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As he freed her hair and ran his hands down over her body, his breath coming faster,
she pushed at his chest, struggling violently, hitting him in the face, her nails
scratching at him.
He drew back his head out of her reach, his face a pale triangle beneath the dark
cap of his hair. 'Stop fighting me, damn you! '
'You're hurting me,' she panted, still struggling. 'I told you, I don't want to tonight .. .'
'I want to hurt you,' he said in harsh honesty. 'Do you think I don't know why you
can't sleep? Your mind's somewhere else, isn't it? Well, your body can't escape me.'
In the past when he made love to her there had been warmth and delight in the way
he touched her, his hands and mouth coaxing and seductive, his whole being
concentrated on bringing her, as well as himself, to the crest of physical pleasure.
But she knew she would get no tenderness tonight, no sweet teasing and no
gentleness.
'I hate you!' she sobbed at him, helpless in the force of his silent possession.
He bruised her smooth skin, violated her body and mind, the cruelty of his passion
searing, making her as tense as a violin string. She never ceased to resist him,
giving no concessions, but when he was spent and rolled away in silence to turn his
back on her, tears ran down her face as she lay awake, hating him. Was this to be
the pattern of their lives together? She fell asleep in a grey daylight and slept on until
late in the morning. When she did wake up it was to find Randal gone.
'He's always at the office by nine,' his mother told her, smiling indulgently as Laura
ate rolls and Italian cherry jam with her coffee. .'
'I'm so sorry I overslept,' Laura apologised again. 'My dear, you must do exactly as
you wish,' Mrs Mercier said gently. 'Will you lunch here today? Randal said he
wouldn't be home for lunch.'
'If you don't mind I think I should visit my parents today,' Laura said.
'Of course-l understand. You must be worried about your mother. I hope you find her
well.'
Laura stood up and Mrs Mercier asked her how she was going to get to her parents'
house. 'Take the car,' she urged.
'I don't drive,' Laura admitted.
'That doesn't matter. The chauffeur will take you. I'll ring for him now. But you must
have driving lessons right away. You ought to know how to drive a car.'
At least it would fill in the time, Laura thought, as she drove across London in the
chauffeur-driven limousine. The car halted outside her home and she told him to pick
her up at four o'clock. That would give her plenty of time with her mother, she
decided. .
Mrs Hallam looked remarkably well and happy when she came to meet Laura in the
hall.
Laura kissed her and laughed. 'I can see Mrs Grant is looking after you, anyway. I
think you've put on a pound or two! She must be a good cook.'
'Oh, she is,' Mrs Hallam agreed. 'We get on very well together. I think it's going to
work out very well.'
Mrs Grant came out of the kitchen to greet Laura, asking if she would be there for
lunch.
'If it isn't too much trouble for you, Laura said.
'No trouble at all: said Mrs Grant. 'I thought you might be over today, so I made more
than usual.' She smiled. 'I hope you like gammon steaks? I've made a white sauce
with them.'
'It sounds delicious, smiled Laura.
She sat talking to her mother, telling her about Venice and carefully evading any
more private discussions, until the lunch was ready. The meal was well cooked and
nicely served. Laura could tell by the easy conversation between her mother and Mrs
Gr-ant that they were already friends. She was relieved, yet vaguely regretful, since
she had been so necessary to her mother for years and now she felt faintly
displaced.
Afterwards they sat together in the sitting-room, drinking coffee and talking quietly,
while the room filled with the strange brightness of a spring afternoon. A bowl of blue
hyacinth on the window sill released a cloud of sweet fragrance into the warm air.
Mrs Hallam leaned back, smiling, watching her daughter's face as she described the
Venetian palaces and their gold reflections in the canals.
She put no direct questions, but unknowingly Laura hardly framed a sentence which
did not contain the name Randal. 'Randal said ... Randal took me ... Randal and I .. .'
His name was constantly on her lips, and every time she said it her eyes glowed with
unconscious passion.
Mrs Hallam was contented. She was too shrewd to face Laura with the blunt
question: 'Are you happy?'
She saw shadows in Laura's green eyes from time to time, but that Randal was
utterly important to her daughter was obvious. All marriage was a matter of
compromise, she thought. Human beings are not perfect. They have to learn to live
together, to accommodate themselves to another living personality. All that mattered
was that they loved each other. The rest would come in time.
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