With the help of the chart Pierre had done for her, she was able to purchase new make-up in the boutique, and Pierre’s final words rang in her ears as she hurried out into the now busy streets.
‘Wear your hair down,’ he had instructed her. ‘It’s far too beautiful to be scraped back into that ugly knot. If you must wear it up choose a softer style.’
She would experiment with it tonight, she promised herself, hoping it would not be an impossible task for her to master the techniques Pierre had shown her.
Further down Bond Street she lingered by the lingerie shop she had seen that morning, one half of her warning her scornfully that nothing she could do would bring Zach back, while the other—the new feminine half—yearned for the soft sensuality of silk and satin against the skin that could still remember every feverish second when the male warmth of Zach’s body had been its only covering.
In the end she went in rather hesitantly. The boutique was empty of other customers and a pleasant girl came forward to ask if she needed any help.
‘The bra and briefs in the window,’ Tamara began nervously, ‘I …’
‘They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?’ the girl enthused, smiling. ‘I’ve been drooling over them myself. They’re new stock.’ She glanced at Tamara’s hand. ‘Perfect for a honeymoon. There’s a nightdress and matching negligee. Let me show them to you.’
The gossamer-fine silk rippled over the counter, the delicate insets of lace adding to the cobwebby effect.
‘Try them on,’ the girl urged.
Telling herself that she was being an absolute fool, Tamara stepped into the small cubicle. The nightdress, so demure off, had a surprising sensuality on, and not merely in the silky brush of the fabric against her skin. The lace insets revealed a considerable amount of pearly flesh; the shoestring straps which tied in tiny bows were deliberately provocative.
When she left the shop half an hour later Tamara could still not believe that she had parted with such an exorbitant sum of money in such a lost cause. Her face flamed with the knowledge of her deceit. The girl had thought she was buying the clothes for the delectation of her ‘fiancé’, but Tamara knew that there was only one man she wanted to see her in that drift of silk and lace; only one man’s hands she desired to unfasten those satin bows and press seductive kisses in their place, and it certainly wasn’t Malcolm.
That was when she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she would have to terminate her engagement. In the rain forest she had used it as a means of self-defence to prevent Zach from thinking that she was trying to trap him into a more permanent relationship than he wanted, but she was not in the rain forest now, and Malcolm would have to be told the truth—or at least
enough of the truth to convince him that their engagement was over.
She had just gone to bed when her telephone started to ring, her first illogical thought that it might be Zach quenched when she realised that even if he wanted to get in touch with her he didn’t know where she lived.
When she picked up the receiver the voice she heard was Dot’s, ringing to check up that she was all right.
‘I’m fine,’ Tamara told her lightly, ‘so fine in fact that I’ve just spent a fortune on new make-up and clothes.’
‘Good for you!’
Dot sounded genuinely approving. They chatted for a few minutes and then she hung up, having reminded Tamara that she was more than welcome to pay them a visit.
It was a novel experience for Tamara to have someone so concerned about her. She had always maintained a slight distance with people, never allowing them to come too close—until now, and she had let Zach come dangerously close and like a moth she was destined to be irreparably hurt by the thing that attracted her the most.
She had barely replaced the receiver when the telephone rang again. This time it was Malcolm.
‘Who was that on the phone when I rang five minutes ago?’ he asked her crossly, not at all mollified when she explained.
‘Karen tells me you want to speak to me?’
Not a word of concern for her, Tamara noticed critically, quelling the thought as disloyal. She had never found fault with Malcolm in the past and he was hardly to blame for exhibiting the very characteristics which had drawn her to him in the first place. Had she questioned him about it she had no doubt that he would have replied huffily that if she had not been fully recovered he would not have expected her to return home in the first place.
‘Yes, I did,’ she agreed. ‘When do you hope to come home?’
‘By the weekend. I’ve arranged for us to go and stay with the parents. You’ll be able to tell them all about your holiday. Not that they approve,’ he warned her. ‘Mother doesn’t think it’s a good idea for people to holiday separately.’
‘Malcolm, must we?’ she began desperately. ‘There’s something I want to discuss with you …’
‘Well, we can discuss it at the weekend. The parents always give us plenty of time together.’
Deliberately contrived half-hours last thing at night which left Tamara feeling acutely selfconscious and stiffly unresponsive when Malcolm did take advantage of his parents’ ‘tactful’ disappearance to kiss her.
‘Malcolm, this isn’t something I …’
‘Look, Tam,’ he broke in, using the diminutive which she hated, ‘I can’t talk now. I’ll pick you up at the usual time on Friday. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss whatever it is. I must go.’