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Authors: Yvonne Whittal
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The white Jaguar purred down the long avenue of cypress
trees, but, when Anton slowed down at the gate, a young man, camera in
hand, leapt from the shrubbery. A light flashed blindingly, and Anton's
muttered 'Damn!' seemed to explode in her ears. The next instant she
was thrown back against the seat as he put his foot down on the
accelerator and swung the car into the road with a violence that made
the tyres squeal. The Jaguar seemed to thrive on this unexpected burst
of speed, but Laura, who had never been able to see the sense in
risking one's life in this manner, was pale and shaken when Anton
finally slowed down at the intersection several kilometres from
Bellavista.
'Sorry about that,' he said abruptly, affording her just
the briefest glance before they continued their journey at a more
acceptable speed.
They arrived early enough at The Strand to pick up a few
supplies, and then the final six-kilometre stretch to Gordon's Bay was
accomplished within a matter of minutes.
The cottage was not exactly what Laura had expected, but
it was nevertheless pleasing. An ivy creeper trailed along the
whitewashed walls, and a small verandah offered an excellent view of
the beach. The interior was sparsely, yet comfortably furnished, and
while Anton carried in their supplies and suitcases, Laura opened the
windows to alleviate the musty smell which had resulted from the
cottage being shut up for a length of time.
It was an ideal retreat, she realised, for someone like
Anton who obviously felt the need occasionally to escape from the
pressure of his work.
Laura wandered into the first of the two bedrooms for a
second time since her arrival, and her eyes inevitably strayed once
more towards the old-fashioned four-poster bed. She swallowed
convulsively, and fear returned with an intensity that forged a
paralysing numbness into her limbs. With no chair available, she
lowered herself gingerly on to the bed, and absently prodded the
mattress.
'The springs don't creak,' a mocking voice informed her
and, mortified, she leapt to her feet to see Anton placing their
suitcases at the foot of the bed. 'You'll have to make up the bed
yourself,' he added as he straightened. 'You'll find whatever you
require in the passage cupboard.'
The sounds of the sea filtered pleasantly into the room
through the open window, but Laura was aware of nothing else except her
growing fear of this man who was now her husband. She must have been
mad to contemplate a marriage such as this, she thought frantically as
she met the direct gaze of those steel-grey eyes. There was no
tender-ness in his glance for the woman he had married that afternoon,
only the cold, calculating hardness of a man summing up a newly
acquired possession, and assessing its worth.
'Anton, would you—'
'Would I what?' he demanded when she faltered helplessly.
'Give me a little time,' she pleaded in a choked voice.
'Please?'
'How much time do you need?' he asked, his eyebrows rising
sharply above those cold, heavy-lidded eyes. 'A month? A year, perhaps?
Or do you need the rest of our lives?'
She shook her head and swallowed nervously. 'Only until we
know each other a little better. Surely that's not asking too much?'
'I mean our marriage to start as I intend it to continue.'
'But, Anton—'
'No!' he interrupted harshly, closing the gap between them
with one long, lithe stride. His hands were heavy on her shoulders, and
her breathing felt oddly restricted when she felt his thumbs probing
the sensitive hollows above her collarbone. 'It's a hurdle that must be
crossed, Laura, and you won't find me an insensitive lover.'
'Don't!' she begged, suppressing a shudder at the
intolerable thought of being possessed by him, but, at the same time,
those caressing thumbs were sending a scintillating warmth flowing
along her veins which was not entirely unpleasant.
'I'm your husband, Laura,' he was saying, 'and before this
day has passed I'm going to be your lover.'
'No!'
'Accept it,' he
The white Jaguar purred down the long avenue of cypress
trees, but, when Anton slowed down at the gate, a young man, camera in
hand, leapt from the shrubbery. A light flashed blindingly, and Anton's
muttered 'Damn!' seemed to explode in her ears. The next instant she
was thrown back against the seat as he put his foot down on the
accelerator and swung the car into the road with a violence that made
the tyres squeal. The Jaguar seemed to thrive on this unexpected burst
of speed, but Laura, who had never been able to see the sense in
risking one's life in this manner, was pale and shaken when Anton
finally slowed down at the intersection several kilometres from
Bellavista.
'Sorry about that,' he said abruptly, affording her just
the briefest glance before they continued their journey at a more
acceptable speed.
They arrived early enough at The Strand to pick up a few
supplies, and then the final six-kilometre stretch to Gordon's Bay was
accomplished within a matter of minutes.
The cottage was not exactly what Laura had expected, but
it was nevertheless pleasing. An ivy creeper trailed along the
whitewashed walls, and a small verandah offered an excellent view of
the beach. The interior was sparsely, yet comfortably furnished, and
while Anton carried in their supplies and suitcases, Laura opened the
windows to alleviate the musty smell which had resulted from the
cottage being shut up for a length of time.
It was an ideal retreat, she realised, for someone like
Anton who obviously felt the need occasionally to escape from the
pressure of his work.
Laura wandered into the first of the two bedrooms for a
second time since her arrival, and her eyes inevitably strayed once
more towards the old-fashioned four-poster bed. She swallowed
convulsively, and fear returned with an intensity that forged a
paralysing numbness into her limbs. With no chair available, she
lowered herself gingerly on to the bed, and absently prodded the
mattress.
'The springs don't creak,' a mocking voice informed her
and, mortified, she leapt to her feet to see Anton placing their
suitcases at the foot of the bed. 'You'll have to make up the bed
yourself,' he added as he straightened. 'You'll find whatever you
require in the passage cupboard.'
The sounds of the sea filtered pleasantly into the room
through the open window, but Laura was aware of nothing else except her
growing fear of this man who was now her husband. She must have been
mad to contemplate a marriage such as this, she thought frantically as
she met the direct gaze of those steel-grey eyes. There was no
tender-ness in his glance for the woman he had married that afternoon,
only the cold, calculating hardness of a man summing up a newly
acquired possession, and assessing its worth.
'Anton, would you—'
'Would I what?' he demanded when she faltered helplessly.
'Give me a little time,' she pleaded in a choked voice.
'Please?'
'How much time do you need?' he asked, his eyebrows rising
sharply above those cold, heavy-lidded eyes. 'A month? A year, perhaps?
Or do you need the rest of our lives?'
She shook her head and swallowed nervously. 'Only until we
know each other a little better. Surely that's not asking too much?'
'I mean our marriage to start as I intend it to continue.'
'But, Anton—'
'No!' he interrupted harshly, closing the gap between them
with one long, lithe stride. His hands were heavy on her shoulders, and
her breathing felt oddly restricted when she felt his thumbs probing
the sensitive hollows above her collarbone. 'It's a hurdle that must be
crossed, Laura, and you won't find me an insensitive lover.'
'Don't!' she begged, suppressing a shudder at the
intolerable thought of being possessed by him, but, at the same time,
those caressing thumbs were sending a scintillating warmth flowing
along her veins which was not entirely unpleasant.
'I'm your husband, Laura,' he was saying, 'and before this
day has passed I'm going to be your lover.'
'No!'
'Accept it,' he
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