Red Rose For Love

When he kissed her goodnight he never took advantage of her eagerness, another clever move on his part, she now realised. She would have run a mile if she had known of his true interest regarding her.

She could still remember that last painful scene between them, when she had learnt exactly what Carl wanted from her.

They had been seeing each other for about two months by this time, meeting one or two evenings a week. Carl often took her to dinner after she had finished work. By this time she was so much in love with him, with his confidence, his maturity, that when he had told her he had a present for her, a surprise present, she had instantly thought of an engagement ring, of marriage.

‘I’ve found you an apartment,’ he told her once they were out in his car, a Porsche, its sleek lines telling of its price. Carl told her he had had it custom-built, and she could believe that; the car was the last thing in luxury.

She had blinked up at him dazedly. ‘An apartment?’

‘Mm,’ he nodded, his smile at its most persuasive, his handsome face flushed with pleasure. ‘Somewhere we can go to be alone.’

‘But——’ she frowned, her disappointment about the engagement ring very acute, ‘I already have an apartment.’

‘With four other girls!’ he scoffed. ‘I said somewhere we can be alone, Eve. And I do want to be alone with you, darling,’ his hand came out to grasp her thigh, his fingers lightly caressing through the thin material of her skirt. ‘Completely alone,’ he added throatily.

‘But I can’t afford an apartment of my own.’ Surely he wasn’t suggesting they moved in together! It might be prudish, and totally out of fashion, but she believed a wedding should come before she lived with any man.

Carl turned to smile at her. ‘The rent’s very cheap, darling,’ he assured her. ‘And it means I’ll be able to visit you there whenever I can get away from the office.’

‘And when I’m not at work myself,’ she put in worriedly, a little overwhelmed with the speed with which things were moving. So far she had only received goodnight kisses, and now it seemed Carl intended spending a lot of time with her in the privacy of an apartment he had found for her.

Nevertheless, she had been delighted with the apartment, with its location overlooking the river, with the furniture Carl assured her came in with the modest rent. The rent had finally been the deciding point, that and the way Carl had made love to her more intimately than any other man. She had made an embarrassed comment about the size of the bed that occupied the only bedroom, and Carl had wanted to demonstrate that it was only just big enough—for the two of them.

She had only panicked when it seemed he wasn’t going to bring an end to their caresses until they had made love fully, and she pulled out of his arms to get up from the bed. Carl had laughed throatily, lying back on the bed to watch her with taunting eyes.

She should have realised then, should have known his intention was to share the apartment with her when he could get away from his wife.

She had had no knowledge of Carl’s being married, had been shocked to the core when he had arrived at the apartment a couple of days later informing her that he could spend the evening with her as his wife had gone to her parents’ and taken the children with her.

Eve had been aghast, horror-stricken with the easy way he told her of his wife and children.

‘But I thought you loved me,’ she choked. ‘I thought you wanted to marry me.’

His mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘Marry you?’ he scorned. ‘Men like me don’t marry girls like you.’

‘Girls like me…?’ she echoed faintly.

‘Oh, come on, darling,’ he smiled mockingly. ‘You knew what I was after from the first, you just held back because you wanted more for what you’re about to give me.’

‘Get out of here!’ she screamed at him. ‘Get out and don’t come back.’ She turned away, deep sobs racking her body. Married! Carl was married!

He swung her round, his handsome face now an ugly mask, his blue eyes scornful. ‘If anyone goes, Eve,’ he snarled, ‘it will be you. This happens to be my apartment.’

All colour left her face. ‘Y-Yours? But I—I pay the rent. I——’

His mocking laughter cut her off mid-sentence. ‘Rent! You call that pittance you pay rent?’

‘Well, yes. I——’

‘Grow up, Eve,’ he scorned. ‘An apartment in this area, this apartment, would cost ten times what you’re paying.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘Don’t be difficult, darling,’ his lips were at her throat. ‘Let’s not waste any more of the evening arguing——’

Eve struggled to escape from the arms that were suddenly repugnant to her. ‘That woman——’ she breathed. ‘The one you were with that first evening——’

‘My wife,’ he said impatiently, his hands pulling at the blouse she wore with a black flower-print skirt, ripping the silky material in his haste.

Eve felt sick, swallowing down the nausea. ‘Let me go!’ she pushed at his arms ineffectually, feeling her blouse rip even further as Carl became increasingly angry with her. ‘Let me go, Carl!’ she choked, deathly white.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ He suddenly thrust her away from him. ‘You knew the score the day you decided to move in here. Oh, I know you like to keep up an act——’

‘Act?’ she repeated faintly, slumping down on to the sofa, pulling her torn blouse over her lace-covered breasts, colour flooding her cheeks as Carl clearly mocked the action.

‘The act of the sweet little virgin,’ his mouth twisted. ‘The Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth act,’ he scoffed.

Eve looked up at him with pained eyes, wondering how she had ever thought herself in love with this monster of a man, a man devoid of all sensitivity, a man who cared nothing for her as a person but only wanted her body, inexperienced as it was.

‘How can you say that?’ she gasped. ‘I am a virgin.’

‘I know that, Eve,’ he taunted. ‘But you weren’t exactly backward in coming forward the last time we were here together.’ He sat down on the sofa beside her, pulling her determinedly towards him. ‘You’re a passionate little thing,’ he mocked, ‘and after a few more lessons from me you might be able to please me as much as I please you.’ He laughed softly, standing up to lift her effortlessly into his arms and walk purposefully into the bedroom. ‘I think it’s time you had another lesson. You might be less prudish afterwards.’

‘No!’ She pushed at him, his arms tightening like steel bands about her. Carl was surprisingly strong, well muscled, and kept that way by a work-out in a gymnasium three times a week. Now he exerted that strength, throwing her down on the bed and swiftly following her, holding her down with his leg over hers, his arm across her breasts as his mouth plundered hers.

Eve felt nauseous, fighting him for all she was worth. But he wouldn’t stop, and his hands quickly dispensed with her clothes, much to her shame and embarrassment. When his mouth moved to her breasts she knew she couldn’t stand it any more, and her nails dug into his back. Carl stiffened, groaning in his throat, finding pleasure in the pain she was inflicting.

‘You’re learning,’ he chuckled throatily. ‘I like that,’ he moaned. ‘Do it again, little wildcat.’

She felt like screaming, almost hysterical by this time, and her hand went up to scrape her nails down his tanned cheek.

He sprang back in pain, his hand going up to his face. ‘You little bitch!’ His face contorted viciously, his hand coming away from his cheek covered in blood, four livid scratches marring his skin, blood still slowly seeping down his bronzed cheek. ‘You little bitch,’ he repeated, and his hand came out to land painfully against the side of her face.

‘Carl…!’ She cringed back against the pillows, terrified of the burning anger that tautened every muscle of his body.

‘Yes—Carl,’ he snarled. ‘How the hell do you suppose I’m going to explain these scratches to my wife?’ He took her by the shoulders. ‘You stupid damned bitch! Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ He flung her back against the pillows. ‘Well, you’ll pay for it now!’

What had followed had been the most humiliating experience of her life. Her body had been subjected to Carl’s lovemaking in the most brutal way possible, her brain numbed, the bruises on her body and mind not felt until much later.

When he had finished with her he stood up to dress, not even looking at her as she huddled beneath the sheet, her body bruised all over from his rough treatment of her.

He knotted his tie with meticulous care, once again the debonair man he had been when he arrived an hour ago. God, she thought, had it only been an hour! It had seemed like an endless nightmare, leaving her with her body violated. But the scratches she had given him made him a marked man.

He seemed to think so too, as he studied them in the mirror, a dark scowl to his face. ‘Helen will give me hell about this,’ he muttered furiously, turning to glare at Eve. ‘What the hell am I supposed to tell her?’

She was sobbing quietly, feeling as if her body were unclean. ‘Why don’t you tell her the truth?’ she said dully.

He gave a tight smile. ‘That a little wildcat scratched me? I think she’ll guess that. It wasn’t a very wise thing to do, Eve, Helen’s family have some important connections. I’ll have to do penance for weeks to make up for this.’ He sat down on the bed, lightly touching her cheek before she flinched away. ‘It probably means I won’t be able to see you for a few weeks, just until the hue and cry dies down.’

Eve recoiled from his touch, her disgust for him evident in her eyes. ‘You mean you—you intend coming back here?’

‘Of course,’ he laughed throatily. ‘You were a bit rough tonight, Eve, but I liked it.’

‘I was rough?’ she gasped.

‘Okay, I was too,’ he shrugged. ‘But you started it.’ He kissed her hard on the mouth before standing up. ‘I’ll call you when I can manage to get away. Take care, hmm?’ He walked confidently out of the room.

‘Carl…?’ she called after him, but he seemed not to hear her, and the door closed quietly as he left.

How long she lay there in frozen silence she never afterwards knew, and then suddenly she began to cry, deep pain-racked sobs that shook her whole body.

And her humiliation hadn’t been over either; there had been much more to come, humiliation of another kind this time.

She had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, just too weary to leave at that time, confident in the knowledge that Carl wouldn’t be back tonight. She had been woken by the insistent ringing of the doorbell, and pulled on her robe and went to answer the door. It couldn’t be Carl; he would never ring, she had discovered yesterday that he had his own key.

A delivery boy stood outside, a huge bouquet of red roses in his hand. ‘Miss Meredith?’ he asked brightly.

She clutched her robe to her, aware of how bedraggled she must look, the cut and swelling on the side of her mouth making it look as if someone had punched her, bruises on her arms and throat.

‘Yes?’ Her voice came out husky, her throat sore from all the crying she had done during the night; she seemed to have cried even in her sleep.

‘These are for you.’ The boy held out the roses, waiting expectantly.

Eve took them dazedly, turning back into the room to find her purse, handing the boy a tip before slowly closing the door.

The roses were from Carl, of course, an apology for his behaviour the night before. ‘Sorry, darling,’ the card read. ‘I love you. Call you soon.’

He loved her, after the way he had treated her? His idea of love and hers differed greatly, and the sooner she got away from him and out of this apartment the better she would feel. She left the roses on the table untouched, then called Rosemary, one of her old roommates.

Of course she could sleep over with them, Rosemary had assured her, although she would have to sleep on the sofa, as they had already let her old room. Eve hadn’t cared where she slept, it could have been on the floor for all she cared, as long as it wasn’t in this apartment, like the kept woman she undoubtedly was.

She was halfway through packing when she heard the key in the lock. Carl! Heavens, he was back already! What was she going to say to him? What could she do?

She wiped her hands nervously down her denims, looking very young and vulnerable as she walked out into the lounge. She gasped as she saw the woman who stood there. Helen Prentiss, Carl’s wife!

The woman turned, cool blue eyes raking over Eve’s casual appearance with obvious disdain. Her own appearance was impeccable, from her sleek shoulder-length hair to the pale blue leather shoes that exactly matched the colour of the fitted blue dress she wore.

She arched an eyebrow at Eve, glancing fleetingly at the roses, her mouth twisting derisively. ‘Miss Meredith?’ she drawled, her voice huskily attractive, her precise English accent obviously acquired at a private school.

Eve licked her lips, wondering when this nightmare was going to end, or if indeed it ever would. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed shakily.

Helen Prentiss picked up the card that lay beside the roses. ‘So I see,’ she scorned. ‘He’s sorry?’ she said with amusement. ‘After the mess you made of his face I would have thought you would be the contrite one.’ Hard blue eyes suddenly probed Eve’s pale face. ‘You’re the one who did that to Carl, aren’t you? My God,’ she gave an abrupt laugh, ‘don’t tell me he’s cheated on both of us!’

‘No,’ Eve bit her bottom lip, ‘I—I did it.’

‘Really?’ Those hard blue eyes narrowed, a frown marring the beautiful face. ‘Strange, you don’t look the violent type. Oh well,’ she shrugged in a bored voice, ‘you never can tell. Would you mind if I sat down?’ she asked calmly.

‘I—No. Go ahead,’ Eve invited awkwardly.

The other woman did so, crossing one shapely leg over the other. She was a really beautiful woman, aged about thirty, and Eve couldn’t understand why Carl felt the need to be unfaithful to her.

Helen Prentiss looked up at her. ‘Now what do you intend to do about my husband?’

Again Eve licked her dry lips. ‘D-Do?’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

The other woman sighed. ‘How old are you, my dear?’

‘Almost twenty,’ she answered awkwardly.

‘You’re the youngest to date,’ Helen Prentiss drawled in that bored voice.

‘Youngest…?’ Eve repeated dazedly.

‘Yes.’ The other woman gave an amused laugh. ‘You don’t think you’re the first, do you?’

‘I—Well, I—I hadn’t——’

‘Hadn’t thought about it,’ the other woman finished dryly. ‘Well, to my knowledge you’re the sixth one in this apartment.’

Oh God! Eve dropped into a chair, feeling suddenly faint. She wasn’t even the first woman Carl had kept in this way, she was just one in a long line, although by the determined tilt of Helen Prentiss’s chin she could be the last.

She frowned. ‘Don’t you mind?’

Helen Prentiss shrugged. ‘The first dozen or so times I did, now I’m past caring. But I have the children to think of. I wouldn’t want them to know what a bastard their father is.’

‘I—How old are they, your children?’

‘Nine, six, and four. The last two were attempts at reconciliations,’ Helen explained bitterly. ‘Not very successful ones.’ She snapped open her handbag, and took out her cheque-book. ‘Now, how much do you want to disappear from my husband’s life?’ She held a gold pen poised ready to write.

Eve went even paler, standing agitatedly to her feet. ‘I don’t want any money,’ she choked. ‘I’m leaving anyway. I was just packing when you arrived.’

‘Very well.’ Helen Prentiss put the cheque-book away, standing gracefully to her feet. She stopped at the door, her expression softening somewhat. ‘I’m sorry I had to do this, Miss Meredith.’

She shook her head. ‘You didn’t do anything—I told you, I was leaving anyway.’

Helen Prentiss nodded, her blue eyes shadowed. ‘He’s a brute, isn’t he?’ she said resignedly, and left as silently as she had arrived.

Eve must have broken all records packing her suitcase and leaving that hateful apartment. Carl had telephoned her several times at the flat, had even come round himself once, only to be turned away by an angry Rosemary.

Yes, she had learnt her lesson about men the hard way, but she had learnt it.

And now she had another spoilt rich man pursuing her, a man who also sent red roses. But Bartholomew Jordan wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, she would make very sure of that.

CHAPTER THREE

EVE slept in late the next morning as Derek had said she could, spending a leisurely hour in the bath once she got up. Would Bartholomew Jordan be there again tonight? She had a feeling he would be.

The roses arrived as usual, signed ‘Bart?’ this time. She had to admire his nerve!

Yes, he was there as she began the concert, his behaviour exactly the same as before, those steady green eyes enigmatic as he watched her. This time he stayed for the full concert, getting up and leaving only as the rest of the audience applauded.

Eve had felt better tonight, although the feeling of weakness once again washed over her as she left the stage, and that cold clammy feeling was back. Derek caught her as she swayed.

‘What is it?’ he asked worriedly, looking down at her pale face.

‘I—I don’t know,’ she managed to murmur through suddenly stiff lips, the world suddenly seeming very far away, everything looking as if it was at the far end of a telescope. ‘I feel—weird.’

‘I would say Miss Meredith is suffering from strain.’ Bartholomew Jordan spoke authoritatively from behind them, instantly taking charge of the situation. ‘Have my car brought round to the back entrance,’ he ordered Derek. ‘I’m taking Eve home.’

‘No!’ She struggled to free herself as Bartholomew Jordan took over her support, his arm about her waist as he led her effortlessly down to her dressing-room. ‘My car should be here in a moment,’ he told her as he lowered her into a chair, his quick gaze taking in everything about the room at a glance, the roses he had sent still in their Cellophane wrapping.

Her legs and arms felt so heavy, her whole body lethargic, the world fading and returning in waves. She was even too weary to fight this man as he seemed to take control, of her and the situation.

He came down on his haunches in front of her, rubbing her chilled hands, very attractive in a dark evening suit that made his hair appear even more golden, his tan even deeper. ‘How long have you been like this?’ he demanded in that husky voice that spoke of authority.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to be taking over her brain. ‘I—Only just now,’ she licked her lips, their dryness making it difficult for her to speak. ‘I—I was fine—out there,’ she waved her hand in the general direction of the stage.

His eyes were narrowed to green slits. ‘You looked far from fine to me. You’ve been bordering on this collapse for days,’ he added grimly.

‘I didn’t collapse!’ she roused herself enough to protest. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Like hell you are!’ he exploded, standing up forcefully. ‘Derek had no business letting you continue in this state.’

Her eyes sparkled deeply blue as she fought back the fog that threatened to overtake her. ‘It wasn’t a case of “letting” me do anything, Mr Jordan. I’m twenty-five years of age, I control my own life, my own actions. And I can find my own way home!’

‘You can take your choice, Eve,’ he said hardly. ‘You either go by ambulance or in my car.’

‘I’m going by car——’

‘Then I’m taking you,’ he told her firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

‘I don’t want you to. I——’ Suddenly she started to cry, frowning surprise at her own weakness. What on earth was the matter with her? She never cried, never!

But she was crying now, the mascara that was supposed to be waterproof running in black streaks down her white cheeks. And she couldn’t stop herself, crying and crying, until her body shuddered with exhaustion.

Bartholomew Jordan grasped the tops of her arms and shook her gently. ‘Stop it, Eve,’ he ordered in a commanding voice. ‘Come on, pull yourself together.’

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