Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 34

"Laugh if you want, Winston, but I bet it'll come out one day. You wait and see," Emily shot back. Her voice was grave.

Winston sat up, paying attention. For as long as he could remember, he had always thought Emily was exceptional- bright, smart, clever, and a lot shrewder than some of the family realized. This belief had been considerably reinforced since he had become seriously involved with her. She made sense in so many ways, and he had grown accustomed to listening to her, trusting her judgment. Certainly it was she who had pushed him to go after the Canadian paper mill, insisted he persist when the talks had faltered. Lately, even some of her drive and ambition had washed off on him, and she had convinced him it was his duty to make a bigger contribution to the newspaper chain. So much so, he had _ actually abandoned the idea of leading the life of a country gentleman.

For all these reasons he had to take her seriously now. Slowly he said, "You say you don't know who could have killed her, and that is a tough nut, I admit. On the other hand, you've obviously thought a great deal about Min's death, so you must have some theories about what might have happened. Tell me. I'm all ears. Honestly, Dumps, I'm not laughing at you anymore."

Emily gave him a small gratified smile. "Nothing will ever convince me that Min hung around the lake for all that length of time. I think she left, went to see someone, where she proceeded to get horribly drunk. Whoever she was with probably helped her along, might also have given her the pills-you know, Winston, to dull her senses. Then, once she was out cold, unconscious, she was put in the lake to make it look like suicide or an accident."

"Look, I'm not ridiculing you, honestly I'm not, but this is a bit farfetched. Besides, from all the accounts we've heard, she never left the estate."

"I know, but that's a presumption. And she might have. She could have walked somewhere, left her mini at the lake."

"Oh, Emily, Emily." He shook his head, looking at her helplessly. "This doesn't make any sense. Who would want to kill Min? And why? What was the motive? I have lots of questions, and I could shoot lots of holes in your theory. I'm.. sure Paula did. What did she say?"

"She more or less said the same thing as you . . . then she told me to forget it, that the case was closed, that everyone had come out of it relatively unscathed. She used some terrible clichd like 'Let sleeping dogs lie,' and brushed me off. But what about Anthony and Sally having to live with the knowledge that Min killed herself because of them? And there's another thing, Winston, think of Min. If she was murdered in cold blood, which I think she was, the person who did it should be brought to justice."

Winston was silent, mulling over her words. He said quietly, '-'Oh, darling, don't be a crusader. There's nothing you can do, really, and Paula's right, the case is closed, finished with. You d only "be opening a tin of worms, putting Sally and Anthony through more unpleasantness. I could talk to you for hours about this matter, Dumps, but"-he sighed-"I just don't have the inclination or the strength at the moment."

Emily bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up tonight."

"Well, let's face it, darling, you did pick a most inopportune time." He touched her cheek lightly with one finger, traced a line down onto her neck, ran it diagonally across her bare chest to the edge of the sheet tucked around her. "Emily, in case you didn't realize it, I do have other things on my mind."

She smiled winningly, shoving aside her worry about the inquest. "I said I was sorry. Let's drop it."

"Your wish is my command." He turned, put the brandy gla.s.s on the side table, then swiveled his head quickly. "I'd prefer you not to mention any of this . . . your theory ... to Sally."

"Of course I won't. I'm not a dunce."

"Far from it. Come here. I want you." He switched off the lamp.

Emily did the same, slithered across the bed, nestled into his arms opened to her, wrapped her legs around his body, fitting herself into him.

He said, "See what's happened? Your lurid murder theory has rendered me incapable of performing my duty as a devoted fiance." He stroked her hair, which shimmered brightly gold in the light from the fire blazing up the chimney.

"Not for long, if I know you," she murmured, pulling his head down to hers, seeking his mouth, kissing him pa.s.sionately.

Responding to her ardent kisses, he ran his hand over her body, touching her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her stomach, her inner thighs, enjoying the feel of her silky skin. He brought his hand up swiftly, cupped one breast, lowered his mouth, let it linger around the nipple. Her hand went into his hair and he felt her strong fingers on the nape of his neck, heard the faint moan in her throat as the tip of his tongue touched the tip of her hardened nipple.

Emily held herself very still, her breathing strangled as Winston moved down and away from her breast. He began to kiss her stomach, and his hand stroked down her outer thigh, then her inner thigh, his touch sensuous, thrilling her. He knew exactly how to arouse her. But then he always had. He had acquired more expertise, more finesse, had a better understanding of a woman's body since their childhood days. His hand fluttered between her thighs, then probed, enveloped her fully. In a swift, sudden movement that momentarily startled her he pulled his hand away, dragged himself on top of her. He slipped his hands under her back, lifting her forward as he went into her and took possession of her. His mouth found hers, they locked together, her body arching to his. Emily gripped his shoulder blades,. let herself be carried along by his rhythmic movements and the growing momentum of their bodies rising and falling in unison.

Sometime later, as they lay exhausted in each other's arms, Emily said, with a small smile, "I wonder who pa.s.sed around that nasty and most erroneous story about Englishmen being terrible lovers?"

There was a contented sigh from Winston, followed by a deep chuckle. "Foreigners, who else," he said.

Chapter Thirty.

It was a bl.u.s.tery day.

The leaves swirled around her feet as Paula walked down the path and across the lawn to the wheelbarrow which she had left there yesterday. The sun came out from behind the bank of leaden clouds that had piled the bitter sky with somber gray, its brilliance shafting through the autumn foliage. Suddenly the trees shimmered in the refulgence of light as they fluttered in the wind, and they looked as if they had been draped with shreds of gold and copper.

She stopped in her tracks and lifted her head, her eyes scanning the garden. How beautiful it is, even in November, she thought. Her glance traveled the length of the lawn, and this too looked as if it had been spread with a cloth of gold or perhaps an ancient tapestry woven with skeins of russet and copper, burnt ocher and chrome yellow.

Moving forward, she reached for the rake and began to sc.r.a.pe the leaves toward her, making a' large heap, working doggedly, glad to be out of the house for a short while. Her mind was numb from worry and fatigue, and she hoped that an hour in the garden would revive her, enable her to shake off the sense of desperation which was slowly turning into a feeling of depression, an unfamiliar state of being for her. She stopped after only a few minutes, leaned the rake against the wheelbarrow, and took off her gardening gloves. She tightened her scarf, pulled her wool cap over her ears, and turned up the collar of her old tweed coat, feeling the bite of the northern wind. There was a nip of frost in the air, a hint of snow. She slipped on her gloves, started raking again, then stopped to shovel the leaves into the wheelbarrow. About half an hour had pa.s.sed when she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her on the path. She went on raking, knowing it was Jim.

"Morning, darling," he called, endeavoring to sound cheerful. "You're out here bright and early."

Not wanting to look at him until she had arranged a neutral expression on her face, she continued to rake, said, "I thought I ought to clear up some of the leaves before I left for London. Anyway, the fresh air and the exercise do me good."

His footsteps finally stopped. "Yes, I suppose so, but you don't have to kill yourself. Fred can do it tomorrow. That's what he's paid for.'

"It's too much for one gardener." Paula straightened up, swung around, planted the rake in the ground and leaned her weight on it, her eyes finally meeting his.

His smile was sheepish, embarra.s.sed. "You're angry with me."

"No, I'm not, Jim."

"You should be. I got awfully drunk last night." '

"It doesn't happen often," she said, then asked herself why she was making excuses for him, giving him a way out. He had been intoxicated a number of times in the last few weeks, but last night his condition and his behavior at his own dinner party had been inexcusable.

Relief flooded across his face and he stepped closer, eyeing her nervously. He placed his hands on top of hers on the rake. "Come on, let's really make up," he said shakily. "After all, what's one drink too many among friends." When she remained silent, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

"It's all right, really it is." She pushed a smile onto her face. "It was a pretty ghastly evening anyway.

Everyone was acting strangely, and I'm not a bit surprised Winston and Emily left early."

"Those two have better fish to fry." He laughed, the nervousness echoing noticeably. "I say, I hope I didn't insult Winston, or anyone else, for that matter." He seemed concerned, contrite.

"No, you didn't. You were very cordial if very drunk."

"I'm paying for my baccha.n.a.lia this morning, if that's any consolation. I feel lousy." He hunched into his overcoat, stuck his hands in his pocket, shivering. "It's b.l.o.o.d.y cold out here. I don't know how you can stand it."

She said nothing, examined his face closely. He was pale, a little drawn around the eyes. The wind whipped his hair and as it blew about in the sunshine it was shot through with silvery gold. He brushed it away from his forehead, squinting at her in the brilliant light. "Well, darling, I think I'll push off. Just came out to tell you how sorry I am about last night, give you a hug and a kiss, wish you bon voyage."

Paula frowned, asked in a surprised tone, "Where are you going?"

"Yeadon."

"Surely you're not going flying in' this awful wind and with that hangover."

"The hangover will evaporate once I'm up there," he said, raising his head to the sky, "in the bright blue yonder."- He dropped his eyes to hers, half-smiled. "It's nice of you to worry about me, comforting, really, but please don't, I'll be fine. I phoned the airport a little while ago and they told me the weather forecast is good. The wind is supposed to drop in an hour."

"Jim, please don't go to Yeadon, at least not yet, not until I've left for London. Let's go inside and have a cup of coffee. I'm going to be in New York for two or three weeks and I don't want to leave with things the way they are between us. I must talk to you."

"I must be a bit dense," he remarked lightly, but his eyes narrowed, turned wary. "I'm not really following you. What do you want to talk about?"

"About us, Jim. Our marriage, our problems, this awful strain between us."

"Strain?" He looked at her blankly. "There isn't any that I know of... we're both tired, that's all ... and if we have problems, they're unimportant ones, very normal, actually. We both work hard and we're under a great deal of pressure, and there's been that dreadful fuss in Ireland to plague us. So . . . it's not unnatural that there are tensions at times. But they'll pa.s.s, Paula. They generally blow over. I know-"

"Why do you always do this?" she cried, her eyes blazing. "You're like an ostrich, sticking your head in the sand. We have problems, Jim, and I for one can't continue like this."

"Hey, steady on, don't get so excited," he said, smiling weakly. He sought a way to placate her. He was growing weary of her constant attempts to discuss and dissect their marriage, to delve into areas that were best left alone. He wondered how to forestall this impromptu chat. He wanted to flee immediately, to go flying, to lose himself up there for a while. Only then, as he soared higher and higher above the clouds, did he feel free, at peace and able to escape his mundane worries, his internal strife. Yes, those were the very best moments of his life . . . and being with his children . . . and making love to her.

Leaning forward, he took hold of Paula's arm. "Oh come on, darling, don't let's quarrel like this immediately before you go off on a trip. Everything's fine. 1 love you. You love me, and that's all that counts. Being away for a while will do you good. You'll come home refreshed, and well work out our little differences." He grinned, looking suddenly boyish. "They'll probably have worked themselves out before you even return."

"I don't think so, not unless you start talking with me, discussing our difficulties in an intelligent and mature manner. That's one of the problems-perhaps the worst-this perpetual reluctance on your part to engage in a little verbal give-and-take."

"If we have problems, Paula, as you insist, it's because of your tendency to overreact to every situation, to blow small, inconsequential incidents out of proportion. And there's another thing-you're too sensitive by far."

She gaped at him. "Oh, Jim, don't try to throw the blame on me. Why won't you admit you have trouble communicating?"

"Because I don't. . . That's something in your imagination. In any event, making love is the best way two people can communicate, and we have no problems in that area, none whatsoever."

"I think we do," she whispered so softly he barely heard her.

It was Jim's turn to look astonished. "How can you say that! We're ideally matched s.e.xually. You know you like it as much as I do."

Paula winced, recognizing once more that he had no comprehension of what she was as a person, or any idea what she was getting at. "I have normal desires, Jim. After all, I'm a young woman, and I do love you. But sometimes you're-" She stopped, seeking the right expression, knowing she was treading on dangerous and sensitive ground.

"I'm what?" he pressed, leaning into her, fixing her with his light, transparent eyes, his interest fully engaged.

"You're a little too . . . overenthusiastic. That's the best way to put it, I think. I'm frequently exhausted when I get home from the office and not up to midnight marathons in bed." She hesitated, meeting his gaze directly, asking herself if she had been wise to embark on such a touchy subject. She now wished she had not responded initially.

He said slowly, "I've been telling you For months that you're working too hard these days. You're just going to have to slow down. It's not necessary for you to be on this foolish treadmill. My G.o.d, you're going to be one of the richest women in the world one day."

'Irritated though she was by this last statement, she said as steadily as she could, "I work because I enjoy it, and because I have a great sense of responsibility, not only to Grandy because of the legacy she's leaving me, but to our employees."

"Nevertheless, if you didn't work as obsessively as you do, you wouldn't be so tired all the time." He blinked, shading his eyes against the sun with his hand. Another thought flickered in the back of his mind. He asked, and with sudden urgency, "Are you saying that I don't satisfy you in bed?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not." There was a brief hesitation, then, against her better judgment, she added, "But my needs are a little different from yours, Jim. Women are not made exactly the same way as men. Women ... we . . . I need to be led into . . . well, into the final act, and gradually. You see, it's ..." she did not finish, noticing the change in his expression. He looked as if some basic truth had just dawned on him.

In point of fact, Jim was not certain whether he was annoyed or amused. So that's it, he thought. s.e.x. The root of all evil, or so they say. He gave her a quick glance, his eyes roving over her. "Paula . . . darling . . . I'm sorry, especially if I've been selfish, thinking only of myself. I didn't realize, really I didn't. Actually, it's your fault in one sense-because of the way you make me feel.1 Perhaps I'm inclined to get carried away by my own desires and drives. I'll be different in the future, I promise you." He gave a little laugh. "I must admit I've never been much of a man for the . . . er . . . er . . . the preliminaries in bed. They've always struck me as being rather unmanly. However, I will try to help you along, be less impatient, wait for you to be-" He cleared his throat. "I believe ready for me is the correct phrase."

Paula felt the color flooding her face. His voice had been slightly sarcastic, with a patronizing undertone, and she was mortified. Help me along, she thought. He makes me sound like a cripple. All I want is a little understanding in every area of our marriage. Unfortunately, he had seized on their s.e.x life, sidetracking her, and she regretted rising to the bait. And there was another thing. Why were they standing out here having such a vital and serious talk? In the middle of the garden, for G.o.d's sake. Because he would feel pinned down indoors, she answered herself. He doesn't want tojalk. If the truth be known, he wishes he could wriggle out of it yet again, slide off to go flying or occupy himself with one of his other hobbies. He's only humoring me. Paula shivered, feeling chilled now that the clouds had covered the sun and presaged rain.

"You're cold," he observed, swiftly taking her arm. "Maybe * we should go indoors after all." He smiled a slow and somewhat suggestive smile. "I have a wonderful idea, darling. Why don t we hop into bed right now? I'll prove to you that I can be the most considerate lover in the world and-"

"Jim, how can you!" she exclaimed, shaking off his hand, drawing away from him, glaring. "You think s.e.x solves all our differences!"

"You just implied we have s.e.xual problems. I'd like to show you that that isn't true."

"I did not imply any such thing. I said I wasn't up to making love endlessly." She almost added mindlessly, but managed to restrain herself.

He said, "Come on," and hurried her up the garden path.

She did not protest, allowed herself to be led into the house. He turned to her in the hall, remarked quietly, "I'll get us two mugs of coffee."

"Thanks, I'm freezing." She shrugged out of her coat. "I'll be in the study." She knew her voice was clipped, but she couldn't help it. Her exasperation was running high. He said nothing, disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and she pushed open the door to his private domain. Here a log fire lazed cheerfully in the grate, throwing off tremendous heat in the small room, one of the more cozy areas in Long Meadow.

Seating herself in a wing chair in front of the fire, she tried to relax, but when he came in a moment later carrying the mugs of coffee, she noticed at once that his face was cold and closed and her heart sank.

"All right," he said briskly, handing her one of the mugs and taking the other wing chair, "let's talk."

Although his tone did little to encourage her, she said, "Jim, I do love you, and I want our marriage to work, but veryfrankly, I don't think that it is-not at the moment, anyway."

"What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

She saw the bafflement on his face and wondered if he was genuinely puzzled, or faking it. "There's that lack of communication I've just mentioned," she began. "Every time I try to broach something that troubles me, you reject me out of hand, turn away from me, behave as if my thoughts and feelings don't matter." She gazed at him miserably. "Yet I know you love me. On the other hand, I feel shut out. It's as if you ve built a wall around yourself. I can't seem to reach you anymore. And whenever something flares up between us, your solution is to make love. You think once we've done so all our difficulties will disappear, but they don't, they're still there afterward."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. Unfortunately, I wasn't brought up surrounded by a huge family like you were. I was a solitary little boy, with only my grandfather-an old man-for company. Perhaps I do have trouble articulating things to you, but I did think I listened to what you have to say. As far as s.e.x is concerned, it's the only way I know how to patch things up between us. I thought you enjoyed it as much as I do, but if I'm forcing myself on you, then-"

"Jim, no! Stop right there!" she exclaimed. "You're misunderstanding me. Of course I want a normal s.e.xual relationship with you-you're my husband, and I do desire you-but 1 can't bear it when you use s.e.x to manipulate me. It's exploitive and unfair."

He sucked in his breath in amazement. "You see, there you go again! Exaggerating, imagining things. I never manipulate you."

Paula swallowed. She decided to take a different approach, wanting to force him into being honest with her, if she could. "I probably sound as if I'm criticizing you, and I'm not. I'm only pointing out a few things that disturb me a bit. Look-I'm sure I can be annoying at times. So ... fair's fair. It's your turn, air your views about me. Ventilate your feelings, and let's have an intelligent exchange like two mature adults."

Jim began to laugh. "Oh, Paula, you're so intense, so irate this morning. Quite frankly, I think you're being rather silly, creating a situation where one doesn't exist. As for my views about you, why, darling, I can only say that I think you're wonderful and that I love you. If I've any complaints or criticisms . . . well . . . they're very minor ones, of no consequence."

"They are to me. Tell me what they are, Jim. Please."

With obvious reluctance, he said slowly, "I do think you tend to be hard on yourself, where your work is concerned. Your hours are crippling, and they don't have to be. Just because your grandmother worked like a drudge all of her life doesn't mean that you have to do the same. Also, it seems to me that you're taking on too-many unnecessary projects."

Ignoring the remark about Emma, she said, "Do you mean the new departments at Harte's, and the fashion exhibition?"

"Yes. After all, Harte's is a thriving success, and it has been for donkey's years. You don't need to-"

"Jim," she interjected impatiently, "the secret of retailing is constant change and growth. We need innovation and on a continuing basis, and we have to meet the public's buying needs, second-guess new trends, have the vision to know exactly when and how to expand for the future. No business can stand still, particularly a department store chain."

"If you say so, darling. You know best." Privately he believed she was absolutely wrong, killing herself with work the way she did, but he did not have the interest, energy, or desire to engage in a long discussion about her business. That would be pointless, since she always did as she wished. Instead, he felt the pressing need to curtail any further carping and probing into their relationship. He was bored to death already, growing more anxious than ever to leave. He glanced at the clock surrept.i.tiously.

Paula noticed, said swiftly, "This is so important, Jim. We're beginning to make a good start. I think we ought to continue, thrash-"

"And I think you have to relax, Paula, learn to curb this compulsion of yours to turn minor problems intostupendous dramas. If you want my opinion, this discussion is really rather stupid. 1 can't imagine why you thought it wasnecessary- in the first place, and especially today, when you're leaving for almost a month. We're veryhappy together, yet you insist on borrowing trouble by trying to convince me we're not."