‘Either way I think it’s time we were going,’ Ferdy said.
It took Jarvis half an hour to deliver his guests on the shore and return with the boat. Meryl and Benedict were nowhere to be seen. Climbing the stairs in search of them, Jarvis heard voices coming from behind Meryl’s door, and a moment later the door opened and Benedict emerged, closing it behind him.
‘She had a headache and asked you to forgive her for not waiting for you,’ he said.
‘Certainly. Will you have a nightcap with me, Mr Steen?’
They passed into Jarvis’s room. Benedict was still holding his empty glass, which Jarvis filled, and they sat and drank together with an appearance of comradeship, although only one of them was at ease.
‘Who’d have thought it would end like this, eh?’ Benedict said complacently.
‘Anyone who knew Meryl, I imagine. You must know her well. Why did you let her take such a risk?’
‘She likes risk. Thrives on it. Think how dull her life must be-all that money-no challenges.’
Jarvis’s hand closed tightly around the neck of the bottle-it was either that or Benedict’s neck.
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that you should be taking care of her?’ he asked through gritted teeth.
‘You mean tell her what she can and can’t do? She doesn’t take kindly to people who do that. And she somehow ends up doing things her way.’
Jarvis was about to protest when he realised that this was exactly what was happening. He had decided that he would not marry Meryl Winters. But she had decided that he would. And soon they would be married, all to suit the convenience of this insolent sponger who showed no appreciation of the woman who loved him, or the sacrifice she was making for him.
His dislike of Benedict was so strong that he could almost taste it, and it drove the next words out of his mouth.
‘Since you’re going to be here for a while, Mr Steen, why don’t you invite your wife to join you?’
Benedict’s eyes, so brilliant a moment before, went dead.
‘You’re very kind,’ he said in a flat voice, ‘but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not? She’d be very welcome. Call her.’
If he’d doubted the other man’s intentions he knew better now. At this mention of an inconvenient wife Benedict gave him a look of sheer malevolence. ‘Mrs Steen is busy arranging our divorce,’ he said flatly. ‘How about a top-up?’
He held out his glass and Jarvis filled it. And filled it. And filled it.
‘Your friend drank himself legless,’ he observed to Meryl next morning. ‘I had to help him to bed.’
‘Poor Benedict, he doesn’t hold his drink well. Never did. Still, there’s nothing like booze for a little male bonding. I expect you two understand each other perfectly now.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Jarvis said grimly. ‘We do that all right.’
Soon everyone knew that things had changed. Hannah hired an army of domestics to prepare the castle for guests. Workmen flooded in, armed with hammers and nails. It was a makeshift job for the moment. The major repairs would have to wait until after the wedding.
Inch by inch Larne Castle resumed some of its former glory. Floors and furniture gleamed with polish, doors and windows no longer rattled. As Jarvis saw his home beginning to look loved again he found that he could relax, and even begin to think of happiness as something possible.
A package arrived from New York which he guessed was from Larry. Knowing she was upstairs, he took it up to her. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar and he ventured to look in without knocking. The next moment he wished he hadn’t.
Meryl stood by the window dressed only in wispy bra and panties. In the first stunned moment Jarvis took in every detail, the delicate lace of her matching underwear, and how little of it there seemed to be. He saw too the sweet curves of her slim, nearly naked figure, and how exactly it matched his haunting memories. But most of all he observed, with displeasure, that Benedict Steen was standing with his arms about her waist, carefully adjusting a tape measure.
They looked up at him, neither of them surprised or disconcerted. Meryl smiled. ‘Benedict’s just taking final measurements for my dress,’ she said.
‘Perhaps, when you’re free, we could talk,’ Jarvis said frostily.
‘You’d better go, honey,’ Meryl said.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ Benedict asked, watching Jarvis’s face warily.
‘Don’t be silly, of course I’ll be all right,’ she said cheerfully.
Benedict got out fast. The other two regarded each other, condemnation on one face, ironic defiance on the other.
‘I gather I’m not supposed to mind,’ he said.
‘Mind what? What is there to mind?’
‘That’s a very cool question. Do you make a habit of letting men into your bedroom when you’re naked?’
‘I’m not naked.’
‘As near as dammit!’
‘Benedict makes my clothes. He sees me wearing less than anyone else, and neither of us thinks anything of it.’ She gestured down at herself. ‘This isn’t naked-not naked as in “naked”. It’s not the same thing at all.’
But it was exactly the same thing, he thought, watching the urgent rise and fall of her breasts, barely enclosed in the flimsy lace. He knew how they looked without even that faint protection, and the knowledge tormented him.
‘The distinction is hidden from me,’ he said curtly.
‘Benedict doesn’t see me as a woman. We’re like brother and sister. Surely you’ve seen that?’
He hadn’t. To Jarvis it was inconceivable that any man could look on Meryl’s beauty and not be half mad with the longing to possess her.
The full bitterness of his position burst on him. In the eyes of the world he was a lucky man, privileged to gather this rich harvest. Only he knew that he must stand by with his nose pressed against the window while another man was free to enter her room, touching her at will.
‘What you do after our divorce is no concern of mine-’ he said stiffly.
‘Isn’t it a little soon to be looking forward to our divorce?’
‘It’s never too soon to be practical. We both know why you’re doing this. If you’re fool enough to go to these lengths for him, that’s up to you-’
‘For heaven’s sake-’ Half-indignant, half-amused, Meryl threw up her hands and turned away, but Jarvis grasped her arm firmly and pulled her back to him.
‘Understand me, Meryl, I won’t be made a fool of. I won’t have people laughing at me and saying
‘Oh, really!’ Meryl said, her temper beginning to rise. ‘And what would she do? Refuse to let her dressmaker near her?’
‘She’d refuse to let any man near her while she was like this-except me.’
‘Except you,’ she whispered. ‘Except you-’
Her anger faded. With her body pressed against his she could feel him trembling. Meeting his eyes, she saw in them the look she’d most wanted to see. It said that he wanted her-against his will, his reason, his reserve, even against his survival instinct. Everything in him was fighting her, but he was losing the battle. Just as she was.
Her body was growing warm under his gaze. She could sense her own colour rising and wondered if he saw and understood. His fingers burned her arm and she could feel his lips again, kissing her everywhere as she wished he would.
‘You-ought to let me go,’ she said slowly.
‘Yes.’ He spoke like a man who didn’t know what he was saying, and his fingers moved, but only to tighten their grasp on her arm.
‘Is this what Lord Larne does,’ she whispered, ‘when he visits Lady Larne?’
‘I think he doesn’t visit her at all.’
‘Not until after the wedding?’
‘Not even then. He’s too sensible for that.’
‘Oh, Jarvis,’ she breathed, ‘don’t you ever take a holiday from being sensible?’
