of tiny kisses to the men. ‘I’ll show you up,’ she offered, seizing the opportunity to get herself out of the room. ‘Lock up, will you, Neville, when you’re ready to go to bed.’
He had hardly directed a look or a word to her all evening; now he stared at her silently. He had been drinking steadily; his face was flushed and his eyes glittering.
It was Chris who got to his feet. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Does that earn me a good-night kiss?’
‘ Oh for goodness’ sake, Chris,’ she said, closing the door before he could move.
Lilian yawned again, much less delicately, as they crossed the hall. ‘Don’t you think Chris is gorgeous? He always looks as if he might beat you up, if you didn’t do exactly what he wanted. It gives me the most delicious shivers up my spine when he calls me a stupid cow on the set.’
‘ I’m afraid I don’t find that sort of thing appealing,’ Helena said flatly. She felt exhausted by her efforts to sustain this ludicrous, artificial atmosphere, and, like the anaesthetic wearing off after a tooth extraction, the comfortable feeling that all this was happening to someone else was beginning to disappear.
Lilian did not pursue the conversation; she withdrew to the yellow bedroom, leaving Helena, her body suddenly leaden, to drag herself through her bedtime routine.
This couldn’t go on; she must talk to Neville. But she felt sickening uncertainty as to his reaction, and as a roar of inebriated laughter rose from below she shivered. She had learned the painful folly of arguing with Neville when he was even slightly drunk.
Her courage failed her. He would be no more convinced by a pretence of sleep tonight than he had been other nights, but if she were in bed with her eyes shut and the bedside lamp at her side switched off, it should not provoke an outburst. Unless, of course, that were part of a plan over which she had no control.
*
It was after midnight when she heard the loud good-nights on the landing, and Neville came in. He sat heavily on the bed to take off his shoes, and opened drawers and cupboards noisily as he undressed for his shower, but he did not speak. When the rushing of water told her he was safely in their bathroom, she risked sitting up to stretch her cramped limbs, before lying back in the same position on down pillows that felt like concrete. In the silence that fell when the shower was turned off, she found her hands clenching in tension.
After the bathroom door opened again, she could hear no sound, though she strained her ears for any stir of movement. Perhaps he was standing, staring at her: by a huge-effort of will, she stopped her eyelids flying open to look. But she lay still, and heard at last the bare footsteps rustle on the soft pile of the carpet, moving as slowly as a big cat stalking its prey, round to her side of the bed.
Still she did not move, and barely breathed, until without warning his hand, hard as bare bone, gripped her chin.
In one movement, she jerked upright, her eyes blazing. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, her voice automatically lowered, but savage in its intensity.
He loomed above her, his eyes almost as dark as the navy of his bathrobe. ‘So you are just indifferent, not actually clinically dead. I did wonder.’
‘ What do you want, Neville?’ She shrank back, at bay against the headboard.
‘ Oh, I don’t know. Just a little reaction, to show you care, perhaps? Just some sign that somewhere, under all that perfect self-control, there actually is a flesh-and-blood human being. Why didn’t you fight for me, Helena? Why didn’t you scratch the bitch’s eyes out?’
He was almost shouting as he bent closer, and outrage gave her courage. ‘Neville, you’re drunk. I’m not going to talk to you now. We can discuss it in the morning — if you can tolerate the sound of anything other than an Alka-Seltzer fizzing in the glass.’
The emotion went out of his face, leaving it expressionless, and his voice was
He had hardly directed a look or a word to her all evening; now he stared at her silently. He had been drinking steadily; his face was flushed and his eyes glittering.
It was Chris who got to his feet. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Does that earn me a good-night kiss?’
‘ Oh for goodness’ sake, Chris,’ she said, closing the door before he could move.
Lilian yawned again, much less delicately, as they crossed the hall. ‘Don’t you think Chris is gorgeous? He always looks as if he might beat you up, if you didn’t do exactly what he wanted. It gives me the most delicious shivers up my spine when he calls me a stupid cow on the set.’
‘ I’m afraid I don’t find that sort of thing appealing,’ Helena said flatly. She felt exhausted by her efforts to sustain this ludicrous, artificial atmosphere, and, like the anaesthetic wearing off after a tooth extraction, the comfortable feeling that all this was happening to someone else was beginning to disappear.
Lilian did not pursue the conversation; she withdrew to the yellow bedroom, leaving Helena, her body suddenly leaden, to drag herself through her bedtime routine.
This couldn’t go on; she must talk to Neville. But she felt sickening uncertainty as to his reaction, and as a roar of inebriated laughter rose from below she shivered. She had learned the painful folly of arguing with Neville when he was even slightly drunk.
Her courage failed her. He would be no more convinced by a pretence of sleep tonight than he had been other nights, but if she were in bed with her eyes shut and the bedside lamp at her side switched off, it should not provoke an outburst. Unless, of course, that were part of a plan over which she had no control.
*
It was after midnight when she heard the loud good-nights on the landing, and Neville came in. He sat heavily on the bed to take off his shoes, and opened drawers and cupboards noisily as he undressed for his shower, but he did not speak. When the rushing of water told her he was safely in their bathroom, she risked sitting up to stretch her cramped limbs, before lying back in the same position on down pillows that felt like concrete. In the silence that fell when the shower was turned off, she found her hands clenching in tension.
After the bathroom door opened again, she could hear no sound, though she strained her ears for any stir of movement. Perhaps he was standing, staring at her: by a huge-effort of will, she stopped her eyelids flying open to look. But she lay still, and heard at last the bare footsteps rustle on the soft pile of the carpet, moving as slowly as a big cat stalking its prey, round to her side of the bed.
Still she did not move, and barely breathed, until without warning his hand, hard as bare bone, gripped her chin.
In one movement, she jerked upright, her eyes blazing. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, her voice automatically lowered, but savage in its intensity.
He loomed above her, his eyes almost as dark as the navy of his bathrobe. ‘So you are just indifferent, not actually clinically dead. I did wonder.’
‘ What do you want, Neville?’ She shrank back, at bay against the headboard.
‘ Oh, I don’t know. Just a little reaction, to show you care, perhaps? Just some sign that somewhere, under all that perfect self-control, there actually is a flesh-and-blood human being. Why didn’t you fight for me, Helena? Why didn’t you scratch the bitch’s eyes out?’
He was almost shouting as he bent closer, and outrage gave her courage. ‘Neville, you’re drunk. I’m not going to talk to you now. We can discuss it in the morning — if you can tolerate the sound of anything other than an Alka-Seltzer fizzing in the glass.’
The emotion went out of his face, leaving it expressionless, and his voice was
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