She was given no opportunity to resist, his mouth, hard and unyielding forcing her lips to part, bringing the rusty taste of blood to her mouth as she tried to withstand him and was punished by the grinding pressure of his mouth forcing the tender inner skin of hers back against her teeth. She made a muffled protest, lost against his mouth, hating him with a bitterness that threatened to sweep everything else away, forcing herself to cling to the memories of what he had been, instead of admitting the frightening reality of what he now was. It was a kiss that was a desecration of all that they had shared; of her tender and shy submission to him; of Simon’s conception which had been a sharing and meeting of their souls as well as their flesh; and yet in spite of everything something inside her twisted and took fire, a spark which burned briefly before it was extinguished so that when he eventually lifted his mouth, and she became aware of the rough sledgehammer blows of his heart against her body, she was filled with self-disgust, with aching shame that she should have actually experienced in such a violent and destructive embrace, a fierce tug of sensuality that she had never known in the caresses they had exchanged before.
‘Just remember why you’re here, Philippa,’ he warned her as he left. ‘Don’t try my patience too far. Not unless I’m right and you do enjoy being abused.’
When he had gone she refused to cry. She refused to do anything which would allow her to give way to the emotions he had aroused. Instead, she picked up the phone. Half-an-hour later, feeling decidedly calmer, she decided to go and look for Simon. She had arranged for their clothes and personal belongings to be sent on by her next-door neighbour. The flat would be sublet, Simon’s headmaster had expressed his approval of her plans, and now all she had to do was to convince herself that she had never, not even for a second, felt anything in Scott’s arms other than revulsion and horror.
Her memory of Scott’s degrading embrace faded when she discovered that Simon seemed to be missing. One of the men in the computer room told her that he had gone to look for Scott. ‘Ask Hank Brierly, Scott’s second-in-command, he might know where he is. His office is just down the corridor.’
Hank Brierly proved to be a pleasant American in his late thirties. When she introduced herself as Scott’s new secretary he grinned appreciatively. ‘Well, well, things are looking up.’ His smile faded a little when she asked about Simon. ‘Your kid, you say. No, I haven’t seen him. He could be with Scott, although generally Scott doesn’t have all that much time for kids. Something or someone kinda soured him for the marriage and family bit a long time ago and I guess he’s still suffering from the blight.’
When Philippa approached Scott’s office she heard voices on the other side of the door, but in her anxiety about Simon she didn’t stop to ponder on the wisdom of her actions, simply knocking briefly on the door and going in. A tall slim girl with long dark hair and a pert triangular face was standing beside Scott’s desk whilst Scott himself perched on the end of it. Although she could not be sure Philippa could have sworn that before she came in Scott had been caressing the girl’s hands. She was young, much younger than Philippa, perhaps only eighteen or nineteen, and a white hot tide of emotion swept through her, almost too fast for her to identify it. Jealousy? Why on earth should she be jealous?
Both of them were watching her, the girl angrily, and Scott.… She was hard put to describe the look in Scott’s eyes. It was a combination of watchful scrutiny and a certain amount of gloating satisfaction, but both emotions were masked by the cold hauteur he evinced as she approached the desk.
‘I don’t remember giving you permission to walk in here, Philippa. What do you want?’ His insolent tone brought hot colour stingingly to her cheeks.
‘I’m looking for Simon,’ she said quietly, ‘he seems to be missing, and I thought he might be with you.…’
‘He wanted to look at the Ferrari and I told him he could—look that is, not touch.’ She turned back towards the door, pausing only when he said, ‘Oh, by the way, next time, before you come bursting into my office, just wait until you’ve been given permission will you.…’
It was the softly muted giggle of the girl with him that stung her pride raw as she closed the door behind her. She had been well and truly put in her place, and she was still seething inwardly from the effects of it.
‘Gave you a rough time did he?’ She realised that Hank Brierly was standing by her desk and smiled briefly, ‘My own fault. He had someone with him. I did knock but apparently they didn’t hear me and in future I’m told I have to wait for the “Open Sesame”.’ She made it sound flip but that was something she was far from feeling.
‘Umm. Someone with him, that will be Cara Laine, she’s the daughter of Buck Laine. Scott’s hoping he’s going to buy this new computer we’ve been working on. Scott’s sunk a good deal of capital in it and where Buck Laine leads others always follow, so if he gets this order there should be others, but Buck isn’t totally convinced. I suspect that Scott is trying to perform a public relations job on Cara.’
‘She’s very pretty—and very young.’
‘She’s also very spoilt and far from being the innocent her lack of years might lead you to believe,’ Hank told her dryly. ‘She wants Scott, and unless I’m mistaken he’s going to find that selling computers to her daddy means selling himself to little Cara, but I could be wrong. It has been known to happen. Not often… but.…’
‘You think Scott would do that.…’
‘What? Go to bed with pretty deadly Cara to secure the contract? I don’t know. He’s ruthless enough, but I think he’s also clever enough to know that once Cara gets her hooks into him she isn’t going to want to let go. She wants to marry and she seems to think Scott is ideal husband material.’ His voice held a note of pain that puzzled her.
‘He told me that his mother said he needed a wife.’
‘Umm… but I doubt that Cara is what she had in mind. She was probably thinking of someone who could crack that tough outer shell, and turn him into a human being again.’ He raised his eyebrows and grimaced faintly, ‘I think I should get back to my office. Somehow I don’t think our lord and master would approve if he came out here and caught us talking about him.’
It was said in a friendly fashion, but Philippa’s nerves, still raw from her last two encounters with Scott, flushed. ‘No, you’re right, of course, and I must go and find Simon.’
‘How old is he?’
When she told him he looked flatteringly surprised, ‘Ten, you don’t look old enough.’
‘I was,’ she assured him wryly. Old enough to make love, but not old enough to know how to protect herself from the consequences. Sighing she went to find her son, thinking it was ironic that it was those very qualities and interests he had inherited from his fathe
r which had, in a roundabout fashion, brought both of them here within Scott’s powerful ambit. When would he let them go? When he had finished tormenting her? She remembered the scene she had interrupted in his office. What were his real feelings about Cara Laine? Was he attracted to her, or was he simply using her? Cara wanted to marry him Hank had said. A cold shudder ripped through her body. What did it matter to her who Scott married? It was no business of hers, no business at all!
She didn’t go downstairs for dinner. She went to the kitchen instead and managed to persuade Mrs Robinson, the cook, to let her and Simon share high tea at the kitchen table. Afterwards she took Simon up to his room, where they both stayed watching television until she was sure it was safe to emerge from the sanctuary of Simon’s room and go to her own.
Once inside she checked the lock on the communicating door. It was reassuringly closed, and Scott no doubt was downstairs entertaining his mother and his American guest. Was she staying in one of the guest rooms in the West wing or was she more intimately quartered in the main building, perhaps next door to Scott?
Her room had its own adjoining bathroom, and she was tired enough after she had bathed to want to go straight to bed, without reading as she normally did. The day had been hot with thunder growling faintly in the distance; too hot for her to want the clammy stickyness of her nylon nightshirt next to her overheated skin. Eyeing it distastefully, Philippa dropped it on the chair beside her bed, sliding instead between cool cotton sheets, and stretching sensually, enjoying the cool brush of the fresh fabric against her tense skin. She wasn’t going to remember how she and Scott had made love in this room, in this bed, filling the silence with their whispers and promises. She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep mechanically counting sheep and wondering why it was that there was always one which refused to jump the gate. By the time she had backtracked to include it in her counting she was on the verge of sleep, submitting gratefully to its lure.
She wasn’t sure what woke her; something which left her heart pounding and her mouth dry, her first thought that it must be Simon stilled, as she realised he was too far away from her to have heard him even if he had cried out for her.
‘So you are awake.’ The disembodied voice reached her from the corner of the room, jerking her body into total wakefulness, the sheet falling away as she sat up automatically, turning towards the communicating door which now stood open.
‘Scott?’