Читать книгу A Secret Rebellion - Anne Mather - Страница 8

SO, SHE was pregnant.

Beth came out of the private clinic, and stood for several minutes on the pavement, letting the warm breeze of the May morning fan her hot temples. Then, after taking a deep breath, she tucked her bag beneath her arm, and started along the quiet street to where she had left her car.

It was curious. She had thought she would feel different somehow. Not triumphant, exactly, but certainly content that her plan had proved fruitful. It was what she had wanted, what she had aimed for. So why did she suddenly feel so hollow?

She needed something to eat, she decided. She’d noticed a distinct increase in her appetite lately, and, although she didn’t believe the old maxim that she was eating for two, she had found that smaller and more frequent intakes of food helped to keep the nausea at bay.

The small Renault was airless, and she wound down all the windows before inserting her key in the ignition. The car had been standing in the sun for over an hour, and the seat was warm beneath the short skirt of her formal suit.

Before starting the engine, she tipped the rear-view mirror towards her, and examined her face rather critically. She didn’t look any different, she thought, but that was hardly surprising. Nothing momentous had happened that morning. The event which had changed her life had occurred more than eight weeks ago, in another time and another place. That was when she might have expected to see some radical alteration in her appearance. That morning, when she had fled from the London apartment, leaving Alex Thorpe still asleep, and totally unaware of the deception she had practised on him.

There was a certain guilty awareness in her eyes now, eyes that in sunlight were more violet than indigo. But, for heaven’s sake, she had taken nothing from him. It was he who had done the taking, and if he had left something in return then that was only fair, wasn’t it?

She expelled a breath, and turned the mirror away from her flushed features. The fact that the becoming blush of colour added a delicate definition to her high cheekbones meant nothing to her. She was used to the unique quality of her beauty, and in her opinion it was not an advantage. Her experiences had convinced her that a beautiful woman was just a pawn in a man’s world, rarely taken seriously, and often abused. Beauty had killed both her mother and her sister, and she had no intention of falling into the same trap.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to fulfil herself as a woman. Just because she despised men, and all they stood for, she was not above using one to create her own destiny. She wanted a home, and a family, and after seven years of working to attain her ends she was now within sight of achieving them. So, why was she feeling so uncertain? She didn’t regret what she had done, did she?

Turning the key, she fired the ignition, and after checking her mirror pulled out into the desultory traffic of Victoria Road. It was too late to go back to the university before lunch, and instead of driving into the city she headed west, towards Sullem Banks, and the river.

It was one of her favourite places, in the little north country town. Here the River Swan was flanked by long sloping stretches of turf, and it was possible to drive down and park on the river bank. When Beth first came to live in Sullem Cross, she had used to come here to escape the confines of her lonely bedsitter, and even now that she had a comfortable home of her own she still came here when she wanted to think.

But today her growling stomach drove her to seek some form of sustenance before she reached the Banks. A baker’s, which served take-away sandwiches and polystyrene cups filled with coffee or tea, provided the necessary nourishment, and after finding a suitable spot Beth opened the pack of cheese and tomato toasties.

Munching on the sandwich, she watched a family of ducks making their way along the river bank. It was a popular haunt for families, and the ducks were no doubt hoping to attract a scattering of breadcrumbs, and, although Beth could have eaten both sandwiches and more besides, she yielded to the temptation to offer them a share. Besides, it was delightful to watch the ducklings scrambling over one another in their haste to reach a particular crumb, and her lips tilted at their obvious rivalry.

It also reminded her, if any reminder was necessary, of the confirmation she had received that morning, and her hand probed her still flat stomach, as if doubting the veracity of what she knew to be true. She was going to have a baby; her baby; no one else’s.

But once again she felt that hollow feeling inside her. It wasn’t just her baby, a small voice reminded her. It was just as much Alex Thorpe’s as hers, and, even though he didn’t know about it, it didn’t alter that one inescapable fact.

But what of it? she defended herself. It wasn’t as if she was depriving him of anything he wanted. Good heavens, he didn’t even know of its existence, and even if he did she doubted he’d be overjoyed at the news. It would be a burden, an unwelcome burden, on a man who evidently didn’t welcome responsibility. He had to have been in his late thirties, and by his own admission unmarried. Though, with hindsight, she had to admit, he had told her precious little about himself.

But then, she had been so busy avoiding telling him anything about herself, it hadn’t seemed a disadvantage. On the contrary, everything about him had fitted her image of the man who was to father her child, and, while he could be a pimp or a drug-pusher, she didn’t think he was.

She had known the risk she was taking long before she gatecrashed the party. In this time of AIDS, and other sexually-transmitted diseases, it wasn’t wise to sleep with just anyone. That was why she had chosen Alex. Because he had looked strong and healthy; and reasonably safe.

Of course, she had also wanted a man whom she could seduce. Which in itself was a daunting prospect, considering she had never seduced a man before. But he had looked older than the other men at the party, and he had behaved like a man who was attracted to women. And, when he’d offered to buy her supper, she couldn’t believe her luck.

Of course, taking him to the apartment had been a gamble. And plying him with Chivas Regal might have engineered her own downfall, or so she had read. Too much, and he might not have been able to do her bidding, however much he might have wanted to. Too little, and he might have turned her down.

But, in the event, Alex had proved himself more than equal to her expectations. Which was one of the reasons why she was suffering these pangs of—what? Conscience? Remorse? Guilt? She shivered. In all her calculations, she had never expected to enjoy it, and the fact that he had made her do so had left her with a distinct feeling of regret.

It hadn’t been meant to be that way. Her intention had simply been to entice him into bed, and encourage him to violate her body. She hadn’t expected him to be so—so patient. Or that he would realise she had never been with a man before. She gave a mirthless laugh. She had proved to be some femme fatale, she thought ruefully. She hadn’t even known what to expect.

She blamed her inexperience, of course. All her life, she had kept men at arm’s length, never letting any of them breach the protective shell she had built around herself. Friends she had made had all learned to respect her privacy, and if some of them thought she was weird it was not something that troubled her overmuch.

It was only now she was having to come to terms with the fact that knowledge gleaned from books could only ever be superficial. Her lack of experience had left her hopelessly ignorant of the workings of a man’s body. Men weren’t like animals. They didn’t just mate, and walk away. More than that, they apparently had the capacity to prolong their enjoyment, and, totally without her volition, she had found herself sharing his need.

God!

She tossed the remainder of the sandwich out of the window, watching the antics of the ducklings with rather less enthusiasm now. How had it happened? How had a man she had met less than two hours before been able to cause such a fever in her body? Nothing remotely like it had ever happened to her before. Yet from the minute he’d entered the apartment, she’d had the uneasy feeling she was in over her head.

She should have called it a day there and then. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given her the opportunity. On the contrary, without the liberal dose of alcohol, she doubted he’d have succumbed to her less than erotic charms. But, having gone so far, she had been unwilling to back off. She’d known she might never get up the courage to do such a thing again.

And, to all intents and purposes, she had been totally successful. Whatever the rights or wrongs of it might be, she had achieved her objective. She had had sex with a man she never intended to see again, a man who couldn’t trace her. She was free and clear and pregnant, just as she’d wanted. And the sooner she stopped thinking about Alex Thorpe the better.

But it was easier said than done. Once again, as it had done numerous times over the last eight weeks, her mind shifted to wondering what had happened after she ran out on him. It was natural that she should be curious, she told herself. He was not the kind of man to take it lightly.

At first, she had gone over her own efforts to erase all trace of her identity, constantly worrying over every small detail she remembered, afraid that she might not have thought of everything. But her plan then, and now, seemed foolproof. The apartment she had used in London had been rented in an assumed name. The same name had been used to rent the small Peugeot, and her appearance at the party had been brief and anonymous. She had only learned of the party by chance. She had heard Tony, one of the students, bewailing the fact that he wouldn’t be able to attend. Christina Lennox just happened to be his cousin’s girlfriend, but there was no reason to connect Tony Thiarchos with the uninvited guest. To connect him with Elizabeth Ryan, she amended pedantically, wondering if she had been a little rash in using her own first name. But no. There must be several thousand Elizabeths in London alone, and ever since she left home she had always referred to herself as Beth—Beth Haley.

But, even after she had assured herself no one could trace her, she still hadn’t been able to get Alex Thorpe out of her mind. She found he had left an indelible impression, and she hoped, now that she had achieved her ambitions, that what had happened would lose its importance.

She ought to be relieved that she had covered her tracks so completely. There seemed no way anyone could link a university lecturer from a small northern town with the kind of woman who’d pick up a man at a party in London. She doubted even her students would have recognised her behaviour—even if her appearance had been impossible to disguise.

So, all that remained was for her to complete the present term. She had already prepared the way for her absence. A year’s sabbatical, ostensibly to write the book about eighteenth-century literature she had been planning, and then back to work the following year, when the baby was old enough to be left with a minder. She expected his—or her—appearance would cause some speculation. At twenty-nine, Miss—she never fudged the issue by calling herself Ms—Haley was regarded as something of an eccentric. She had never had a regular boyfriend, even though certain of her fellow lecturers had endeavoured to share her confidence. But, although she was known to be efficient at work, and popular with the students, she was essentially a private person. There would be questions, but she could handle them. One of the advantages of being reserved was that it discouraged a lot of prying.

Remembering she hadn’t yet had a drink, she peeled off the plastic lid and brought the cup of coffee to her lips. The smell almost overpowered her, and, wishing she had just bought a fruit juice instead, she poured the lukewarm liquid out of the window. The ducks came to see what she was doing, but retired in disgust when they found the coffee had already seeped into the ground. ‘Well, you did have most of the sandwich,’ she informed them drily, smiling at her own foolishness, and, turning the key, she started the car.

She was leaving the English building later that afternoon, when one of her fellow professors hailed her. ‘Beth!’ called Nigel Dorner, hurrying across the quadrangle to intercept her. ‘I’m so glad I’ve caught you. I’m having a little reception tomorrow night, in the Students’ Union, and I wondered if you’d care to come. It’s an informal gathering, pre-finals and all that. A chance for the staff and students to get together before exams and degrees take precedence. What do you think?’

Beth folded her arms around the pile of papers she was carrying, and waited until he had reached her. Nigel was in his forties, and although he made a big thing about his sporting activities he was decidedly overweight. He was panting by the time he came up beside her, and she allowed him to get his breath back before saying, ‘I don’t think so, Nigel. I’ve got these papers to read, and I promised David I’d take his Thursday evening seminar. I’ll have to do some preparation—–’

‘Oh, Beth!’ Nigel expelled his breath on a disappointed sigh, and ran a hand over his thinning hair. ‘I was sure you’d come. It is almost the end of term. Surely you can take one evening off to have a little fun?’

Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth, wondering why Nigel persisted in thinking she needed to have some fun. Ever since she had made it known she wasn’t interested in having a relationship with any of the younger members of the faculty, Nigel Dorner, who was a divorcee, and Andrew Holroyd, who was slightly older than Nigel and a bachelor, had been vying for her company. It was as if they didn’t believe she could live without a man’s attentions, and they had evidently decided she’d prefer an older man.

‘Look, Nigel,’ she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings, ‘college get-togethers aren’t really my thing. I only attend when it’s absolutely necessary, and I do have a lot of work I want to finish before the holidays.’

Nigel hunched his shoulders. They were broad shoulders, she noticed, unwillingly finding herself comparing them to Alex Thorpe’s. It was because he had been so much on her mind today, she thought irritably, but she couldn’t help conceding that that was where the likeness ended. As well as having broad shoulders, Alex had also been tall, whereas Nigel was little more than her own height of five feet eight. And tubby, into the bargain, she added, his bulging belly always reminding her of Mr Pickwick.

She supposed Andrew Holroyd was the better looking of the two, and he was taller, and less weighty. But neither of them attracted her in the slightest.

‘Well, I worry about you, Beth,’ Nigel said now, turning to an approach that had proved successful in the past. Whenever anyone said they were worried about her, Beth usually gave in. Not least because she disliked the thought that her behaviour was a cause for concern. ‘You live alone in that old house, with only the ghosts for company, and if it weren’t for your work here I doubt you’d have any social life.’

Beth stiffened. ‘I really don’t think that’s any concern of yours, Nigel,’ she said coldly. ‘How I choose to spend my time is my affair—–’

‘Of course it is.’ Nigel realised he had gone too far this time and hurriedly retrenched. ‘And I know it’s not for want of an alternative. Good heavens, you could be out every night if you wanted to. I know that. But you know what they say about—about all work and no play.’

He looked so discomfited now, Beth took pity on him. It wasn’t Nigel’s fault that she had such a poor opinion of his sex, and once she left the faculty, albeit temporarily, she would be cut off from her normal round of acquaintances.

Taking a breath, she allowed a smile to lift her lips for a moment, and then said, ‘All right. What time does this get-together start?’

Nigel couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Oh—um—half-past eight,’ he offered, almost dropping the books he was carrying in his haste to show his enthusiasm. ‘I say, will you come? I’d be awfully flattered.’

‘Not too flattered, I hope,’ murmured Beth drily, starting towards the car park. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

‘Until tomorrow,’ echoed Nigel eagerly. ‘Would you like me to—to pick you up?’

‘Oh, I think I can find my own way to the Students’ Union,’ Beth assured him lightly. ‘Goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She was aware of him watching her as she strode to where the Renault was waiting, and she wondered if she had made a mistake by accepting his invitation. She wouldn’t like him to get the wrong idea, not with the summer break looming. As far as she knew, Nigel was staying on campus, and it could prove difficult if he started to get the wrong idea.

Still, she consoled herself, unloading her burden of essays on to the back seat, she could always deal with that contingency if it arose. For the present, she had quite enough to think about, not least what she was going to wear tomorrow evening.

Her house, the house she had bought four years ago, and which had considerably increased in value since that time, stood in a row of similar Victorian houses, overlooking Albert Square. The cul-de-sac was called Albert Terrace, and had evidently been named with the then Prince Consort in mind. During the past four years, Beth had steadily improved its appearance, and without losing its character at all she had had new wiring, and an adequate heating system installed. She knew it was too big for one person, but she had never intended to live there alone. And if the ghosts Nigel had taunted her with were sometimes more real than he imagined, they were not ghosts that Albert Terrace knew anything about.

The phone was ringing as she entered the long narrow hall that ran from front to back of the building, and she frowned. She had hoped to be free of complications for the rest of the evening, and she nudged the door closed with her foot, before picking up the receiver.

‘Beth!’

It was Justine Sawyer, wife of one of the maths lecturers, and the closest thing she had to a friend on campus. Justine was the one person Beth still had to deal with in her calculations. In her early thirties, and a social worker, Justine had been married to Mike for more than ten years, without having a family. Justine didn’t want children. She didn’t like them, and she had begun to assume that Beth felt the same. How she would react to the news she had to deliver, Beth didn’t know. Right now, she didn’t even want to think about it.

‘Hi, Justine.’ Beth wedged her pile of papers on to the hall table, as she responded to the call, absently scanning the letters her cleaner, Mrs Lamb, had left there for her. ‘You just caught me. I’ve just come in the door.’

‘Yes, I gathered that. I was beginning to think one of the students had delayed you,’ remarked Justine tersely. ‘You have heard the news, I suppose. It’s terrible, isn’t it? He was such a pleasant boy.’

Beth frowned, putting the bills that had been distracting her aside. ‘What boy, Justine?’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you talking about? Nigel intercepted me as I was leaving the English building. That’s why I’m late. He wanted to ask me to some reception he’s having tomorrow evening.’

‘Well, there may not be a reception now,’ declared Justine, sounding a little impatient. ‘Beth, Tony Thiarchos is dead. Mike thinks he may have committed suicide.’

‘Oh, no!’

Beth suddenly found she was a little weak at the knees. Groping for the banister, she lowered herself on to the second stair and took a steadying breath. It wasn’t that she had known Tony Thiarchos very well. He wasn’t even one of her students. But his girlfriend was, and that was how she’d got to know him. How she’d heard about the party in London.

‘I thought you’d be upset,’ said Justine, sounding slightly mollified now. ‘His girlfriend—what was her name? Linda something-or-other—is one of your third years, isn’t she?’

‘Mmm.’

Beth was finding it very difficult to respond at all. It was always a tragedy when a young person was killed, and Tony Thiarchos had seemed to have everything to live for. He was young, good-looking, popular with his contemporaries. She couldn’t believe he was dead. Much less that he had deliberately taken his own life.

‘Mike thinks he was worried about his finals,’ went on Justine. ‘He said he thought there was a lot of pressure on him from his family to do well. They’re going to be pretty shattered when they hear the news. I wonder if they’ll try to keep it out of the papers?’

Beth blinked, struggling to escape from the sudden cloud that seemed to have engulfed her. She was letting herself get too involved, she thought. Tony Thiarchos had meant nothing to her. Just because she had used something he said in passing for her own ends was no reason to feel any sense of guilt now.

‘I—why would they?’ she managed, gripping the stair carpet beside her with tense fingers, and Justine gave a short laugh.

‘Well, if they can’t, no one can,’ she retorted grimly. ‘He’s a Thiarchos, Beth. Surely even you’ve heard of Constantine Thiarchos! As in oil—and shipping, and God knows what else!’

Beth pulled herself together. ‘I—didn’t think,’ she mumbled, not altogether truthfully. But she hadn’t put the two names together. ‘How—how did it happen?’

‘His car hit a tree.’

Beth frowned. ‘Well, why would you think—–?’

‘He was the only person in the car, Beth.’ Justine was sounding impatient again. ‘And it was broad daylight, for heaven’s sake! He was a good driver. From what Mike says, he could handle that sports car of his like a professional.’

‘Even so—–’

‘Oh, I know. It will probably be treated as an accident. These things usually are. But Mike saw what happened, and he doesn’t—–’

‘Mike saw it!’

‘Yes.’ Justine sighed. ‘It only happened an hour ago. Near Founder’s Hall. That’s why I thought—Beth, are you all right? You sound—well, funny.’

‘I’m fine.’ Beth was relieved to hear that her voice sounded almost normal. She tried to think coherently. ‘So—what happens now?’

‘Well, there’ll have to be an inquest, of course. And his family will have to be informed. I believe his father lives in London. I imagine he’ll be coming to arrange everything.’

Beth nodded. ‘Poor Linda.’

‘Yes. I expect it’s pretty awful for her. They say they were really close. Not that his family would approve. People like the Thiarchoses don’t marry girls like her.’

‘Why?’

Beth tried to focus on the least horrifying aspect of the affair, and Justine made a scornful sound. ‘Darling, we’re too old to believe in all that romantic stuff. Let’s face it, it was just a college infatuation. He’d have left this summer, and they’d have never seen one another again.’

Beth pushed herself somewhat wearily to her feet. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘You know I am.’ Justine sounded irritatingly smug. ‘Now, how about you joining Mike and me for supper? I know it’s short notice, but I think we could all use a little company tonight.’

Beth hesitated, but the thought of preparing a lonely meal for one had lost some of its appeal. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. She didn’t want to think about Tony Thiarchos. She didn’t want to remember that without his grumbling about not being able to attend his cousin’s birthday party she’d never have conceived the idea of gatecrashing the event. He’d been inadvertently responsible for her present condition; for her meeting Alex Thorpe—and that was something else she didn’t want to think about …