simon listened to her grimly, and then, his
voice harsh, demanded, 'Since when did it become having sex instead of making
love? What the hell's got into you, Cassie?' He propped himself up on one elbow
and looked at her angrily.

`There's nothing the matter with me,' she
returned hotly. 'I'm just pointing out that you can't come home and expect
everything to be the way it was. I don't like being alone for months on end.
Why, we might just as well not be married at all, for God's sake! And going to
bed together isn't going to put things right, although men always think that it
will, of course,' she added sardonically. 'They think that they've only got to
exert a bit of masculinity and make a woman have sex and everything will be
sweetness and light again. Well, it doesn't work!'

'Are you talking about men in general or me
in particular?' Simon enquired, his voice cold.

'About all men, of course.'

'And I wonder just how you've suddenly come
to know how men's minds work?' Simon remarked, his mouth set into a grim line.
He wasn't touching her any more, not his hands nor any part of his long lean
body. His grey eyes were ice-cold and there was a shut in look about his face
as if he had withdrawn into himself.

'But I'm afraid you won't be able to prove
the truth of that statement, with me at any rate, because you've killed any
desire I had for you stone dead. So go to sleep, Cassie, I won't disturb you.'
His eyes glinted down at her, hard and enigmatic, then he added caustically,
'Sweet dreams, darling,' before rolling over with his back to her.

Cassie bit her lip and closed her eyes,
trying to go to sleep, telling herself that she was glad she'd put him off. But
her whole body ached with need, her hands balling into tight fists at her side
to stop her from trembling. She risked a look at him in the dim light, but his
back was still towards her, as hard and rigid as his uncompromising attitude.

A rush of frustrated anger surged through
her. Damn him! Damn him! Couldn't he see? Couldn't he understand that she
wanted him to make her, to force her to do what he wanted? She wanted, needed,
to fight him physically, to have him overpower her. Desperately she needed him
to prove his mastery over her, so that she would once again know where and who
she was. A primitive Deed, maybe, but her feelings now were raw and basic. She
didn't want to make the first move towards a tentative reconciliation; she
wanted to have it proved to her, without any shadow of a doubt, that Simon was
the boss.

But he lay completely still, so still that
she guessed he'd gone to sleep, and anger turned to a wave of pure hatred, so
violent that it shocked her. She'd been angry with him many times before in the
past, but never, never had she hated him. She lay still, gazing up at the ceiling,
feeling bleak and miserable until at last she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke, late in the afternoon, she
yawned, still half asleep, and reached across the bed for Simon. But the bed
was empty and she heard his muted voice in the sitting-room. Quickly she got
up, showered and dressed, wondering who he had with him, but when she went into
the room she found that he was talking on the telephone to someone who had been
at the party, the pile of now unwrapped gifts on the low table in front of him.
There was coffee, hot in the percolator.

Cassie poured a large mug and carried it into
the sitting-room, curled up on the settee and picked up the Sunday paper. Her
head throbbed, but the coffee at least got rid of the dry, parched feeling in
her mouth. She shouldn't have had any champagne with breakfast
this
morning; mixing her drinks always gave her a hangover. The thought of the Savoy
made her remember her discovery of Julia's lover. Should she tell her she knew?
Cassie wondered. But perhaps better not, better to keep out of it altogether.

Simon finished his conversation and looked
across at her, but Cassie pretended to be engrossed in the paper, holding it up
so that he couldn't see her face. After a moment he dialed again and spoke to
another friend. He made two more calls, then put down the receiver decisively.

'I trust you slept well?' he enquired
blandly.
            

'Yes, thank you.' Cassie turned a page,
making sure that the paper still hid her from his view.

'Good. Thank you for the birthday presents,
by the way.'

'I hope you like them,' Cassie returned
stiltedly, remembering the care she'd taken on selecting the expensive sweater
that she'd bought in Paris, and the cuff-links from the jeweler department in
Marriott & Brown's.

'Very much. Are you feeling okay, quite
rested?'
            

'I told you,' Cassie answered irritably, 'I'm
perfectly well.'

'I'm glad.' He stood up, came over to her and
jerked the paper out of her hands, dropping it on the floor. 'So now let's have
that talk.' But as he sat down on the edge of the settee, he said deliberately,
'But first there's this.' And he leant forward and kissed her firmly on the
mouth.

Taken by surprise, at first Cassie's lips
were soft and yielding, but then they hardened as she quickly pulled away. For
a brief second a bitter, fed-up look showed in Simon's eyes, but it was quickly
masked as he said harshly, 'That was for the birthday party And now you've got
some explaining to do.' His eyes, cold as water over stone, bored into hers as he
bit out. 'And we'll start by you telling me just how long you have been seeing
Tom Rydell'

Cassie stared at him, sensing his anger
although he had it under control, and feeling glad that be wss angry, willing
to fuel it to enrage him further.    

'What does it matter to you how often I go
out with Tom? After all, you should be glad that one of your friends is willing
to entertain me while you're up in Scotland playing…'

`Don't say that again, Cassie,' Simon put in
savagely. `Just don't say it!'

`All right. While you're up in Scotland
working, then. Well, shouldn't you?' she demanded, when he didn't answer.

The comer of his mouth twisted scornfully.
'Be glad that some other man is taking my wife out? I don't think you know me
very well, Cassie.'

'If you're not here to take me out, then why
the hell shouldn't I go out with a friend?' she demanded, her voice rising.

Simon stood up and took an angry step away, turned,
his hands shoved into his pockets. 'To go out with a friend from time to time
is one thing, but you'd never even met Tom Rydell before he came to England.
And don't try telling me that the friendship's platonic, because I won't
believe it; no man and woman yet ever had a purely platonic relationship.' He
reached forward suddenly and hauled her to her feet. 'And you still haven't
told me how often you've been seeing him. How often, Cassie?' he demanded
stridently.

His anger was out in the open now, she could
feel it
in his hand that held her wrist like a vice, hear it
in his voice, although he still had his features under control. And her own
blood was running hot in her veins, pumping adrenalin into her heart so that it
beat loud and fast, filling her with an intoxicating, bubbling kind of fear and
excitement all mixed up together. From somewhere a small voice of sanity told
her to play it cool, but it was lost beneath the fascination of seeing how far
she could go, how far she could push him. Belligerently she replied, 'As often
as possible.'

His face paled. 'And just how often is that?'

'Every weekend and almost every night during
the week.'

His jaw tightened and his lips drew into a
thin line. 'You said you weren't having an affair with him?'
           

'No, I'm not,' Cassie answered coolly,
fiercely glad of the punishment she was inflicting.

'Has he asked you?'

'No.' His face relaxed a little so she added
cruelly, 'But that doesn't mean that I won't say yes when he does.'

The hand holding hers jerked, and his fingers
bit into her wrist and a flame of anger shot through his face. 'You bitch! You
cold-hearted little bitch!' Hot, murderous rage shone in his eyes and Cassie,
in a purely reflex action, lifted up her left arm as if to ward off a blow.

It never came. When she dared to look at
Simon his face was still very white and there was a grim, bleak look in his
grey eyes, but he had himself under control again. He let go of her wrist,
pushed his hands in his pockets and moved away from her to stare out of the
window. After a while he said curtly, 'I notice you said when he asked you and
not if. Is it inevitable that he'll ask you, then?'

'I don't know.' Suddenly Cassie regretted what
she'd done, felt ashamed. She put out a tentative hand to touch his sleeve.
`Simon, I…'

He pulled his arm free from her touch and
moved away. The physical rejection hit her like a blow. He had no right to do
that; she was the one who was supposed to be doing the rejecting!