Comparative Strangers

‘And I’m no longer engaged to him.’

‘So I infer.’

It was that coolly precise way of speaking which had so often needled her about Malory. She supposed it came from a lifetime of analysing things in those damned laboratories of his. But she wasn’t a substance under his bloody microscope—and how dared he be so calm and matter of fact when he knew quite well her heart was breaking?

He poured out some tea and handed it to her. She would have liked to have thrown it over him, to see if that would ruffle that distant poise of his, but instead she sipped the hot brew, watching him sulkily over the rim of her cup. This was only the second time he’d been to the cottage, she realised, and he’d lost no time in finding his way around the kitchen.

She said, frowning, ‘How did we get in here, anyway?’ Her keys, she remembered painfully, were in the car, parked at the bridge.

‘Luckily, your cleaning woman was still here,’ he said. ‘I told her you weren’t feeling well, and I’d brought you home. I also said I’d stay with you until your mother returned.’

‘Then you’ll have a long wait,’ she said childishly. ‘Mother’s in London staying with a friend. That’s why …’ She stopped abruptly.

That was why I went to Calthorpe—to be with Nigel. Because it seemed prudish—ridiculous in this day and age—to hold back any longer, with the wedding so close now. Because I didn’t want any more rows—any more accusations about being impossibly old-fashioned, or not loving him enough to trust him.

But that wasn’t something she could confide in Malory, or anyone else, for that matter.

She thought of her mother, happily shopping for something to wear for her important role as mother of the bride, and felt another wellspring of grief rising inside her. Damming it back, she drank some more tea.

Malory said gravely, ‘You probably wouldn’t have drowned, you know. Just injured yourself quite badly.’

‘I can’t swim,’ she returned defiantly.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘But, when it came down to it, you’d have fought. You’re a survivor, Amanda. In fact, you were having second thoughts about jumping, even before I got to you.’

‘That’s not true,’ she said shakily, replacing her cup on the table. ‘I wanted to die. I still want to.’

‘Simply because you found Nigel cavorting in bed with another lady?’ He shook his head. ‘I think you’re made of stronger stuff than that, my child. I think, when you ran, you were hurt and confused and wanting, in some muddled way, to hit back at Nigel—to punish him—hurt him as he’d hurt you. I followed you, in the first instance, because I was worried about you driving in the state you were in. I thought you might crash the car.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

‘I didn’t intend you to,’ he said equably. ‘Would you like some more tea?’

She said an ungracious, ‘No,’ then added reluctantly, ‘Thank you,’ because she supposed he meant to be kind, although kindness wasn’t a quality she’d particularly associated with him before.

But then, she didn’t really know very much about him at all, except that he was Nigel’s older brother, and the head of Templeton Laboratories. When she had first met him, she’d been conscious of a vague disappointment, because she supposed she’d been expecting an older edition of Nigel, with the same outgoing charm and rakish good looks.

But Malory Templeton had been totally different, shorter than Nigel—barely six feet, she estimated—and built on a more slender scale, too. Their basic colouring was the same, they were both brown-haired and blue-eyed, but Malory’s skin was almost pale when contrasted with Nigel’s robust tan.

He had been quietly polite, his handshake firm as he greeted her, but Amanda had found his manner chilling, and was absurdly glad that he and Nigel inhabited such very different worlds. He was almost like Nigel’s shadow, she’d thought.

Now, at the worst moment of her life, their worlds seemed to have collided, and she felt uneasy about it.

She said abruptly, ‘What were you doing at Calthorpe, anyway? You don’t usually go to watch Nigel. You’re not interested in rally-driving. He told me so.’

‘I’m not,’ he said briefly, and there was a silence. At last he said, ‘I suppose I went there for a confrontation.’ His mouth twisted slightly. ‘You see, you’re not the only injured party in all this.’ His gaze met hers squarely. ‘The lady with Nigel was someone I’d come to think of as mine.’

Amanda’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

He added pleasantly, ‘Or did you think the sole object of my affections was a test-tube?’

The blunt answer to that was ‘probably’, but she didn’t give it. Yet, if she was honest, it was difficult to imagine anyone as colourless as Malory Templeton being involved in a passionate, full-blooded affair.

She said stiltedly, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I,’ he said. ‘But at least I had the advantage of suspecting what was going on. I didn’t just—walk in on it.’ He paused. ‘If I’d arrived there sooner, I might have been able to stop you.’

‘But you wouldn’t have been able to stop it happening,’ she said in a low voice, staring at the flames flickering round the logs in the hearth.

‘No,’ he agreed, and there was another silence.

At last, curiosity impelled her to say, ‘And what about you, Malory? Are you a survivor, too?’

He said drily, ‘Well, I’m not leaving here to look for another flooded river. My pride may be damaged, but my heart’s still intact. I hadn’t got anywhere near the stage of offering it—or my hand.’ He flicked a glance at Amanda’s fingers. ‘I note you’re no longer wearing your ring.’

‘I threw it at him,’ she confessed. She had bruised her knuckle wrenching the solitaire off. The slight pain had seemed the only reality in an increasingly nightmare situation: Nigel’s sex-flushed face turned unbelievingly towards the door, the glazed eyes focusing, his mouth gaping ridiculously, like a fish’s. All that, she thought, would haunt her for ever. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. That, and the image of the naked girl straddling him so ecstatically.

Malory said, ‘It would be far better not to think about it.’ He looked at her expressionlessly, and her colour deepened. Was he some kind of clairvoyant? she wondered angrily. It was bad enough that he was here, intruding on her life at all—prying into her misery. She didn’t want him trampling over her thoughts as well.

She said with faint defiance, ‘You have a better idea?’

‘I think you should change your skirt and stockings,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘The ones you’re wearing are in rather a mess, and you don’t want to look as if you’ve been through some kind of trauma when Nigel shows up.’

She gasped. ‘You think he’ll come here?’

‘I’d put money on it,’ he said laconically. ‘He’ll be coming to confess his fault and ask for absolution. But not,’ he added, ‘for penance.’

Amanda felt as if she was dreaming. She said, ‘You can’t be suggesting that I should overlook this—simply pretend it never happened and forgive him?’

‘I’m suggesting nothing. Just telling you what Nigel will expect. My stepmother, you see, always forgave him everything, so he’s grown up with the idea that none of his peccadilloes will ever be held against him.’

Amanda said hotly, ‘Sleeping with his brother’s girlfriend is hardly a—a whatever.’

‘I don’t think he’ll agree with you. It isn’t a serious relationship between them, you know. Just a little sexual romp, with some mutual guilt for added spice.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I expected him some time ago, but no doubt he’s still preparing his defence.’

‘Defence?’ Amanda repeated. ‘What possible defence can there be?’

Malory considered for a moment. ‘Well, the best form of defence is supposed to be attack, so in his shoes I’d probably opt for that. I’d claim that you’d driven me to infidelity through sheer sexual frustration.’

Amanda sat very upright, and stared at him. She said, ‘How do you know that—I mean, that Nigel and I don’t—that we haven’t …’ She broke off, flushing furiously.

‘Because you have virginal eyes,’ Malory said almost casually, adding, ‘Quite a rarity these days.’

Amanda had always presumed he was as uninterested in her as she’d been in him. It was, therefore, disturbing to realise that, in fact, he’d been observing her so closely.

She took a breath. ‘That’s a—bloody chauvinist remark.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he said cordially. ‘I’m not immune from the normal male responses, or faults, if you prefer.’ He paused. ‘You really think I’m a dull stick, don’t you, Amanda? Well, compared to Nigel, I suppose I am. And apparently Clare thought so, too.’