Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 39

Victor took the stairs two at a time, sped along the corridor and stopped at the door of Francesca’s room. He opened it and went inside swiftly. He closed it firmly behind him and leaned against it, staring at her, a look of incredulity on his face. ‘Your timing is about as good as mine, kid! I couldn’t believe it when you asked Christian to show me the gun collection.’

‘Neither could I,’ she laughed a little nervously, her embarrassment of earlier returning. She gave him an apologetic grin, and went on, ‘It just popped out, before I could stop myself actually, and then you were stuck. And you looked so aghast, and furious with me, I had to flee. Sorry.’

‘You should be sorry. Jesus, I spent the last half hour trying to concentrate on what he was telling me about those lousy guns, and my mind was up here with you,’ he spluttered, merely feigning exasperation now.

‘You’re lucky you’ve escaped so quickly. My dear cousin generally takes an hour, sometimes even two, once he gets going on the history of that particular collection. He’s very thorough.’

‘I’ll say he is,’ Victor laughed, realizing she was teasing him, just as he was teasing her. He did not move, but remained near the door, looking at her intently. She was seated on the sofa near the fire, still wearing her yellow ski outfit. The room was filled with dusky shadows, for only one small reading lamp had been turned on, but a fire burned brightly, was casting a warm glow around her, bringing her into focus. In the flickering light from the flames she resembled a delicate statue sculpted from pure gold. Her hair was combed loose, was shot through with dancing lights, and it fell in shimmering swatches around her face. Her skin seemed to have been polished to a golden sheen, was iridescent, and her large hazel eyes were the colour of tawny topazes, clear and bright.

There was the suggestion of a smile on her lips, and in her expression he saw anticipation, and yes, just a hint of apprehension reflected there as well. But both were fleeting emotions instantly overshadowed by the desire which was flooding her eyes. A thrill ran through him as her gaze remained riveted on him, telling him so much, as before expressing everything he was feeling within himself. He wanted her, God, how he wanted her. He was filled with impatience, beside himself in reality, and he turned with suddenness and locked the door.

Victor was across the floor in a few quick strides, opening his arms to her, not speaking, his face tense. She rose from the sofa and flew to him, and they clung together, their hearts racing, their excitement running quick.

Their mouths met, and Victor savoured her sweet lips, her sweet breath, and then he parted those lips and found her tongue. His own lingered on it, and then he drew it into his mouth, possessing it as he wished so desperately to possess her. He tightened the pressure of his arms, and pulled her hard against his body, and he felt her excitement growing, and his own, and he was conscious of the electrical charges running between them. Slipping his hand under her sweater he undid her bra strap. And once more he caressed her breast lovingly until she was trembling and swaying weakly in his arms. He glanced down at her quickly. Her eyes were closed, her face was flushed, and a pulse was beating on her neck. The sight of her arousal sent his own desire soaring, and propelled by its urgency he stepped away from her and plucked impatiently at her sweater, lifting it up over her head. He threw it to one side carelessly, and leaning towards her he gently removed her bra and dropped it to the floor. He stood gazing at her. Francesca began to tremble afresh. He seized her, pulling her to him, running his hands over her smooth rounded shoulders and down her back, thrilling to the touch of her skin, and he said, his voiced choked with passion, ‘Take the rest of your clothes off, baby.’

He turned and moved to the far side of the bedroom into the shadows, wanting to give her privacy. He kicked off his loafers, removed his sweater and unzipped his pants, sliding out of them hurriedly. When he was completely undressed he swung around, and he saw, to his surprise, that she was standing exactly where he had left her, was not lying on the bed as he had anticipated she would be. She was regarding him – warily, he decided – and he thought he detected a nervousness in her, an uncertainty. But he dismissed this idea immediately, considering it to be ridiculous, ascribing her seeming awkwardness to shyness. After all she was very young, and hardly likely to be as experienced as he in the game of love.

‘Don’t be embarrassed, darling,’ he murmured softly, reassuringly. His smile conveyed kindness, understanding, but his eyes were bold, roamed over her slender naked body and rested on her for a long time, and he noted the high, firm but unusually full breasts, the gently curving hips, the long beautifully proportioned legs. At last he said, his voice still husky with longing, ‘You’re lovely, Francesca, really lovely. Don’t be self-conscious.’

Francesca was unable to speak and incapable of moving. Her eyes grew huge in her face and her lips parted as she watched him approaching, looming up in front of her to block out the firelight. His chest was lightly covered with black hairs, and so broad it seemed to be more immense naked than it was clothed. But surprisingly, he had a narrow waist and narrow hips above his long legs, and even though the light was dim, she could see, as he drew closer, that his body was as tanned as his face. It was well-muscled, strong and firm, an athlete’s body, honed to perfection, and it was dominating in its masculinity.

She held her breath, and tried to still the shaking that had assaulted her again. This was not a manifestation of fear, for she was not afraid, nor was she uncertain or embarrassed as he imagined. Quite simply, she was overpowered by Victor, by the sheer physical beauty of him, his grace, his sexual magnetism which radiated from him so potently, and with such force. He made her feel weak and helpless. Also she was overwhelmed by her own burning desire – overwhelmed by her innermost emotions. That she was in love with him she had known for weeks, deny it though she might have done. But in all truth, she had not understood the extent of her love, its depth and intensity. She knew now that it was immeasurable.

Still misunderstanding her muteness, her extraordinary immobility, Victor wrapped his arms around her when he reached her side. He did so with gentleness, and pushed her hair away from her face, and peered into her eyes. They seemed to him to be far too grave. ‘What’s bothering you, darling? You’re not shy with me, are you?’ he asked in a low tone.

She shook her head.

‘So what is it, darling? Stage fright?’

Francesca found herself blinking under the force of his direct and concentrated stare, and she did not answer, hypnotized yet again by that stunningly handsome face so close to hers. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears. How that face had haunted her … haunted her every waking moment and perhaps even her sleep as well. It was indelibly etched on her mind and her heart for all time, the dearest face to her in the world, and it would be for the rest of her life. Oh how she loved him. Her heart leapt, and began to clatter unreasonably, and she wanted to tell him how she felt, but she dared not articulate her love. Not yet.

Aware that he was watching her closely, waiting for an answer, she said slowly, ‘It’s just that … well, I never thought we’d be together … not like this anyway. I think I’m shaken. But that’s all. Honestly.’

‘But you do want it, don’t you? Want to be with me?’

‘Oh yes, Victor, yes. You must know that.’ She buried her face against his bare chest, and her arms went around him, and she held him close as if never to let him go. ‘I’ve been sitting here waiting for you for the last half hour, dreading the thought that you might not come to my room after all, that you’d changed your mind. Actually, I’ve been waiting for you for weeks and weeks,’ she found herself confessing.

And I’ve been waiting for you for years and years, Francesca. He bit back these words, did not wish to express this curious thought, one that had truly surprised him. Instead, he brushed it aside quickly, and without another world he swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the enormous four-poster bed at the other side of the room. As he strode out, he said in a hoarse voice, ‘I think we’ve wasted enough time already, baby, don’t you?’

Francesca sighed and said nothing. She closed her eyes and clung to him, nestling her face against his shoulder. She inhaled the scent of him and kissed his neck and the weakness invaded her again.

Victor placed Francesca on top of the eiderdown and lay down next to her, cradling her in his arms, wrapping his body around hers, kissing her hair, her brow, her ears and finally her lips. He closed his eyes, drinking in the warmth and softness and beauty of her, revelling in her. Soon his mouth roamed down to her throat, and he began to smooth his hands over her body, and he marvelled at the texture of her skin, felt as though he was touching the purest sleekest silk. He had not known skin like hers ever in his life. Moving his head slightly, he kissed the cleft between her breasts, and stroked them, his hands strong but gentle, and with his tongue he touched the tip of each nipple in turn, delicately so that it was hardly perceptible. After a moment, he was kissing her mouth again, grasping her tightly in his arms, drowning in her.

Francesca was quivering under his touch, straining towards him, and she responded as ardently as she had on the mountain, returning his feverish kisses with unrestrained passion, a passion that more than matched his own. Her fingers fluttered over his wide shoulders, down his back and along his spine, and then returned to touch his face and his hair. But despite her willingness to give of herself wholeheartedly, and her most transparent joy in their lovemaking, Victor knew, almost at once, that she had no real expertise in the art of love. Furthermore, somewhat to his amazement, he was beginning to realize she was unusually inexperienced sexually. Yet this knowledge only served to fire him on, imbued in him the wish to give her the kind of happiness she had probably never known with any other man. His hands roved over her boldly, provocatively, fondling, caressing, exploring, arousing, and she blossomed under his touch. And he discovered that her simplicity and innocence were not only endearing but inordinately exciting to him, accustomed as he was to more worldly women. Inflamed in a way he had not been in years, he intensified his loving, lost himself in her.

Other men. There had never been any other men. Victor did not know how he knew this, would never know, but all at once he was absolutely convinced she was a virgin. Sweet Jesus! A virgin. Instantly he recoiled from this idea, and also from her, although he was sensitive enough not to cease his caresses all that abruptly. Finally he could not help himself, and his hands did fall away from her body, as he baulked at continuing, but he brought her into his arms and he held her gently.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked after a while, her voice small, muffled against his chest.

‘No, baby. But you’re exciting me too much. Let’s rest a minute.’

Now Victor seriously considered retreating, of dressing and leaving her. But how could he stop their lovemaking at this stage? They were both taut with longing, craving each other desperately. Anyway, if he stopped with suddenness and departed, she would believe he was rejecting her for some reason. That would be cruel and unfair, and it could easily scar her psychologically for years. Discuss it with her? Hardly. To start asking probing personal questions would only create awkwardness, and embarrass her. It would also break the mood which existed between them, one that struck a delicate balance between the most tender feelings and high-voltage excitement of an unusually thrilling nature. He wrestled with the problem, torn by indecision.

As if she had somehow managed to read his thoughts, as if instinctively she understood he had perceived her lack of experience in bed, Francesca now brought her hand up to touch his chest, and lightly she began to finger one of his nipples. Slowly she trailed her fingertips down his chest and onto his stomach. They hovered there, moving across and then up and down, delicate, erotic, tracing patterns. A shiver ran through him, and when her hand slipped down to rest between his legs, tentatively, with uncertainty, he almost leapt out of his skin. Her touch excited him to such an extent he had to bite his inner lip to stop from crying out with pleasure, and he felt his hardness growing even though she had removed her hand.

Victor Mason was entirely undone. He was incapable of leaving her. He pressed Francesca into the pillows and started to devour her mouth so fiercely his teeth grazed hers. Moving his body so that he was lying on top of her, he pushed his hands under her shoulder blades and lifted her up to him, crushing her. And he made up his mind to one thing; since he was the first, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was, then he was not going to make a hash of this, spoil it for her as another man might in his selfishness, impatience and lack of knowledge. She was not going to have problems with sex ever in the future, as so many women did, because some dolt had perpetrated a bad, difficult or unrewarding initiation on them. He was going to love her well, and truly, and with every part of himself. He would bring her to the fine edge of rapture and beyond that into ecstasy, before he took her and satisfied himself. Her loss of innocence at his hands was going to be beautiful, radiant, filled with joyousness, and also as painless as he could possibly make it.

For all her inexperience, Victor realized there was a basic sensuality in Francesca, and this thrilled him, for he was sensual himself and needed a woman to respond to him on the same level. Knowing that her sensuality had not been truly awakened, he slowly brought it to full flower, kissing her, caressing her, prolonging this stage of their lovemaking. He carried her to new heights, soothed and gentled her quivering body when she grew over excited, and started all over again when she was calm. In the most subtle of ways, with care and delicacy and sensitivity, he created in her a state of voluptuousness that was making her faint and breathless.

Suddenly he had a need to see her face and he lifted his head and gazed down at her, and caught his breath. Never had he seen a woman looking more beautiful than she did at this moment. Her supine body, spread out before him, was so languid and relaxed it seemed to have a unique kind of fluidity, her long legs stretched out gracefully in a half curve, her superb arms flung above her head. To him she appeared more willowy and supple than ever, a long-stemmed flower, and glorious, with her hair fanning out behind her like skeins of silk, and her matchless skin was dappled to a dusky gold by the blazing firelight. She was exquisite in her fresh young beauty and innocence and purity. He felt a tightening in his loins, a further quickening in his blood, and he raised himself on his elbow, studying her intently, watching her eyelids fluttering as he caressed her shoulder, ran his hand down over her outer thigh.

It was then that Victor experienced a deep yearning in his heart, an unrecognized and unfamiliar yearning he did not truly comprehend at first. But with a swift flash of insight into himself, he thought: Is this more than sexual attraction? Have I fallen in love with her?

Francesca stirred and opened her eyes, and looked up at him, her adoration spilling out from her face. He stared back at her, held in fascination, his eyes impaled on hers. They were searching, questioning, burning with a longing that sprang from the inner recesses of his heart and not his body, and he was moved in a way he had not been moved in years. Momentarily he was thrown off balance by the deep emotions tearing at him. His throat thickened and he felt unaccustomed tears behind his eyes.

Francesca watched the intense feelings washing over his face, swamping his dark and brilliant eyes, and she recognized them immediately, knew at once what they meant, for they mirrored her own. She held her breath, hardly daring to move, and thought: He loves me. I know he loves me. Her heart began to flutter and all the love she felt for him rose up in her, and she knew she must tell him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Victor bent forward and kissed her deeply, silencing her. He held her close and said, ‘My darling, oh my darling,’ and he enveloped her with his body and found her mouth again. She cleaved to him, returned his wild, impassioned kisses, and stroked the nape of his neck and shoulders, and ran her hands down his back.

Her touch scorched him, sent the heat flaming through him. His blood raced, his heart thundered in his chest and his desire was rampant in him, made his head swim. And he needed to know every part of her, to make every inch of her his, and his alone. He brought his lips to her breasts and kissed her sensuously, and slid his hand down over her stomach until his fingers were entwined in the golden silk between her thighs. Slowly, and with infinite tenderness, he sought the core of her femininity enclosed in its protective velvet petals.

Francesca was quivering and moaning gently under his loving hands, excited in a way she had not imagined possible even in her wildest fantasies about him. Victor was arousing her to a point of agitation and she was over-wrought, and yet she did not want him to stop. She wanted his hands, his lips, his body, wanted all of him, wanting him to prolong the exquisite sensations trickling through her. He was dazing her, blinding her, thrilling her beyond belief. Suddenly she caught her breath, trembling uncontrollably, and a stronger fiercer heat flooded her, and she gave herself up to him. He was learning her intimately, and with thoroughness, and he drove her on and on relentlessly, until she was gasping and caught on the brink of the most rapturous feeling she had ever known.

And Victor, besotted with her, enthralled by her, was being carried along by the onrushing tide of their mutual passion. He brushed, his lips across her thigh, and as he caressed the core of her it felt as if a rare exotic flower had suddenly bloomed under his hands, one that was slowly unfolding its sun-drenched buds to him. Tremors rippled along her thighs and he shifted his body, moving lightly on the bed. He brought his head down and kissed her with delicacy, until spasms replaced the tremors and she cried out, ‘Oh Vic! Oh Vic!’

He continued to kiss her until the spasms lessened and then he lifted his head and slid up onto her body, and took her to him with great swiftness, plunging into her with such force he felt the impact himself. He hoped this unexpected domination of her at the height of her excitement would dim the pain. But she did stiffen under him, and she stifled a cry with a quick gasp, and held herself tense. He gripped her, his hands under her back, and he moved into her more forcefully, knowing this was the only way to lessen the pain, to sweep her up and away from it to new heights.

Gradually Francesca relaxed as the sharp flaring pain receded, and she felt a different and more marvellous warmth spreading through her as Victor began to thrust deeper and deeper into her. And her heart crested with ecstasy as he took complete possession of her, made her truly his.

She was liquid fire under him and he was being consumed by the heat emanating from her. He took her harder, loving her with a fervour he had long forgotten, with the strength and virility and wildness of his youth. He felt her body arching up to meet his clamorously, and she blended into him, moved with him, found his new rhythm, and he was dimly conscious of instinctive movements from her. Her arms tightened on the small of his back and her legs went around him automatically, so that he could love her more thoroughly and with all of himself. He was trapped now in a velvet vice, the possessor being possessed. He was hot, his body burning up with hers, and then he felt as though he was falling, falling through space, spinning down the slope, taking the long downhill run with the speed of light. Faster, faster, his speed increasing, breathless as he hurtled on into the blinding glare … white snow … white heat … infinity. Oh God, oh God, I love her, he screamed silently to himself. I’ve always loved her from the very first day …

Victor lay on top of Francesca, shudders still rippling through him, his face buried in her neck. She smoothed his shoulders lightly, gentling him as he had gentled her earlier, waiting for a calmness to settle over him. At the very last moment he had moved against her almost violently and had gripped her arms so tightly she had winced in pain. Then the shuddering had started and he had erupted with a frenzied burst of passion, calling her baby again and again, and begging her to take all of him.

Francesca kissed the top of his head, and smiled inwardly, loving him more than ever. She had taken all of him, just as she had given him all of herself, and he belonged to her now. It did not matter that there had been countless women before her, for her instincts told her that something quite extraordinary had occurred, not only for herself but for Victor too. She also knew he had not taken their lovemaking lightly, was convinced in her heart of hearts that he did love her. She shifted imperceptibly, easing his weight without disturbing him, and she smiled to herself again. Her body ached, but it was a delirious feeling, like having the imprint of him on her. Euphoria pervaded her whole being. She thought she was going to burst with happiness, and her arms went around him and she held him closer and with tenderness.

Victor was drained. He felt as though every ounce of his strength had trickled out of him. He had loved Francesca in a way he had not made love to a woman for years, not merely with physical enthusiasm and vigour, but with all the passion of his heart and mind. Yet despite the exhaustion, he was experiencing an inner exultation coupled with the most wonderful sense of peace, a peace rooted in the kind of contentment that had eluded him for the longest time. He had forgotten what it was like to feel completely fulfilled emotionally as well as physically. His own fault maybe. He was always seeking solace in the wrong arms, and coming up empty in the end. So many women, so many faces, the famous and the unknowns, those faces long since blurred. He sighed. There were far too many for him to remember and, for reasons of good taste, to count. But she was different.

He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, his emotions still high on the surface. The fire had burned low and the light had dimmed, but he could see her quite clearly. His eyes rested on her reflectively. What was it about her that made her so different from all the others, that affected him so strongly? His answer to himself was instant: It was some indefinable thing that he could not quite grasp.

Francesca’s gaze was wide and candid as she searched his face. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek with ineffable gentleness and her eyes grew wide and more brilliant. ‘Oh Vic, oh Vic, darling,’ she began, and sighed and said no more, and her mouth trembled.

He read the adoration and devotion in her face with the greatest of ease, and he saw her love reflected there, and suddenly his heart missed a beat. It was not only the way she was looking at him, but the use of his diminutive and the particular way she had said it which now struck a chord in his mind. It was déjà vu … he had seen that look and heard his name pronounced in exactly that same tone before, long long ago … And then that evanescent memory which had so nagged at him since their first meeting now took shape, became substance.

Francesca reminded him of Ellie. It was not that she looked like his first wife, for in all truth she did not, rather it was a special quality of personality that was the link between them. Implicit in Francesca’s character were honesty, sincerity and goodness, outward manifestations of an extraordinary inner beauty and grace which she possessed in great abundance, as had Ellie. He was unable to speak, but he leaned forward and kissed her brow, and then he ensnared her in his arms. Everything had become quite clear to him.

They lay for a long time, embracing each other, not speaking, drifting with their thoughts, watching the firelight dancing on the walls and the ceiling. At one moment Francesca shivered slightly and Victor pulled the eiderdown over them and drew her closer to him. At last, recovered from his surprise, he said, ‘It’s funny, the way you suddenly started to call me Vic –’

‘I’m sorry,’ Francesca said, rousing herself, recalling that he seemed to dislike this abbreviation of his name. She had heard him correct Hilly Steed several times. ‘You hate it. I’d forgotten.’

‘I don’t hate it from you, or Nicky, just as I never minded when Ellie used it. Anyone else, yes, particularly someone I’m not close to, I guess because it smacks of familiarity.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Also, I was brainwashed by my mother. She never permitted anyone to shorten my name when I was a kid. But it sounds nice when you say it, sort of soft and gentle.’ He rested his head on hers, and went on, ‘I’ve heard your father and Kim call you Frankie, and Diana calls you Cheska. Which do you prefer?’

‘Cheska, I suppose. Frankie sounds so, well, so boyish.’

‘I don’t think anyone would mistake you for a boy, baby. Not by a long shot,’ he laughed.

‘But I don’t mind kid, or baby either,’ she asserted, settling back in the crook of his arm contentedly. ‘They’ve become very special, to me at any rate.’

‘Have they now.’ He smiled and ruminated for a few seconds. Brushing his lips across her shoulder, he went on, in a low voice, ‘I was the first, wasn’t I? The first man in your life, I mean.’

This question did not really startle Francesca, for she had guessed that he had guessed, but she remained silent. Finally she whispered, ‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It never occurred to me. It didn’t seem to be of such great importance, certainly not to me. Why, was it important to you, Vic?’

He was thoughtful, and after a beat, he replied carefully, ‘Yes, it was in many ways. And I hope I didn’t hurt you. I tried to make it as –’

‘Sssh,’ she murmured, pressing her fingertips to his mouth. ‘And you didn’t hurt me. Well, not too much.’

She felt him smiling against her shoulder and then he said, ‘I didn’t shock you, did I? Some of the things I did …’

‘No.’ She felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered their lovemaking, and then she brushed aside her sudden self-consciousness, and finished shyly, ‘I … I … liked everything you did.’

He laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He slipped out of bed, padded across the room, threw a couple of logs on the fire, found his cigarettes in one of his trouser pockets, and returned to the four poster. He propped the pillows behind him, settled down next to her and lit a cigarette. He said, ‘By the way, what time’s dinner?’

‘Nine o’clock, but we should go down about half an hour before, for drinks.’ Francesca glanced at her small travelling clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s almost eight already,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

‘I’ll smoke this and then I’d better go back to my room and shower and dress. I guess I have to put on a shirt and tie?’

‘Yes, but you don’t have to wear a suit, if you don’t want to. A sports jacket is perfectly fine.’

‘If I’d been smart, I’d have stopped off and picked up my robe before coming in here.’ He looked at her sideways. ‘But I was anxious to get to you, baby. Now I guess I have to make myself decent to return to my suite. I can’t very well flit along the corridor clutching my clothes in my hands.’

‘I’ll go and get your dressing gown,’ Francesca cried, and had swung her legs out of bed before he could stop her.

‘Come on, baby, that’s not necessary,’ he protested as she disappeared into the bathroom. She returned almost at once, struggling into a bathrobe. ‘I’ll be back in a flash,’ she told him and went out.

Victor lay back against the pillows, smoking his cigarette, musing on Francesca. He smiled. They were perfect together. Within seconds voices outside the door disturbed his train of thought, and he straightened up, listening alertly. Francesca had obviously run into her cousin. He heard Diana’s light laugh, a few mumbled words exchanged between them, and then Diana said something more clearly, in German, which he did not understand.

The door opened and Francesca came back into the room. Looking across at him, she said, ‘I just ran into Diana.’

‘Yes, so I heard. She knows then … knows I’m in here … knows about us?’

‘I don’t think she thinks I’m borrowing your robe,’ Francesca laughed, her eyes dancing. ‘It’s far too large to fit me.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing.’ Francesca’s blonde brows shot up. ‘It’s really none of her business, you know. Besides, apart from being very romantic, she likes you a lot, so I’m sure she approves.’

‘No, no, I was referring to the remark she made to you in German.’

Francesca sat down on the end of the bed, still clutching his white silk robe to her. ‘Diana said, “das letzte Hemd hat keine Taschen.” That means, the last shirt has no pocket. What she was trying to say was that you can’t take it –’

‘With you,’ he finished for her. ‘I get the drift. She’s a smart one, that lovely cousin of yours. And she’s right, life’s too short to waste.’ Now Victor’s curiosity about the von Wittingens surfaced again, and innumerable questions about the parents, and also the reason for Christian’s disability, flew to his tongue. But he realized it was the wrong moment to embark on such a discussion, and so he held back, reserving the questions for another time. He stubbed out his cigarette and got out of bed. Francesca handed him his robe. He slipped into it, belted it tightly and stood looking at her, then he pulled her up off the bed and into his arms. Kissing her very tenderly, he murmured into her hair, ‘My sweet, sweet baby.’ With a swift glance at her, he asked, ‘You are mine, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, Vic. Oh yes, darling, I am,’ she replied, and her face was radiant.

They drew together again, reluctant to leave each other, and their kisses became long and passionate. It was Victor who finally broke their clinging embrace. He said, with an irreverent, lopsided grin, ‘Listen, lady, I’d better get outta here, otherwise we’ll never make dinner tonight.’