Read Online And No Regrets by Rosalind Brett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosalind Brett
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we didn’t care a damn.” He took a cigarette from his case and slipped it between his lips. “Why don’t you say if you’re frightened?”
“ You don’t like me to be frightened of things,” she managed, quite brightly. “And as it happens I’m not, this time.”
H e flicked his lighter, then blew a firm jet of smoke.
“ You’re dying to see the back of me, aren’t you?” he said.
S he swayed at the words. Oh, God, she had never felt like this in her life ! “ Please go, Ross.” Sharpness threaded her voice.
H e turned, went down the steps, leaving his cigarette smoke to smart her heavy eyes. “Well, if you’re determined not to go a little way with me, then I’ll be off.” He swung himself into the lorry. “You’ll take every care?”
S he nodded.
“ So long, then.” She saw the flash of his eyes, their queer mixture of anger and perplexity.
“ Goodbye,” she called out, and watched the lorry lurch out on to the track and rock along the first precipitous half-mile. Soon it was out of sight and sound, and now that her anxiety lest he should touch even her hand and guess her temperature was gone, she felt unreasonably chagrined that he should have accepted her distant farewell.
S he walked slowly back to the living-room, turned out the lamp and groped her way into her bedroom. Her head was reeling.
F or three days she sweated and dozed in a faint delirium from which she emerged at intervals to absorb far too much quinine in an effort to throw off all traces of the bout before Ross’s return. On the fourth day her temperature went down, but she was too weak to move. On the fifth day she got up for a few hours in the evening, and on the sixth resumed her normal rising hour, feeling shaky and suffering the unpleasant after-effects of too much quinine.
N ow her brain felt light and clear. The fever had been frightening because she had had to suffer it alone, but now she could think clearly again, she was dismayed at the way she and Ross had parted for these ten days. He had been angry ... coldly, aloofly angry, the worst sort with him.
S he sighed and curled down among the cushions of the lounger with the only puppy left out of Edwina s litter. Ross had had to destroy the others the day before his departure; he had no doubt gone off thinking she was sulking with him over the puppies. She had been distressed at the time, but she had known that it had been necessary to put the weak little things out of their misery.
S he caressed the soft coat of the puppy who had proved the hardiest, and as he made contented little noises, she smiled to herself. “We’ll have to call this little guy Lucky,” Ross had said with that mock-tender grin of his. In a gay mood, she occasionally glimpsed gentleness in him; felt that nuggets of tenderness might be buried in that aggressive heart of his, but if she so much as lifted a tentative probing finger, he would say things most calculated to make her bristle. Though there were times when she was almost madly happy—as on walks in the bush by night when he held her close beside him in comradeship without passion, or when their eyes met over some shared joke—she despaired of ever reaching his innermost corners. That could only happen in the improbable event of his feelings towards her becoming those of love...
T he following day, feeling much more energetic, she decided to have a look at Ross’s clothes to make sure there were no moths or other pests worming their way into the material.
S he went into his bedroom, her nostrils tensing at his lingering cigarette smoke, and opened the closet in which he kept his suits and jackets, etc. One by one she gave them a thorough shaking ... and it was out of a pocket of his white dinner-jacket that the small square of chiffon drifted like a cloud. Clare bent to pick it up, recalling that Ross had last worn this jacket the evening they had quarrelled here in his room. The other times he had worn it had been at
“ You don’t like me to be frightened of things,” she managed, quite brightly. “And as it happens I’m not, this time.”
H e flicked his lighter, then blew a firm jet of smoke.
“ You’re dying to see the back of me, aren’t you?” he said.
S he swayed at the words. Oh, God, she had never felt like this in her life ! “ Please go, Ross.” Sharpness threaded her voice.
H e turned, went down the steps, leaving his cigarette smoke to smart her heavy eyes. “Well, if you’re determined not to go a little way with me, then I’ll be off.” He swung himself into the lorry. “You’ll take every care?”
S he nodded.
“ So long, then.” She saw the flash of his eyes, their queer mixture of anger and perplexity.
“ Goodbye,” she called out, and watched the lorry lurch out on to the track and rock along the first precipitous half-mile. Soon it was out of sight and sound, and now that her anxiety lest he should touch even her hand and guess her temperature was gone, she felt unreasonably chagrined that he should have accepted her distant farewell.
S he walked slowly back to the living-room, turned out the lamp and groped her way into her bedroom. Her head was reeling.
F or three days she sweated and dozed in a faint delirium from which she emerged at intervals to absorb far too much quinine in an effort to throw off all traces of the bout before Ross’s return. On the fourth day her temperature went down, but she was too weak to move. On the fifth day she got up for a few hours in the evening, and on the sixth resumed her normal rising hour, feeling shaky and suffering the unpleasant after-effects of too much quinine.
N ow her brain felt light and clear. The fever had been frightening because she had had to suffer it alone, but now she could think clearly again, she was dismayed at the way she and Ross had parted for these ten days. He had been angry ... coldly, aloofly angry, the worst sort with him.
S he sighed and curled down among the cushions of the lounger with the only puppy left out of Edwina s litter. Ross had had to destroy the others the day before his departure; he had no doubt gone off thinking she was sulking with him over the puppies. She had been distressed at the time, but she had known that it had been necessary to put the weak little things out of their misery.
S he caressed the soft coat of the puppy who had proved the hardiest, and as he made contented little noises, she smiled to herself. “We’ll have to call this little guy Lucky,” Ross had said with that mock-tender grin of his. In a gay mood, she occasionally glimpsed gentleness in him; felt that nuggets of tenderness might be buried in that aggressive heart of his, but if she so much as lifted a tentative probing finger, he would say things most calculated to make her bristle. Though there were times when she was almost madly happy—as on walks in the bush by night when he held her close beside him in comradeship without passion, or when their eyes met over some shared joke—she despaired of ever reaching his innermost corners. That could only happen in the improbable event of his feelings towards her becoming those of love...
T he following day, feeling much more energetic, she decided to have a look at Ross’s clothes to make sure there were no moths or other pests worming their way into the material.
S he went into his bedroom, her nostrils tensing at his lingering cigarette smoke, and opened the closet in which he kept his suits and jackets, etc. One by one she gave them a thorough shaking ... and it was out of a pocket of his white dinner-jacket that the small square of chiffon drifted like a cloud. Clare bent to pick it up, recalling that Ross had last worn this jacket the evening they had quarrelled here in his room. The other times he had worn it had been at
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