Nobody Asked Me

CHAPTER VII

WHEN Alison woke next morning, Julian was evidently already up and dressed, for she was alone.

She looked round a little bewilderedly, slowly taking in the scene once more: the cold sunlight showing up the threads in the worn carpet, the picture of the cheerful young martyr smiling with the same fixed air of enjoyment, the brand-new suitcase labelled ‘Mrs. J. Tyndrum’, the unfamiliar masculine things on the narrow dressing-table, the tumbled bed where her husband had slept last night and dreamt of another girl.

Alison bit her lip. They were all like things in a stage drama. And she herself, she supposed, was the heroine of the drama.

She didn’t feel much like a heroine. Heroines were supposed to be courageous, and she didn’t feel courageous a bit. All she wanted to do was to press her face into the pillow and forget that the problem of living existed.

But one couldn’t get out of it that way, of course, and presently she got up and dressed and went downstairs.

‘Your husband’s out at the back there, talking to my boy Sam,’ the woman told her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Alison said, not very thoughtfully, and she went out through the open doorway into the big yard. She wondered if she would ever get quite used to hearing Julian called ‘your husband.’

He was standing talking to a countrified young man who, presumably, was ‘Sam’. Julian was laughing a little at something that was being said, and Alison thought wistfully that he was really terribly handsome like that, with his head thrown back and those curiously light grey eyes of his narrowed against the sunlight.

Then he saw her, and immediately he held out his hand, with a smile which made her feel less isolated.

Alison came to his side, and he introduced her to Sam, who touched his cap.

‘Honeymoonin’, aren’t you?’ he said with an indulgent grin.

‘Yes, we are-honeymooning,’ agreed Julian calmly, and -perhaps as supporting evidence-he transferred his arm to Alison’s waist and drew her a little against him.

It made her feel happy and hurt all at once, and she remained perfectly silent while Sam and Julian talked a few minutes longer about farming in general.

‘If you like to go and have a look round, sir, you’re very welcome,’ Sam said. ‘I can’t come myself just now, but you go through that gate there. Breakfast’ll not be ready for. another ten minutes, I dare say.’

Julian thanked him and turned away with his arm still round Alison.

‘I think Sam’s nice,’ remarked Alison as they came out at the side of a field which stretched away in rain-soaked greenness to a row of bare trees, standing like skeletons against the November sky.

Julian looked amused. ‘Is that his name? How do you know?’

‘His mother told me.’

‘Oh. Yes, he seems a very good sort.’

Presently he said, ‘You’re not catching cold in this thin thing, are you?’ And he gently felt the sleeve of her suit.

"Oh, no.’ It was nice to have him concerned about her. ‘Did you sleep well, Julian?’ That came out a little shyly.

‘Extraordinarily well, thank you.’ He spoke rather as though the fact surprised him. ‘And you?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Alison said quickly, not liking to think of how she had lain awake, and what had happened.

‘I thought so. You were already asleep when I came up, weren’t you?’

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said again, ‘Weren’t you?’

‘N-not quite.’

‘Not?’ He stopped, and turned her gently towards him. Alison blushed then, and at that he laughed softly.

‘Little Alison, I think you are the kindest and most tactful person I know.’ And he bent his head and kissed her with extraordinary sweetness.

‘Julian!’ It was so entirely unexpected that she couldn’t even kiss him back again, and, to her dismay, she felt the tears come into her eyes.

‘Why, my dear, what is it?’ he was slightly amused still, she knew, but there was a sort of half-startled tenderness too.

‘Nothing,’ she managed to get out.

‘But there is something. What is it? Don’t you like me to kiss you?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s only-’ Her voice dropped suddenly to a whisper. ‘It-it’s the first time you’ve ever done it, and- and-’ Her voice quivered into silence.

He remained perfectly still while she was speaking. Then he quietly finished her sentence for her.

‘-and with you it’s an actual need to have someone kind and affectionate, even if it’s only your official husband. Is that it?’

‘S-something like that,’ stammered Alison, tightening her hand nervously on his.

The next moment she was drawn right into his arms, and he was kissing her, first on her cheeks and then on her mouth.

‘Oh, Julian,’ she said again, and she gave him a long, sweet kiss in answer.

‘Does the bruise hurt less now?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes, thank you,’ whispered Alison very shyly.

He didn’t say any more after that, and presently they went back to the house for breakfast.

Alison enjoyed her breakfast. She enjoyed everything to do with this cold, bright November morning. It was a strange world, an exciting world-almost a beautiful world, even if she were on her honeymoon with a man who wanted another girl.

After breakfast, it seemed that fresh supplies of petrol had arrived, and they were free to go on their way.

‘I’m quite sorry to leave here,’ Alison said as she watched Julian put their cases into the car once more. She felt absurdly that no place would ever be so dear or exciting again.

Julian smiled and said, ‘Yes. It hasn’t been bad, after all.’ But he didn’t, of course, suggest anything so silly as their staying.

They drove nearly all day, and at night they stopped at one of the big luxury resorts on the Devonshire coast.

Julian seemed very anxious that she should have everything possible to make up for the spartan-like simplicity of the first day of their honeymoon; and, without consulting her, he engaged a spacious luxury suite at the best hotel.

Alison made no comment about it, but as she lay awake in her big, well-sprung bed that night, she thought wistfully of the cold, bare room she had shared with him the night before. And she thought she would willingly have exchanged the luxury here for the quiet, even sound of Julian’s breathing-even if he were dreaming of Rosalie.

‘I put through a call to Simon last night,’ Julian told her at breakfast next morning. ‘He sent you his love.’

‘Did he?’ Alison knew it was all quite lightly meant, and that Julian himself attached no significance to it, but, for some reason, it displeased her.

‘He had heard from Buenos Aires.’ Julian spoke without much expression.

‘Oh, yes?’ Her own small annoyance was forgotten in concern for him.

‘There doesn’t seem to be any chance of our going out there, Alison,’ he said with rather elaborate indifference.

‘Oh, Julian, I’m so sorry.’

‘Never mind.’ He set his mouth. ‘It’s no good kicking against the inevitable.’ But she saw that his eyes looked tired, and she guessed he had lain awake last night, thinking -of what?

Of Rosalie, she supposed. Waking or sleeping, he thought of Rosalie. And now they were to live in the same place, to meet her everywhere.

Alison felt suddenly that it wasn’t much good fighting any more. Fate or chance, or whatever it was, had her beaten.

They didn’t stay long in any one place, usually arriving late in the evening and leaving in good time the next morning. And everywhere Julian was the perfection of kindness and courtesy to her.

But it was the same kindness and courtesy he might have used towards his mother or a younger sister-anyone, in fact, for whom he felt a dutiful responsibility. There was none of the tender, passionate attention, the eager interest, that a man would give to the woman he loved.

On the last day of their short holiday he said to her:

‘We shall have to start house-hunting as soon as we get back, Alison. I’m afraid my bachelor flat will be very cramped quarters for us, but perhaps we can manage for a week or two. You can have my room, of course.’

‘Thank you,’ Alison said, but, as a matter of fact, she was bitterly hurt at his way of putting it.

Julian’s flat was small, but unexpectedly charming and luxurious. It was a service flat, so that there was nothing whatever for Alison to do. And, as she watched him on the first evening, immersed in his accumulation of correspondence, she had the odd feeling again that she had no place at all in his life. He seemed absolutely detached. The picture was complete without her.

She drew a quiet sigh, and then, after a moment longer, she plucked up courage to break the silence.

‘Julian.’

‘Um?’

‘We won’t have a service flat for our actual home, will we?’

‘No? Why not?’ He still spoke absently, his attention half on his correspondence.

‘Well, there’s nothing for me to do.’

He looked up then, rather amused.

‘What’s the matter? Do you feel it your duty to turn yourself into a domestic slave?’

‘No. Only-I want to do some things.’

‘What things?’ he said obtusely.

‘Things for-for you.’ Her voice quivered.

‘Alison-’ He got up suddenly and came over and picked her right up in his arms. ‘What absurd, sweet things you say to me. I never met anyone before who wanted to "do things" for me.’

‘Didn’t you?’ she whispered, and for a moment she felt she had a place in his life.

He carried her back to where he had been sitting and drew her down on to his knee.

‘You can open some of my letters for me, if you like.’

It was ridiculous, of course, and made her feel more like a child than ever, but somehow it was very sweet, too.

‘He’ll give me a blue pencil to play with in a minute,’ she thought.

And then she felt him put his cheek down against the top of her head, and she didn’t much care what he did after that.

‘Here’s an invitation from the Fortescues to go to a dance of theirs next Thursday,’ she said presently. ‘Do you want to go?’

‘Not much.’

‘No? It’s evidently going to be a big affair. I should dunk it might be rather nice.’

‘Might it?’

She looked up. ‘Why don’t you want to go, Julian?’

‘Don’t you know?’ He was smiling faintly, but he continued to stare absently at the letter in his hand.

And then she remembered. The Fortescues were great friends of Rosalie’s. She was bound to be there.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alison whispered, and reached up to kiss his cheek softly.

He turned his head then and gave her a quick, hard kiss on her mouth.

He didn’t say a word, but she had the exquisite conviction that, in some queer way, they were fighting danger together.

The next afternoon, when Julian was at his office, she went to see Aunt Lydia. Not that she was specially anxious to see her aunt, or, indeed, to go anywhere near the house at all, since the twins would be back at school and her uncle most certainly away or at his office. But Aunt Lydia was bound to expect a visit soon, so she might as well get it over. And perhaps, if she herself went fairly often, it would give Julian a chance to stay away without much comment.

‘Dear me, Alison, you’re looking rather pale. I don’t know that mink is quite the right colour for you,’ was Aunt Lydia ’s characteristic greeting.

‘I don’t feel pale,’ Alison assured her, more amused than annoyed.

‘Did you have a good time?’

‘Yes, thank you. Very good.’

‘And now you’re going to settle down in London, instead of going to South America? It’s really rather unfortunate.’

Alison forbore to ask why.

‘What are you going to have-a house or a flat?’ was her aunt’s next question.

‘A flat, I think. We’re going to look at some places to-morrow.’

‘Well, I suppose you know your own mind best, but I must say I always think in a flat you’re so much on top of each other. There’s no chance of getting away.’

Alison didn’t know quite what to say in answer to this novel idea of married life. She supposed her aunt would have been surprised if she had firmly stated that she had no special wish to ‘get away’ from Julian.

‘Where are you now? In an hotel, I suppose?’

‘No. In Julian’s old flat.’

‘But that’s only a tiny place, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but it’s very nice.’ For some reason or other, Alison felt angrily on the defensive.

‘I thought there wasn’t much more than a bedroom and a sitting-room.’

‘There isn’t.’

‘How very extraordinary,’ said Aunt Lydia, and stared at her niece with hard, uncompromising violet eyes. ‘Well, I suppose most men are the same when it comes to the point. Almost any girl will do.’

To her extreme annoyance, Alison felt herself go hot all over. For a wild moment she wanted to accuse Aunt Lydia to her face of being a coarse-minded cynic. But, of course, it was quite, quite impossible, and would not, in any case, have been the least good to anybody if she had.

Instead, she asked in a slightly breathless voice how her uncle was.

‘Quite all right, I think. Very busy, I suppose, since I see scarcely anything of him.’

‘And the twins?’

‘They’re back at school, of course.’

Evidently they passed from Aunt Lydia ’s notice and interest entirely as soon as they were out of sight.

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then, with an effort that made her clench her hands, Alison said, ‘Is-is Rosalie still at home?’

‘Oh, yes. She’s out at the moment-fortunately. She isn’t feeling very pleased with you just now, naturally.’

‘Isn’t that rather unfair?’ Alison said in a low voice.

‘Well, my dear, no girl likes to see the man she wants taken by another girl. Especially when there is a little bit of trickery about it.’

‘Aunt Lydia, I won’t have that!’ The colour flamed up in Alison’s face. ‘There was no trickery whatever about it. You know there wasn’t. It’s wicked and mean to say there was.’

Aunt Lydia remained perfectly cool, and smiled in a way which, Alison knew, meant that some particularly illogical statement of the case was coming.

‘I don’t expect you want to face the fact,’ she said with exasperating tolerance, ‘but no one can deny that you took advantage of an ordinary lovers’-tiff, if you like-to snatch at Julian. We all know it was Rosalie he wanted-’ and, I have no doubt, still does.’

‘No!’ Alison gasped that out quickly.

‘Well, my dear, you can take it from me that the Julian type doesn’t change so quickly. He is the most complete example of the one-woman man that I know, and I can’t say I’ve ever seen him give any indication that you were the one woman.’

Alison was wordless.

‘You have only yourself to thank for things being as they are, Alison,’ her aunt said. And then: ‘I suppose you did the proposing?’ she shot at her niece suddenly.

‘I-I-’

‘Well, I see you did. Mind, speaking impersonally,’ said Aunt Lydia, who was incapable of doing so, ‘I don’t exactly blame you. Nobody was likely to ask you, and you had a priceless opportunity of catching an excellent match on the rebound. Only you mustn’t expect Rosalie to feel affectionate about it.’

‘It wasn’t like that-oh, it wasn’t!’ Alison cried desperately, ‘You seem to forget that Rosalie had jilted him. Why shouldn’t he marry me instead?’

‘Because, my dear, he didn’t care a brass farthing about you,’ her aunt said calmly. ‘You know and I know that, given a few days, the whole thing would have blown over.’

‘That isn’t true.’ Alison was white, and she had to press her hand against her throat to keep back thee sobs. ‘Rosalie never loved him. She never wanted to go to Buenos Aires with him.’

‘That was the obstacle, I admit,’ Aunt Lydia said. ‘But it was the only obstacle. And the proof that you appreciated that as well as anyone lies in the fact that you took such precautions to keep quiet about the change of plans until it was too late to do anything.’

‘I didn’t, I didn’t!’ Alison was crying wildly by now. ‘I never thought about it at all. Besides, why should I stand aside for Rosalie at the last minute like that?’

‘Because it isn’t you Julian wants. It’s Rosalie,’ repeated Aunt Lydia drily.

‘No, no, no!’ Alison knew she had been driven from her defences by unfair and illogical arguments, and yet there seemed nothing left now but the futile, reiterated denial that he loved Rosalie.

‘Well, I don’t know that making a scene is going to help anyone now,’ Aunt Lydia remarked with admirable coolness. ‘You had better stop crying, Alison. I think I heard someone come in a moment ago, and it’s probably Rosalie.’

‘Oh, how awful,’ gasped Alison, at this final humiliation. With a tremendous effort, she choked back her sobs, and went over to the window, where she stood staring out and trying hastily to dry her eyes.

She heard the door open, and then Rosalie’s surprised, not very pleased, ‘Hello, Alison.’

There was nothing else for it. She turned to face her cousin.

‘Why, you’ve been crying,’ Rosalie said with uncharitable frankness.

Alison said nothing. There was nothing to say.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I think Alison is a little sorry about some things,’ Aunt Lydia said mildly.

‘I’m not!’ her niece exclaimed furiously.

‘Well then, shall we say-a little disappointed about some things?’ her aunt amended obligingly.

Rosalie gave an unpleasant little laugh.

‘Why? Didn’t the honeymoon come up to expectations?’ she said spitefully. ‘How extraordinary. I’ve always found that Julian makes love charmingly.’

Alison thought suddenly that she would choke if she-stayed a moment longer. She knew it was unpardonable, ridiculous, to say nothing at all. There must be a way of finishing this scene with some semblance of decency, some way of tucking in the ragged ends. But she couldn’t think of any.

She picked up her gloves without a word. She didn’t even speak to her aunt, and blindly she almost pushed past Rosalie and out of the room It was all just like some nightmare. There was no more shape or meaning to the scene than that.

And then she was out in the street once more, the cold air on her face-and the tears too, so that she was ashamed to go where people might see her, and wandered instead among the quiet squares, not knowing at all where she was going.

Then, when it was beginning to grow dark, she went home. She was quite calm by then-only a little pale and sad-eyed. She must never tell Julian a word about that terrible scene with Aunt Lydia and Rosalie. She could scarcely even bear to think of it herself. It was the kind of scene one must just try to forget.

Only, of course, one never did forget anything like that.

In the end, Julian and she did very little actual househunting; It seemed that Julian was friendly with a famous interior decorator, who knew ‘just the place’ for them. He also appeared to know exactly how Alison should wish to have her home.

Not that anyone tried to overrule her, or to ignore her wishes, but as Alison watched the beautiful luxury flat taking shape in the hands of experts, she felt that this would never be her home to her.

They knew so much better than she did what was best and right, and she couldn’t pretend that the result was anything but beautiful Only, sometimes she caught herself wondering guiltily if it was perhaps more exciting and real when you couldn’t afford to pay experts, but just had to muddle and contrive on your own. At least it was your own place then-with all its endearing faults and virtues.

It would have mattered so much, of course if Julian and she had been an ordinary young couple in love. But what was the good of pretending that colour-schemes and furniture were of mutual, romantic interest to them when their marriage was only ‘a business arrangement’?

Julian never emphasised the situation, but his kindly, detached, ‘you-have-everything-as-you-like-it’ attitude inevitably made Alison feel that, to him, their flat would merely be a place in which one lived, because one had to live somewhere.

So long as it was convenient, comfortable, and moderately attractive, it had no further significance for him.

And why should it? Alison, who was inexorably honest with herself, faced the fact squarely. There was no single reason in the world why he should be expected to feel anything else.

He took her out in the evenings a good deal-to theatres, to dinners, to concerts. But they always went by themselves or else in a small party which included only his personal friends, such as Simon and Jennifer. Evidently it was his intention to keep entirely aloof from Rosalie and whatever danger she might represent.

Then one evening he took her to a big dance, a semi-public affair, given at one of the principal hotels. Alison had been looking forward to it all the week, for she loved dancing, and, as this was being given in connection with Julian’s office, there was no likelihood whatever of Rosalie’s being there.

She wore one of her loveliest trousseau frocks-a leaf-green affair cut on Grecian lines, which made her look almost tall; and with it went little silver sandals, cut away to show the extremely pretty arch of her foot.

Even without Julian’s approving smile, she knew she was looking her best, and insensibly her spirits rose again, as they had not since that terrible afternoon at her aunt’s house.

As she came into the ballroom with Julian, she felt a happy little flutter of excitement. They would probably have most of the evening together, because there wouldn’t be very many people there whom they knew specially well, Simon and Jennifer, most probably-but they didn’t matter.

There was Simon now, dancing. And with him-Alison’s heart gave a nasty jar, as she caught a second’s glimpse of his partner before they were lost in the crowd again.

It couldn’t be! It couldn’t possibly- The people parted once more, and she saw that it was. The. totally unexpected had happened: Rosalie was here.

Alison glanced round for some sign of Aunt Lydia or of Rosalie’s fiancé. She could not see either. There was no explanation of Rosalie’s presence. She was just there, like some figure in a bad dream.

And then, from the sudden rigidity of Julian’s arm, she knew that he too had seen her.

It was all to begin again, then, this miserable, futile struggle. Just for a moment Alison felt it wasn’t any good- she couldn’t do it.

But of course she had to. She must stand by Julian, even if, in a sense, he scarcely wanted her to do so.

After a while she glanced up timidly at him, and, at the grim, hurt set of his mouth, her heart quailed.

‘Julian,’ she said quietly, ‘would you rather we went home?’

‘No, of course not.’ His voice was curt and almost harsh, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

It was the first time he had spoken really unkindly to her, and Alison felt her throat contract. She hadn’t meant to intrude on his most private thoughts, but his withdrawn, resentful air suggested that she had.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a low voice. But at that he gave an impatient little exclamation, which seemed to suggest that she couldn’t let well alone and, suddenly very frightened, she relapsed into silence.

A moment later, Simon saw them, and, at the end of the dance, he came over, smiling and imperturbable as ever, to greet them. Rosalie, of course, came with him, to give a cool nod of recognition at her cousin, and a smile of unusual sweetness and gentleness at Julian.

Alison watched her helplessly, feeling dull and childish and unattractive, as she almost always did in Rosalie’s presence.

‘Dare I assume that Julian will spare you for a little while to come and dance with me?’ Simon asked her. He seemed quite unaware of any tension, and it didn’t appear to dawn on him that this move would inevitably leave Julian and Rosalie together.

She went with him. There was nothing else to do, though really she felt as though she were being pulled in two, for her heart went with Julian as, politely and calmly, he drew Rosalie on to the dancing-floor.

At random she answered Simon’s lazy, amusing comments. And afterwards, when he wanted to take her to have champagne, she tried to make an excuse to get away. But it wasn’t easy. He overruled her with careless firmness, and took her to one of the small completely secluded alcoves, where he left her for a moment while he went to fetch their drinks.

Alison buried her face in her hands. Not that she was anywhere near tears. It was just that she felt so frighteningly helpless and inexperienced. The situation was completely out of hand.

In her last glance round the room before she had come here with Simon, she had been unable to see any sign of Julian and Rosalie. Was he being forced into a tête-à-tête, too-something far more difficult and dangerous than anything she need expect with Simon?

She dropped her hands quickly as she heard Simon’s step, and when he came in she was looking quite composed once more.

He handed her her glass, and sat down at the other end of the settee, almost facing her. For a moment he looked at her over his glass with those strange dark eyes of his that gave away no secrets.

‘To your-eventual happiness, Alison,’ he said, and drank.

Alison had her lips against the rim of her glass before she realised the full implication of that. A little unsteadily she set it down.

‘Why do you say that, Simon? What makes you think I’m not happy now?’

‘Dear child, how can you be?’ His actual tone was light, but somehow she didn’t think it was a light matter to him.

‘I still don’t know what you mean.’ Alison felt the utmost reluctance to continue the conversation, but she could not refuse to take up that remark.

He shrugged slightly, and again he gave that odd little smile.

‘At the moment you imagine you are in love with a man who wants another woman. It’s not a happy situation for any girl,’ he said.

‘Aren’t you-making-some rather unpardonable remarks?’ Alison spoke a little jerkily, but with a certain youthful dignity.

Simon put down his glass then and, leaning forward, looked at her with deadly seriousness.

‘You needn’t pretend with me, Alison,’ he said slowly. ‘I know Julian, and Rosalie, and-yes, you also-too well for me not to understand the situation.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alison said in an obstinate whisper, though she knew, of course, that it was ridiculous to go on repeating that.

‘Oh, yes, you do.’ He spoke quite gently and, putting out his hand, he lightly took her by her wrist The touch of his fingers on her arm was almost imperceptible, and yet for some reason she felt vaguely frightened. ‘Even now you can scarcely keep your thoughts on what I’m saying, because you’re wondering frightenedly what she is saying to him.’

Alison gave him a quick, scared look, and then dropped her eyes.

‘You know as well as I do that Rosalie was always an obsession with him,’ Simon went on quietly. ‘She is physically attractive to him in a way no other woman could ever be.’

Alison winced angrily, but could think of nothing to stop him. She could only wonder bewilderedly why Simon should think it necessary to say all this to her.

‘Just to see her is enough to unnerve him,’ he told her. ‘You noticed it, too, to-night.’

‘Oh, why did she have to be here?’ Alison broke in bitterly. ‘I thought we should be safe with people from Julian’s office. I don’t know even now how she could have come.’

‘I brought her.’.

‘You, Simon! But how could you, if you-you understand as much as you say? How could you do anything so cruel?’

‘Perhaps I thought it would be the best thing in the end.’ Simon never took his eyes from her face, and for a moment hers met his in bewilderment.

‘You mean you thought it best that Julian should get used to seeing her as soon as possible?’

Simon smiled and shook his head.

‘Oh, no. I’m afraid my motives were not so unselfish. If I wanted to be trite, Alison dear, I might remind you that all’s fair in love and war.’

‘But’-Alison frowned-’you don’t mean that your sympathies are with Rosalie?’

Simon gave a little shout of laughter.

‘Good God, no! Won’t you understand, you darling little fool? It’s not Rosalie or Julian I’m interested in. Let them make a success of it or a hash of it together. I don’t care. Only let them do whatever they’re going to do quickly, so that you won’t go on eating your heart out for someone who can’t appreciate you.’

‘I think you must be mad.’ Alison tried to get to her feet. But he held her back, and with a sudden, quick movement he had her lying in his arms.

‘Of course I’m mad. Every man’s mad when he’s as much in love as I am. What are Rosalie or Julian or any of them to me? It’s you-you-you. Do you understand now? I’ve never cared a farthing for any woman before, but I wanted you the first time I saw you.’

‘Don’t!’ Alison struggled terrifiedly. It’s you who won’t understand. It’s Julian I love.’

‘Julian!’ Simon’s voice was almost a whisper, but burning with contempt. ‘Julian!-who pats you on the head, treats you like a child, and, I suppose, sleeps on the sofa because there’s only one bedroom in his flat. That’s all the use Julian has for you-while all the time you were made for this.’

And, before she could stop him, his mouth was on hers-not lightly, not laughingly, this time, but with an intensity of passion that left her lips feeling bruised and burning.