Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Page 7

  Consumed with the deepest rage, Brett said harshly, 'Who is he? Just tell me who he is.'

  A small smile creased her mouth and he saw deep satisfaction in her eyes. 'Oh, you don't have to worry; I made sure he'd never misuse another student long ago.'

  Brett stared at her, wild ideas chasing through his mind. 'What did you do?'

  'Oh, nothing melodramatic. I went straight to the Rape Crisis Centre in the town and told them about it. It seemed I wasn't the first who had complained about him, but I was the first who was willing to give evidence in a trial. They took up the case and forced the college to listen. He tried to say that I had seduced him, that I was willing, but he had the scratches on his face. So he was eventually made to leave. But it was all hushed up, of course,' she added bitterly.

  'So you went back to university?'

  Tasha laughed again. 'You're joking! I got kicked out before I'd even been there a whole term. The principal tried to buy me off. He said I could stay on at the college if I would drop the charges against the lecturer. When I refused, there was no chance of going back, to that or any other college. It's like a men- only club; they all stick together, try to protect then- own. But at least his reputation was ruined, and will be even more so when my television programme is shown.'

  Brett's face tightened as he took in the implications. 'Can you do that? Haven't you had revenge enough?'

  She looked him steadily in the eyes. 'He ruined my life and that of several other girls. Do you really think it fair? After what he did to me it was a long time before I could even be alone in a room with a man. There were times when I didn't want to live, knowing that people were looking at me, talking.' She put on a gossipy voice. '' 'She must have asked for it. I bet she flaunted herself until he couldn't resist." That's the kind of thing they said. And besides—' her eyes hardened '—there were a lot of girls, some of them married women, who wouldn't give evidence but who had suffered at his hands over the years. And most of them had taken the easy way out, had been forced to do what he wanted. They, too, need to be avenged.'

  Brett gave a long, low whistle. Then, able to open up the subject himself at last, he said, 'So what is this programme going to be about? The way men use women?'

  Tasha hesitated, a rueful look coming into her eyes as she realised she'd given herself away. Briefly she nodded. 'Yes.' She gave him a challenging look. 'Do you have any problem with that?'

  Slowly Brett shook his head. 'I don't, no. But I can see that you might have problems, Tasha. Very big problems.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'I don't want to talk about it.' Striding past him, Tasha headed for the car.

  Brett didn't push it. He felt that he'd made some progress, even though Tasha had given him the information inadvertently. But he would have to go carefully, show no undue curiosity, or she would shut up like the proverbial clam.

  So as they drove back to London he talked of other things, but when he saw that Tasha wasn't listening, was sitting with a brooding look on her face, he switched on a music channel on the radio and drove the rest of the way in silence. When they reached her flat he made sure he got out of the car with her. Tasha hesitated for a moment, wanting to work on the notes she'd taken of the interview, but then smiled and said, 'Are you hungry? I could make an omelette or something.'

  'Sounds great.'

  Being on the top floor, the rooms felt hot and stuffy. Tasha pushed open all the windows, letting in what breeze there was, and the noise of traffic from the streets below. They ate and he helped her wash up, then settled on her sofa with a cool drink.

  'It was nice to get out into the country for a while,' Brett remarked. 'I went for a walk while I was waiting for you; I think I'd almost forgotten what the countryside smelt like.'

  Tasha smiled. 'Cow-pats and pigsties.'

  'Manure heaps and mangel-wurzels,' he agreed with a grin.

  'What on earth are mangel-wurzels?'

  'I haven't the faintest idea, but they are definitely very countrified.'

  'You're more likely to find farmers breeding llamas and ostriches than cows and sheep nowadays,' Tasha said prosaically.

  'Possibly.' He stroked the back of her hand with his finger. 'Personally I prefer the sound of seagulls to that of rooks cawing, and the smell of the ocean rather than manure heaps. And I like to walk for miles along the open beach instead of hopping over gates and stiles to cross fields.'

  'Are you getting nostalgic for your cottage in Cornwall?'

  'I think I must be.'

  'But there's a lot going on in London. The summer festival starts soon. There'll be jazz concerts in the parks.'

  'And in Cornwall the deep lanes will be like cloisters, overhung with trees, and the banks heavy with flowers and blossom.'

  'And nose to tail with cars. And the beaches crowded with tourists.'

  'Not in my cove,' he said positively.

  'Your cove! Hark at the man.'

  His hand closed over hers. 'If I go to Cornwall, will you come with me?'

  Turning her head, Tasha studied his face. 'As a friend?' 'Yes—and as a lover.'

  'As your mistress.' There was a faintly disparaging note in her voice.

  'No. As a lover. An equal partner in a wonderful experience.'

  She gave a small smile. 'Will it be wonderful?'

  'Oh, yes,' he said with sincerity. 'I guarantee it.'

  She hesitated a moment, then said, 'When are you going and for how long?'

  Hope soared. 'As soon as you like and for as long as you like.'

  'It would be nice to get out of London for a while,' Tasha said on a wistful note. 'But I'm so busy with my programme.'

  'You could spare a few days.'

  She smiled, her eyes on his face. 'Could I?'

  'Mmm.' She had this knack of studying him with such warmth in her eyes that it was like a caress. And with that little teasing smile on her lips so that he was never sure what she was thinking. 'Would you like a preview?'

  Her brows rose. 'Of what it would be like at your cottage?'

  'Of what we would do there, yes.'

  Her gaze grew very innocent. 'You mean walking on the beach, and that kind of thing?'

  'No, I meant lying on the bed—and that kind of thing.'

  'Oh!' She pretended to understand. Then filled him with delighted surprise when she added, 'You mean this.' And, pushing him back on the settee, she kissed him and began to undo his shirt.

  Her hands roved delicately over him, so cool against his suddenly over-heated skin. She explored freely, caressing his tiny nipples, curling the hairs on his chest round her fingers. He loved every second of it and squirmed when she found that he was ticklish. Tasha laughed. 'So I've found your weak spot, have I?'

  'I'm afraid I have a great many weak spots where you're concerned.'

  ‘Really? And is this another one?' She was half lying over him and lowered herself a little so that she could kiss his neck, the line of his strong jaw, the minute cleft in his chin. Brett stood that easily enough but then she moved on down and her tongue trailed across his chest until it found his nipple. He groaned then and clumsily reached to pull off her blouse, but she lifted her head and said huskily, 'No, this is just for you.'

  So he lay back and let her caress him, his senses burning, on fire, his skin trembling where she touched him, kissed him. His body was fiercely aroused and his fingers dug into her hips as he held her. Tremor after tremor of awareness ran through him, and he groaned as she gently bit him. To have her kiss him, toy with him like this, when he knew that she wouldn't let him touch her in return or let him make love to her, was an exquisite torture. Overwhelming pleasure mixed with the most terrible sexual frustration. He felt like a toy, a plaything, an inanimate object that longed to spring to life.

  At last she lifted herself and kissed his mouth. Brett grabbed her and held her head as he kissed her passionately in return. 'Come to Cornwall,' he said against her mouth. 'Oh, God, you've got to come. You're driving me mad. Crazy!
I want you so much, so much.'

  Lifting her head, Tasha looked at his lean, hungry face. 'All right.'

  He hugged her in exuberant joy and relief. 'When?'

  'Soon.'

  Beyond that she wouldn't go; he could get no definite date out of her. And soon she stood up and said pointedly, 'Would you like another drink before you go?'

  Brett groaned. 'Are you throwing me out?'

  'I want to write up the notes on my interview while it's still fresh in my mind. Decide how I'm going to handle it.'

  He sighed, stood up and pulled on his shirt. 'Will I see you tomorrow?'

  'No, I have a date.'

  'Male or female?'

  Tasha smiled. 'Do I ask you who you see?'

  'No—but I wish you would.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I want you to be very, very jealous,' Brett said feelingly.

  She came and put her arms round his neck, ran her fingers through his hair. 'Have I reason to be jealous?'

  For a moment he was tempted to make up a girlfriend, an old flame or something, but then knew that she wouldn't believe him. 'No,' he growled. 'You know darn well you haven't.' He looked at her keenly. 'Have I?'

  She moved away from him and her voice was cool as she said, 'I'm seeing an old friend that I used to work with. A gir/friend. We meet up every couple of months.'

  'Will you tell her about me?'

  Her mouth twisted in amusement. 'Perhaps.' 'What will you tell her?'

  Tasha laughed openly. 'That you're a man—but I'm trying to turn you into a civilised human being.'

  'Ouch.' He picked up her hand, kissed it, his eyes on her face, then asked a question he knew he shouldn't, but couldn't resist. 'Do you ever run into the man you were seeing before me?'

  'No.' She shook her head, but there was a wary look in her eyes.

  'Who was he?'

  'No one of any importance.'

  He frowned. 'Was he ever—important?'

  'Goodnight, Brett.'

  He saw that she wasn't going to answer him, that he would never know if she'd been to bed with this other man. Provoked, he said, 'I could almost feel sorry for him, if he felt for you as I feel.'

  Tasha's voice hardened a little. 'If he wanted me as much as you do, you mean?'

  'Yes, I suppose so. Did he?'

  She turned away and walked to the door to open it for him, said again, 'Goodnight, Brett.'

  Picking up his jacket, he slung it over his shoulder and walked over to her. 'So when will I see you?'

  She shrugged. 'I'm pretty busy at the moment.'

  He paused, looking into her face, then said softly but with intense feeling, 'Don't punish me because I want you, Tasha. You know it's beyond my control.'

  Her eyes softened and she reached up to kiss him.

  Holding her afterwards, Brett said, 'You say you want to get to know me, but you tell me so little about yourself. I sometimes feel that I know nothing about you.'

  She gave him a contemplative look, then said, 'Are you free on Wednesday. I'll take you out.'

  'Where?'

  'It's a surprise.'

  He gave a mock groan. 'I'm becoming waiy of your surprises.'

  But on the whole he was greatly pleased with the way the day had gone. Her television project was at last out in the open, even though Tasha had told him little about it. He would be able to talk to her now, try and get her to confide in him even more. He would dearly like to know who she'd seen today and why it had made her so overwhelmingly angry. But he hadn't wasted his time while Tasha had been doing the interview; he'd asked a few casual questions in the village pub and found out the name of the owner of the house. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out the maiden name of his wife, and that should lead to her sister, the woman Tasha had met there. Brett still had plenty of connections in journalism, plenty of experience in ferreting out the information he wanted.

  And she had promised to go to Cornwall with him. His spirits soared at the thought of it. There, where they would be entirely alone, she would not only give her body to him, but he would be able to work on her, make her trust him, so that she told him all about the project, all he wanted to know. But his thoughts were mostly filled with the enormous anticipation of making love to her at last, of satisfying this dreadful ache of longing that drove nearly everything else out of his mind.

  Tasha's thoughts were on Cornwall, too, as the next day she took a cab to the wine-bar where she'd arranged to meet her friend, Sarah. They hugged, and talked first about Sarah's live-in boyfriend for a while.

  'How long has it been now?' Tasha asked.

  'Almost two years.'

  'And you and Clyde are still happy just living together?'

  Sarah hesitated, then said, 'Actually, I wouldn't mind getting married. I feel that we've been together long enough to know that we're really compatible, in every way. And I'd like to start a family.'

  'Getting broody?' Tasha said sympathetically.

  'I suppose I must be. My sister had a baby not long ago, a little boy, and he's so beautiful, Tasha.'

  'What does Clyde say?'

  A frown came into Sarah's eyes. 'He thinks there's still plenty of time. And he isn't keen on getting saddled with a huge mortgage for a house. But, like I said to him, I would still be working. Even if we had a baby, I would still go back to work afterwards.'

  Tasha studied her face for a moment, noted the obstinate look to Sarah's mouth. 'Maybe it might be better not to push too hard,' she suggested. 'You might grow out of these feelings in a while.'

  'I don't think so. And anyway, if he really loved me he'd want to marry me.'

  'Maybe he doesn't feel ready yet.'

  'What difference would it make? We're as good as married already.'

  'So why bother to get married, then?'

  Sarah stared at her. 'That's what Clyde says. But I'd like to be married before I have a baby.'

  'So work on him gently. Make him think it's a good idea too.'

  She tried to persuade her further, and they were on to their food before they got round to talking about Tasha. 'Who are you dating?' Sarah finally asked. 'Is it still the painter?'

  'No, someone new. He's a writer.'

  Sarah smiled. 'All these artistic types you go for. What's he like?'

  'Nice. A bit special.'

  'Really? Tell me about him.'

  'He's quite good-looking in a tough kind of way. Very self-possessed. Very masculine.'

  'And head-over-heels in love with you, I suppose. They usually are.'

  'He wants me,' Tasha admitted.

  'What man doesn't? But do you want him?'

  'Definitely.'

  Sarah's eyebrows rose. "That sounds very decisive. Have you done anything about it?'

  'Not yet. It's too soon.'

  But Tasha smiled as she said it, her eyes warm, and Sarah gave her a long look. 'Be careful, Tasha, this man sounds as if he could do serious damage.'

  Tasha frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  'I mean that he could damage your heart—if you let him.'

  'I think that might be a risk I'll have to take.' But she smiled again as she said it.

  Brett had no idea what to expect when Tasha took him out on the following Wednesday, but fully expected it to be something energetic. So he was genuinely surprised when she took him to—of all places—the circus. The big top was set up on a huge piece of common land on the outskirts of a town to the north of London, a little apart from a traditional funfair full of stalls and rides: everything from coconut shies to a ghost train. They wandered round these first, Tasha insisting that Brett try his hand at several of the stalls. He did best at the rifle range and won her a prize.

  'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'That was brilliant. Where did you learn to shoot?'

  It had been while covering a war for a newspaper, but Brett wasn't about to tell her that. 'Sign of a misspent youth,' he said flippantly. 'What prize would you like?' He looked along the shelves lined with white bunni
es, cuddly teddies and adorable dogs. 'It looks like a furry animal or a furry animal.'

  He fully expected her to pick one of those but instead Tasha pointed to a green frog with a big mouth that wasn't at all appealing. TU have that one.'

  As they walked away from the stall he said, 'Why that one?'

  Holding up the frog, Tasha looked at it consideringly. 'It reminds me of someone.'

  'God, I hope it isn't me!'

  That made her laugh. 'Which one do you think should have reminded me of you? A teddy bear? Or perhaps the lion? Or the rabbit?'

  He gave her a playful punch on the nose. 'Watch it, Briant.'

  'No, tell me—which one?'

  'Do you take teddy bears to bed with you?'

  So this time she gave him a punch on the nose.

  They had ringside seats for the circus, and as he sat down Brett saw that they were surrounded by families, most of them with fairly young children. He felt out of place and wondered what the hell they were doing there. He was used to the old-fashioned type of circus with performing animals: lions and tigers in their cage with a loin-clothed trainer, or elephants that could stand on their hind legs. But wild animals were no longer a part of the modern circus and he expected the performance to be flat, bland and unexciting. But the show horses were still there, cantering on in their glittering panoply of plumes and jewelled harness, and soon he found that he was enjoying himself.

  The clowns were marvellous and soon had everyone laughing, especially the children. One of them, dressed in a green outfit and with great, white-painted eyes and a wide mouth, seemed to notice them and do most of his antics in their part of the ring. And at the end of the show, in the grand finale, he took a bunch of flowers, that seemed to have grown out of his hat, and presented them to Tasha. She took them with a big smile, then kissed the frog Brett had won for her and gave it to the clown.

  Brett stared. Now he knew who the frog had reminded her of. He gave her an amazed, questioning look but Tasha was watching the ring and waving as the performers, the clowns bringing up the rear, filed out of sight. 'Another friend?' he asked as they stood up and followed the slow-moving audience from the big top.