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to her in a kiss of mastery and possession.
'How very lovely you are, Vicky.'
A long while later she was thinking of those words while she sat
before her dressing-table, brushing her hair. It was wonderful to
know that the beauty of which her father so often spoke was giving
her husband so much pleasure. For the first time Vicky was
examining herself with intense interest noticing her eyes with their
long curling lashes, her 'turned-up' nose, as her father so often
referred to it mostly when he was reminiscing about her mother.
She looked at her mouth, which Richard obviously loved to kiss. And
a smile broke. Life was good!
Not that it had been anything else for Vicky, but as her father had so
wisely maintained, a woman does not reach the peak of happiness
until she is married to the man she loves, and who loves her. It was
providential, she mused, that she should marry a man of aristocratic
birth, since this was her father's dream, his final ambition in life. Yet
it had happened naturally, and not aided by his scheming at all, just as
she had laughingly reminded him a few days ago. Now his dream had
materialised he was content, appearing to have settled down to a
tranquil, uncomplicated existence which must seem like heaven after
the zealous activity of the past forty years or so. Had his dream not
come to fruition, then undoubtedly he would have persevered until it
did, simply because he never allowed anything to beat Mm, just as he
had so vehemently declared so many times.
Glancing at the clock, Vicky noticed that it was almost half past
seven, and as Richard liked to have an aperitif in the drawing-room
before dinner she hastened to get dressed, putting on a long gown of
flowered black nylon, full-skirted and with the unusual feature of
having a white insert to the bodice which was split down the front and
then laced with black silk cord. The high neckline was frilled, as were
the cuffs and the hem of the skirt. The underslip was full, being made
up of several layers of white nylon, and the result was that the skirt of
the dress flowed out, swaying as Vicky walked.
She came down the wide staircase to see her husband going to the
telephone at the far end of the hall. What an arresting figure he made!
So tail and straight and slim. So many times she had told herself she
was lucky to have such a superlative man for a husband, and she was
telling herself again as, stopping before she reached the last stair, she
watched Mm pick up the receiver and dial a number. It occurred to
her that she ought to make her presence known, since Richard, with
Ms back to her, had no idea that she was there. The thought of
revealing herself was vague, though, Vicky's entire interest being
with her husband. Absurdly she felt she would be quite content to
remain here, just looking at Ms back for half an hour or more.
He was speaking; she listened without fully realising she was doing
so.
'... your letter this morning. I'd prefer you to refrain from this direct
communication and leave everything to the solicitors.' Richard's
voice was brittle, and frigidly austere. 'Yes,' he was saying, obviously
in answer to a brief question just put to him, 'you are entitled to half
this --' His voice was cut, obviously by an interruption on the other
end of the line. 'I have to accept it I have accepted it, but these
things take time. It's quite impossible for me to satisfy your --' Again
there seemed to be an interruption and this time Vicky noticed the
dark and angry frown that settled on her husband's forehead. He was
listening; the frown gradually deepened to a scowl of sheer hatred. At
last he himself broke in to say that he would no longer tolerate 'these
letters of abuse!'
The telephone receiver was about to be replaced and Vicky, guiltily
aware that she should not have remained there, listening to something
that had nothing to do with her, stepped back swiftly, managing to
negotiate several stairs before coming to a stop as Richard turned.
She then continued down the stairs slowly, as if to impress on him
that this had been her speed all the time a smile fluttering to her lips.
She saw no answering smile but instead a stern and questioning look
upon her husband's face.
'How long have you been there?' he demanded almost harshly.
'Not not 1-long. Why do you ask?'
He was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her, and for a
fleeting moment his thoughts were diverted as he allowed his eyes to
wander over her lovely figure before coming to rest on her face. She
was flustered, aware that she had eavesdropped, and fearing her
husband knew she had. How angry he would be! And surely he would
despise her!
'Did you hear any part of what I was saying?' The keen grey eyes
seemed to be probing far beneath the negative expression she had
forced herself to assume.
Almost without knowing it Vicky was shaking her head, and it was
with a sort of wondering disbelief that she heard herself say,
'No, Richard, I didn't hear anything. I've only just come down ...' and
she began to descend the final few stairs until she reached the last
one. 'Do you like my dress?' She took hold of the sides and pulled
them out. Richard, plainly relieved, held out his hand for her to slip
hers into it, which she did, her heartbeats returning to normal after the
racing which had been induced by fear.
They dined cosily and intimately, by the light of many candles. Vicky
kept up a bright front, chatting happily to her husband, but it was
inevitable that his words over the telephone should keep coming back
to her, and in consequence several questions darted about in her mind.
To whom had Richard been speaking? He had certainly been
furiously angry but no wonder, if he had been receiving letters of
abuse! Vicky could not imagine anyone having the temerity to write
letters of abuse to a man like Richard. Was someone threatening him?
It had seemed like it, yet who would want to threaten him? she
wondered.
'Vicky, what are you thinking about?' Richard's voice, low and
cultured, reached her across the table, breaking her reverie. She met
his keen grey eyes and wondered what lay behind their apparently
amused expression. 'You're not with me, my darling, and that doesn't
suit me at all.'
'I'm sorry. Nothing important,' she hastened to add, just in case he
should begin a series of questions that might cause her to make a slip
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