had bruised only moments ago when he had shaken her. She looked up, her eyes still moist with tears. He was fastening the neck of the négligé with the ribbons attached to it, then a couple of buttons. His eyes were dark, unfathomable. Everything about him was strange. It was a tense and oddly intimate moment that held them both before he said, flicking away a tear that was falling,
‘Rest well—if you can,
Tara. I hope you will feel better tomorrow.’ He went to the door and opened it. ‘Good night, child,’ he said gruffly. ‘Try not to cry any more.’
And with those words he was gone, leaving her drained, exhausted, and in that mental state whereby she would have welcomed death and the blessed oblivion that it would give to her.
As was to be expected, sleep eluded her, but in spite of her deep misery and anguish of heart, there had come to her the realisation that her plight could have been a great deal worse.
Leon, though he was a callous brute in her eyes—and always would be—had not turned out to be the fearful rapist that he might have been. During the long dark hours of the night when the only sound was the throbbing of the boat’s engine, she had lain there thinking, her mind a turmoil of thoughts that flitted about, sometimes starkly isolated from one another, and at other times mingling into a tangled network which she could not hope to unravel.
Leon’s behaviour was the most isolated thought, and the most baffling. That he could have worked himself up into that state of passionate desire and then held back was well nigh a miracle to
Tara. His control must be incredible, for there was nothing to prevent his taking her. Moreover, he was well aware that, when her paroxysm of distress was at an ends he could be almost sure she would have come to him willingly, so great was his power over her, his ability to awaken in, her a hunger that would have to be appeased.
Her thoughts had switched quite naturally to what might have been—the wedding in the church, and bells pealing out, bringing women and children running from the nearby houses to see the glowing bride come from the church on the arm of her groom. She had known she would be conscious of this activity, and would revel in the fact that it was her those people had come to see, because it was her lovely day, the one day in her life that would be re-lived more than any other. There was the buffet at the best hotel in town, with the photographer there to make sure the cutting of the cake was recorded for the ‘Wedding Book’. And the toasts, the sincere wishes for their happiness. After that she would change, helped by Sue, and the car would take them to the airport from where they would fly to
Scotland ... for their honeymoon.... What were David’s emotions? she had wondered. He too would be lying awake, dwelling on what might have been.
Tara had cried out to him in the darkness of the cabin which was her prison, willing the message to reach him, telling him she still loved him, and that, one day, she would fight her way back to him.
Yes, escape was the next isolated thought that occupied her mind. She could not believe that her captor could keep her prisoner for very long. That he would make her marry him she was beginning to accept; and she knew too that, given the choice of being his wife or his pillow-friend, she would be bound to choose the former. And so it did seem that marriage to him was to be her fate—but she would escape eventually, and she prayed that the opportunity would come soon. Of course, she naturally cherished the hope that escape would come before she was forced into marriage, but the recollection of his methods up till now tended to dash this hope and send her into the depths of hopelessness and resignation. For he had been successful beyond belief in every move he had made.
The following morning she was up and dressed when he came to the cabin. He looked her over with a frown.
‘You’ve not slept,’ he
‘Rest well—if you can,
Tara. I hope you will feel better tomorrow.’ He went to the door and opened it. ‘Good night, child,’ he said gruffly. ‘Try not to cry any more.’
And with those words he was gone, leaving her drained, exhausted, and in that mental state whereby she would have welcomed death and the blessed oblivion that it would give to her.
As was to be expected, sleep eluded her, but in spite of her deep misery and anguish of heart, there had come to her the realisation that her plight could have been a great deal worse.
Leon, though he was a callous brute in her eyes—and always would be—had not turned out to be the fearful rapist that he might have been. During the long dark hours of the night when the only sound was the throbbing of the boat’s engine, she had lain there thinking, her mind a turmoil of thoughts that flitted about, sometimes starkly isolated from one another, and at other times mingling into a tangled network which she could not hope to unravel.
Leon’s behaviour was the most isolated thought, and the most baffling. That he could have worked himself up into that state of passionate desire and then held back was well nigh a miracle to
Tara. His control must be incredible, for there was nothing to prevent his taking her. Moreover, he was well aware that, when her paroxysm of distress was at an ends he could be almost sure she would have come to him willingly, so great was his power over her, his ability to awaken in, her a hunger that would have to be appeased.
Her thoughts had switched quite naturally to what might have been—the wedding in the church, and bells pealing out, bringing women and children running from the nearby houses to see the glowing bride come from the church on the arm of her groom. She had known she would be conscious of this activity, and would revel in the fact that it was her those people had come to see, because it was her lovely day, the one day in her life that would be re-lived more than any other. There was the buffet at the best hotel in town, with the photographer there to make sure the cutting of the cake was recorded for the ‘Wedding Book’. And the toasts, the sincere wishes for their happiness. After that she would change, helped by Sue, and the car would take them to the airport from where they would fly to
Scotland ... for their honeymoon.... What were David’s emotions? she had wondered. He too would be lying awake, dwelling on what might have been.
Tara had cried out to him in the darkness of the cabin which was her prison, willing the message to reach him, telling him she still loved him, and that, one day, she would fight her way back to him.
Yes, escape was the next isolated thought that occupied her mind. She could not believe that her captor could keep her prisoner for very long. That he would make her marry him she was beginning to accept; and she knew too that, given the choice of being his wife or his pillow-friend, she would be bound to choose the former. And so it did seem that marriage to him was to be her fate—but she would escape eventually, and she prayed that the opportunity would come soon. Of course, she naturally cherished the hope that escape would come before she was forced into marriage, but the recollection of his methods up till now tended to dash this hope and send her into the depths of hopelessness and resignation. For he had been successful beyond belief in every move he had made.
The following morning she was up and dressed when he came to the cabin. He looked her over with a frown.
‘You’ve not slept,’ he
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