Dragons Lair

When Jan vanished, she got up and walked the few paces to the window. There was little to see but a patch of sky framed by other people’s roofs, and the odd pigeon or two, but when she had first come there, she had spent a lot of time staring out at that limited view until she felt she knew every slate and every Victorian chimneypot.

Her fingers drummed restlessly on the white-painted sill. She knew why Uncle Philip wanted to see her, of course. He knew precisely where she had been that afternoon, and could presumably restrain his curiosity no longer.

She supposed she could not blame him under the circumstances. After all, the other party involved was one of his protegés, a writer for whom he had confidently predicted great things. And he had been right. Both Gethyn’s novels had been runaway best-sellers, here and in the States, and he promised to become a major force in the poetic world as well. Since then—two years of silence.

Her uncle’s voice sounded preoccupied as he called out 'Come in’ in reply to her brief tap on the door. He was dictating some letters into a dictaphone as she entered and he signalled to her to take a seat while he went On talking ‘… and shall look forward to seeing you on the 21st. Yours.’ He switched off the machine and smiled at her.

‘Hello, my dear. How did it go? Did this tame lawyer your mother found produce the goods?’

‘Well,’ Davina considered her polished fingernails, ‘at least he’s produced Gethyn. He’s back in Wales. Did you know?’

‘No.’ Was it her imagination, or had there been a slight pause before the monosyllable? Davina glanced up quickly, but Philip Greer was leaning back in his chair, his frowning gaze fixed musingly on a ballpoint pen he was twirling in his fingers. ‘But all the same I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it might just mean he’s ready to settle down and get some work done—some real work.’

Davina bent her head. ‘I see.’

Philip Greer gazed at her rather ironically. ‘What did you expect me to say? I haven’t any other hopes where Gethyn’s concerned any more. I’m resigned to the fact that you’re determined to put an end to this marriage of yours.’

She looked up indignantly. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ she demanded in turn. ‘This marriage of mine, as you put it, hasn’t existed for two years. It barely existed before then.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘If I’d ignored my upbringing and simply gone to bed with Gethyn, it need never have taken place at all. Now there’s an irony for you!’

Philip Greer made an abrupt movement. ‘If you’re saying that the basis for your marriage was no more than physical attraction, then I should point out that a great many successful unions have started out on little else.’

‘I see,’ she said again. ‘Perhaps I pitched my own expectations too high.’

He sighed. ‘Now I’ve made you angry, my dear, and I didn’t intend that. I’ve always felt—responsible in some ways for what happened between you and Gethyn, and I know your mother shares my viewpoint,’ he added wryly.

She flushed. ‘I know. I’ve tried to tell her …’

‘My dear, no one will ever convince Vanessa about anything she doesn’t wish to hear. And I’m afraid she “took agin” Gethyn the first time she saw him. And he didn’t help, of course. He needn’t have made it quite so clear that he was indifferent to her and her opinion of him. If he’d just pretended …’

She gave a strained smile. ‘Pretence was beyond him, I’m afraid. He—he couldn’t even pretend with me—pretend that I mattered, or that he cared, even a little.’

‘Are you so sure he didn’t?’

‘Uncle Philip,’ Davina stared at him, ‘how can you ask that? You know what happened. He was in the States and I was here—in hospital, losing his baby. I sent for him—I begged him to come back and be with me. But he was far too busy with some television chat show. He just didn’t want to know. Every time the door opened in that hospital room, I thought it was going to be him. Only it never was. And even then, I swallowed my pride when it was all over and telephoned him. Do you know the answer I got? He was resting and couldn’t be disturbed. Later that night I wrote to him and told him I was leaving him. He never replied to my letter either, and I’ve never heard from him from that day to this.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry about the downbeat ending, but …’

‘Don’t be flip, my dear. It’s unsuitable in this context.’ Her uncle was silent for a while. ‘I can only say that I find his—lack of response totally incredible. I can’t help wondering if it would have made any difference if you had gone to see him, instead of writing. Letters can go astray, you know. Phone messages may not always be passed on, and sometimes are distorted in the re-telling. Did it ever occur to you that there might have been some—misunderstanding?’

‘One, perhaps. Not three,’ she said quietly. ‘And I feel sure his silence was—is—deliberate. He won’t answer my solicitor’s letters either.’

Philip Greer raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? So what’s the next move?’

‘I’m not altogether sure.’ She hesitated. ‘Mr Bristow has suggested that I should do—what you’ve just said—go and see Gethyn and try and talk him into agreeing to a divorce.’

‘And you said?’

‘I didn’t know what to say. Frankly, I was stunned.’

‘But you didn’t reject the idea out of hand?’

‘No.’ Davina paused bleakly. ‘I wouldn’t reject any idea that might help me to be free of him.’

‘Hm.’ Her uncle gave her a narrow look. ‘Well, if you do decide to seek him out, I wouldn’t be quite so frank. In fact, it’s a pity that the divorce has to be your sole motive for going to Wales. Now I wonder …’ he relapsed into frowning silence. Then he glanced at her. ‘How would it be if this was ostensibly a business trip? After all, Gethyn is still under contract to us, and we need another book from him. Go and see him—but as my representative, not as his estranged wife. Don’t even mention Bristow’s letters or the divorce, unless he does.’

Davina shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t be taken in by that.’

‘I’m not saying he would be, but at least he wouldn’t be expecting it. I also know Gethyn, my dear, and I’m sure an oblique approach would work best. It’s a pity we didn’t think of it before your mother involved Bristow, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. What I’m trying to say is that you won’t get what you want by flying off to Wales and quarrelling with Gethyn. That would only harden his attitude, and that’s the last thing you want to do.’

‘Yes.’ Davina was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try. At least it’s better than doing nothing—than just waiting for Gethyn to make the first move.’

Philip Greer tapped his upper lip thoughtfully with his forefinger. ‘Tell him too that there could be another tour in the offing. Oh, it’s quite true,’ he added hastily, meeting Davina’s quizzical look. ‘There have been a number of overtures in the past few months. I’ve just been waiting for the psychological moment to put it to Gethyn. I had to sell the last one to him, as a matter of fact, but you probably know that.’

Yes, Davina thought, as she walked slowly back to her own office. She had known that. But not until afterwards—after she had agreed to marry Gethyn. And then it had been altogether different because the trip to America was going to be their honeymoon—not the handful of nights in the suite of a luxury hotel which Uncle Philip was giving them as a wedding present. She had been as excited as a child at Christmas at the prospect, thrilled to the core as well because Gethyn had told her that if she hadn’t wanted to go with him, he would have called the whole thing off. It gave her a wonderful feeling of power, a feeling of being necessary. It had been a delusion, of course, as she quickly found out, but for that brief time she had never been happier. She had dreamed of the places they would see together—New York, San Francisco, even New Orleans.

‘And Niagara Falls,’ Gethyn had said, grinning. ‘Isn’t that where all self-respecting honeymooners go?’

Only by the time he had left for the States—alone—the honeymoon was already over.

Davina closed her door behind her, and sank down in the chair behind her desk, reaching automatically for the manuscript on top of the pile in front of her. She began to read it, forcing herself relentlessly to concentrate, but it was useless. It was the story of a failed marriage, and even in the first chapter there were words, phrases, scraps of dialogue which struck a painful chord in her own memory. At last she pushed it almost desperately to one side and buried her head in her folded arms on the desktop.

When had it all started to go wrong? she asked herself. Hadn’t her mother sown the first seeds of doubt, even before the wedding ceremony had taken place? She had come into Davina’s room on the morning of the wedding and watched her as she packed a suitcase.

Davina had just been smoothing the folds of a filmy drift of nightgown when she had caught sight of her mother’s expression in the dressing-table mirror, her eyes hooded, her lips thin with distaste.

‘Mother,’ she had said, gently enough, ‘please try to be happy for me.’

‘Happy?’ Her mother’s laugh had been almost shrill. ‘Happy that you’re rushing headlong into marriage with a complete stranger? You may think you know all you need to know, but you’re a child. What do you know of men—of what living with a man means? I was fortunate. Your father was a kind man—considerate, undemanding. But he won’t be like that. You’d better enjoy your innocence while you can. It won’t be yours much longer. Wait until you’ve been alone with him, tonight, and then talk to me about happiness!’

She had turned then and gone from the room, leaving Davina staring after her with startled eyes and parted lips. She had resumed her packing, but the golden glow which surrounded her had dissipated somewhat. It was the nearest her mother had come, or ever would come, she realised, to discussing the sexual relationship with her. She had always sensed instinctively that her parents’ marriage had been lacking in certain aspects. Widowhood, she had often thought wryly, suited her mother far better than being a wife had done. But this was the first time Mrs Greer had ever spoken openly on the subject, and made her disgust plain.

And later when she arrived at Caxton Hall and saw Gethyn waiting for her, tall and unfamiliar in his dark suit, her mother’s words had returned to her mind with paralysing force, freezing the smile on her lips. Even while the registrar was marrying them, she could feel Gethyn’s eyes on her, questioningly. Afterwards Uncle Philip had taken them to the Ritz and they had drunk champagne, and she had found herself acting the part of the radiant bride, laughing that little bit too much, smiling until her mouth ached. And all the time knowing that he was watching her, and not wanting to meet his eyes in case she read in them a message she wasn’t ready for yet. But she had to be ready, that was the whole point. She was his wife now and very soon now they would be alone and he would take her in his arms and everything would be all right. She held on to that thought with quiet desperation. She was just being stupid —bridal nerves. That was all it was—it had to be.

After all, in the past weeks there had been times when she had clung to Gethyn, glorying in his desire for her, but armoured at the same time, she realised, by the iron self-control he seemed to be able to exercise where she was concerned. Now there was no longer any need for that control. She belonged to him.

She sat beside him in the taxi as they drove to the small flat he was renting to fetch his own case, not touching him and thankful for the taxi-driver’s cheerful presence. She would liked to have made an excuse and waited for him in the cab, but he made it quite clear he expected her to accompany him up to the flat. She stood silently while he unlocked the door and then walked ahead of him into the small living room. This was all strange too, she thought, even though it was where they would be living when they returned from the hotel until they left again for the U.S.A. She wandered round the room while Gethyn collected some things from the bedroom. It was difficult to imagine herself sitting in either of the fireside chairs reading while Gethyn worked at the table behind her. She peered into the kitchenette where she would soon be cooking the meals and a feeling of total inadequacy began to invade her.

It was as if some romantic veil had been suddenly torn from her eyes and she was seeing life as it really was for the first time. Where had they gone—all those hours she had spent with Gethyn, wandering round art galleries, browsing through bookshops? He had taken her to dinner, to the theatre, walked with her along the Embankment and through the parks. Sometimes he had kissed her, and she put a hand almost fearfully against her lips. It wasn’t a great deal on which to base a relationship as intimate as marriage, yet this was what she had done. What did she know about him really—except where he had been to school and university and the titles of the books he had written? She knew his parents were dead and that he was an only child like herself, and preferred Italian food to Chinese. She shook her head almost dazedly.

She heard a board creak behind her and turned to find him leaning against the bedroom door jamb watching her. He had discarded his jacket and loosened his tie and looked completely at home, which she supposed he was. She was the stranger here. The little fish, suddenly and disastrously out of water.

‘Come here.’ His tone was gentle enough, but there was an underlying note of command, of ownership even, which made her mouth dry.

She tried to smile. ‘The taxi will be waiting.’

His brows rose lazily. ‘I sent the taxi away. We can call another when we’re ready. Now, come here.’

Her reluctance must have been obvious for by the time her lagging steps had got her across the room to him, he had straightened with a jerk and was frowning.

‘It’s a little soon for second thoughts, isn’t it?’ he asked sarcastically, and she flushed.

‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Of course you know,’ he jibed. ‘Any resemblance between you and the loving girl I kissed last night is purely coincidental. My God, I don’t think you’ve touched me voluntarily all day.’ He took her by the shoulders, his eyes searching hers. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘It’s all been a bit of a strain, that’s all. And Mummy was being—difficult this morning.’

Gethyn murmured something under his breath that she prudently failed to hear. Then his grip had tightened, compelling her towards him.

‘Hello, wife,’ he said quietly, and bent and kissed her on the mouth. She made herself remain passive under his touch, waiting for that familiar warm tide of feeling to engulf her, but there was nothing. It was as if her warm flesh and blood had been transformed to marble. She was incapable of even the slightest response, and presently he released her. She had closed her eyes involuntarily as he had bent towards her, and she kept them closed, afraid to encounter his anger, until she knew that he had moved away.

When she ventured to open them, she found he had returned to the bedroom and was focussing all his attention on fastening the straps round his case. She bit her lip.

‘Shall I make some coffee?’ She strove for normality.

‘If you want some,’ he said, his voice expressionless. ‘Can you find everything?’

‘Well, I shall have to learn some time,’ she returned without thinking, and blushed stormily as his sardonic gaze met hers.

‘That’s true,’ he observed smoothly, and swung the case from the bed to the floor. She turned away hastily and went to the kitchenette. She filled the kettle and plugged it in, and found the remains of a pint of milk in the refrigerator.

She was searching through the cupboards for the jar of coffee when Gethyn came in. Immediately the admittedly cramped area of the kitchen seemed to shrink to the proportions of a postage stamp.

‘Look,’ she pointed to the milk. ‘That wants using up.’

‘Perhaps.’ He came to the cupboard and leaned down, his arm brushing hers. It was as much as she could do not to flinch. He produced the coffee jar and set it down on the narrow worktop. ‘Unless we decide to stay.’

‘To stay?’ She could hear the nervousness in her own voice, and knew it would not be lost on him either. ‘But we’re going to the hotel.’

‘I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea.’ His face was enigmatic as he spooned coffee into the waiting beakers. ‘This is going to be our home, at least on a temporary basis. I don’t see why we shouldn’t move straight in, and forgo your uncle’s offer, kind though it was.’

‘Oh, but we couldn’t!’ The kettle was boiling and she moved hurriedly to swith it off.

‘Why not?’ He leaned one elbow on the worktop, watching her levelly. ‘Careful of that kettle. You’re going to scald yourself.’

She set it down, her heart thumping. ‘Because—because it would hurt Uncle Phil’s feelings. It’s his wedding present to us and …’

‘I could phone him and explain the situation. I’m sure he would understand.’

‘Well, that’s more than I do.’ She lifted the kettle and filled the beakers.

‘I simply get the feeling that the implications of the bridal suite are proving a little too much for you at the moment,’ he said unemotionally. ‘I’ll ask him just to postpone it for a few months, if you like, until you’re in a mood to appreciate it more.’

She was panic-stricken. The flat was so small. What possibility of privacy did it afford? She added a splash of milk to her coffee and sipped at it almost distractedly. She preferred it with sugar, but she did not wish Gethyn to join her on another search for the commodity. She thought fast.

‘I think it’s too late to change our minds now,’ she said rapidly. ‘The hotel will be expecting us. Besides, I didn’t really expect to have to do housework on my honeymoon.’

It should have sounded coquettish, but it came out as petulance, and she wished it unsaid. Gethyn’s dark face was still and enigmatic.

He said coolly, ‘As you wish, then,’ and drank his coffee with a slight grimace.

While he phoned for a taxi to take them to the hotel, Davina rinsed the beakers under the tap. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the kitchen window, her eyes much wider and brighter than usual, but that could be the champagne, and a tiny flush of colour high on her cheekbones. She looked as if she was running a temperature, yet inside she felt deathly cold.

She was still cold when the hotel porter ushered them into the suite. Everything was there waiting for them— more champagne on ice, red roses—lovers’ flowers, filling the air with their scent, baskets of fruit. She glanced round and saw through the half-open door the gleam of a gold satin bedspread, and hurriedly averted her gaze. Gethyn was tipping the man, who was asking, after an appreciative word of thanks, if they wished to have dinner in the suite rather than downstairs in the restaurant.

‘We’ll dine up here,’ Gethyn said. ‘We can order later, I suppose.’

‘Of course, sir.’ The man’s voice was deferential, eager to please.

‘Oh no,’ Davina broke in, aghast. ‘I—I mean—wouldn’t it be more fun to have dinner downstairs …’ Her voice tailed away uncomfortably. She knew that they were both looking at her, the porter with a kind of sly amusement under his deferential manner, and Gethyn with an anger that held no deference at all. He turned to the porter.

‘My wife prefers the restaurant. Perhaps you would make the necessary arrangements.’

When the door closed behind the man, he said softly and chillingly, ‘Do you think you could manage to conceal this aversion you have for being alone with me in front of the hotel staff?’

He strode across the sitting room to a door on the opposite side and opened it, glancing in. He was smiling when he turned, but his eyes were like green ice.

‘The instinct that brought you here was quite right, lovely. Every modern convenience at your disposal—even a second bedroom for the bestowal of an importunate bridegroom.’ He stared round the luxurious sitting room. ‘And what shall we call this, eh? No Man’s Land, perhaps? Shall I wait for you here when it gets to dinner time, or would you prefer to eat separately too?’

She said, and there was a sob under her breath, ‘Gethyn?’ She was asking for his tenderness, his understanding, but he had gone and the door was shut behind him. She was alone and afraid.

With a long shuddering sigh, Davina sat up at her desk and pushed her hair back wearily from her pale face. She was still alone, she thought. But at least she was no longer afraid, and to prove it she would go to this place in Wales and meet Gethyn face to face once again.

CHAPTER TWO

THE signpost for Moel y Ddraig had said four miles, but Davina seemed to have been driving for hours and there was still no sign of any habitation. The narrow road wound determinedly on ahead of her, leading her deeper and deeper into the very heart of the valley.

She had encountered little other traffic, so she had been able to pay some heed to the beauty around her. It was wild and rugged when compared to some of the rounded green hills she had seen that day, with harsh, rocky outcrops thrusting through the short green turf and clumps of purple heather. There seemed to be sheep grazing everywhere, like tiny tufts of cotton wool against the vivid landscape. The sky was a deep tranquil blue with only the faintest tracery of high white cloud.

If only this had been the start of a holiday, Davina thought ruefully, she might have imagined herself in heaven. As it was, not even the wild charm of the valley could rid her of the insidious feeling of dread that was beginning to pervade her consciousness. She was already regretting quite bitterly that she had ever set out on this strange journey.

But she wouldn’t turn round and go back. Now she was here, she would go through with it. In her briefcase was a letter from Uncle Philip, setting out details of the proposed American tour—her credentials for being here. Not that she expected Gethyn to be taken in by that for one minute. It was merely a face-saver and she knew it, but at least her presence here in Wales would mean that she could test his feelings about divorce.

She had tried quite vainly to explain this to her mother. Mrs Greer had been stunned into silence when Davina had awkwardly broken the news of her proposed trip and its dual purpose. Then, and more disturbingly, she had burst into tears.

‘You’re going back to him,’ she had repeated over and over again. ‘In spite of everything that’s happened, you’re going back to him.’

‘No.’ Davina had attempted to reason with her. ‘I’m going solely to find out, if I can, why he has ignored Mr Bristow’s letters. And I have some papers from Uncle Philip to deliver as well.’

‘Oh, yes, Philip!’ Her mother had rounded on her, her eyes flashing. ‘Naturally, he’s involved. He’d be glad to see you reconciled to that—creature, if only to spite me. He’s never liked me.’

Davina felt suddenly very weary. ‘If Uncle Philip really felt like that, I doubt whether he’d go to these lengths to show it,’ she said. ‘This tour that’s being laid on is quite genuine.’

Mrs Greer produced a lace-trimmed handkerchief and sat twisting it in her hands. Her eyes when she looked at Davina were brooding and full of resentment.

‘I still see no need for you to go,’ she said. ‘If it’s all that important, Philip could go himself—or send someone else.’

‘He is sending someone else,’ Davina insisted gently. ‘He’s sending me. I do work for Hanson Greer, you know. Please try to understand, Mother. The easiest way for me to get a divorce is to persuade Gethyn to agree to it. If he won’t answer letters then it will have to be in person. I just want us to end our marriage in a civilised manner …’

‘Civilised!’ her mother cut in, with a bitter laugh. ‘With that barbarian? He has no decent feelings—leaving you ill and alone while he gallivanted across the United States.’