Sirocco

Nevertheless, there remained the niggling worry as to how he had found her. As she dried herself and dressed, in the cream shirt and slacks she had laid out before her bath, she could not explain that particular puzzle, however the sound of the doorbell dispelled all other considerations. Holding her breath, she waited for Jane to answer the door, and presently she heard the familiar sound of Roger's voice in the living room. Only then did she relax, putting a final touch of eyeshadow at the corners of her eyes before putting down her brush and going out to meet him.

Her first, infuriating impression was of how pale Roger looked compared to Alexis Roche, but hard on the heels of this came the more apposite realisation that he was nervous. He was a little above medium height and stockily built, and it was unusual to see him in anything but a confident position, however right now he looked distinctly uneasy.

‘Hello, Ray,’ he said, running uncertain fingers through the dark strands of his hair, and although she normally disliked his diminutive use of her name, Rachel was too relieved at his apparent diffidence to give it a second thought.

‘Hello, Roger,’ she responded, as Jane melted away into the kitchen, and shaking his head he moved towards her.

‘I'm sorry,’ he exclaimed, taking her shoulders and drawing her unresistingly towards him. ‘About last night, I mean. I was rotten, wasn't I? I've thought about it all day, wondering if you got home okay, wondering if you forgave me ...'

Suppressing the thought that if he had been so worried about her, why hadn't he rung, Rachel allowed him to cover her mouth with his. His kiss was warm, affectionate, a balm to her troubled emotions, and she responded to it eagerly. But although she linked her arms about his neck and parted her lips invitingly, Roger drew back after the briefest of caresses, murmuring: ‘Jane,’ with irritating insistence.

‘Jane's not in the room,’ protested Rachel impatiently, but although Roger assured himself of this fact, he did not pursue their embrace.

‘Laura and Steve are expecting us,’ he reminded her firmly, tightening the knot of his tie and adjusting the jacket of his suit. ‘We can talk later. Are you ready?'

Rachel shrugged and went to collect a warm tweed jacket to wear over her shirt and slacks. If only Roger wasn't so conscious of what other people might think, she thought irritably, checking the silky swirl of curls about her shoulders. Still, at least they were not at odds with one another. She ought to be grateful for that.

The evening spent with the Curtises should have been pleasant enough, but Rachel found she wasn't enjoying herself. Perhaps if she and Roger had been alone it would have been better, she thought. As it was, she was conscious of what had been said the night before, and conscious also of the fact that although Roger had apologised for his behaviour, he had not said anything about retracting his words. There was still the prospect of who was to arrange the wedding to resolve, and she wished she had put her pride aside and rung him this morning before he left for Sunningdale.

Driving back to the flat later, she determined to have it out with him, and taking a deep breath, she said: ‘We've been avoiding the subject all evening, but we have to talk about the wedding, Roger.'

‘I know.’ He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance her way. ‘I suppose that's why you've been so quiet, isn't it? I just wish you wouldn't involve other people in our affairs.'

Rachel blinked. ‘Involve other people?’ she echoed faintly. ‘I don't understand.'

‘I think you do.’ Roger was precise. ‘Last evening you walked out of the apartment, without even wishing our guests goodbye, and tonight you've done your best to make Steve and Laura feel uncomfortable.'

Rachel gasped. ‘How?'

‘Well, you've hardly opened your mouth all evening.'

‘You and Steve were talking. I was listening.'

‘You could have talked to Laura. Steve and I were talking about work. It can't have been of much interest to you.'

‘On the contrary,’ Rachel was indignant, ‘I was interested. After all, when we're married I'll expect you to discuss your work with me. Just as you do with your mother.'

‘My mother is my business partner,’ exclaimed Roger impatiently. ‘That's hardly the same thing.'

‘So you would rather I talked about knitting and cooking with Laura?'

‘Of course. They are the things women usually talk about, aren't they?'

‘No.’ Rachel dug her nails into her palms in an effort to control her temper. ‘Not these days, anyway. We talk about all sorts of things, and knitting and cooking are not my strong points.'

‘Laura's an excellent cook.'

‘I know it.'

‘So perhaps you should get some pointers from her.'

Rachel trembled. ‘Laura Curtis is an anachronism, Roger. She has no conversation at all outside domestic matters. All she thinks about is her home and her husband, and the child she's expecting.'

‘So?’ Roger was not prepared to concede. ‘What's wrong with that?'

Rachel tried to calm herself. ‘I thought you said we wouldn't be having any children—not immediately, anyway.'

‘We won't.’ Roger shrugged. ‘But that doesn't mean you can't show an interest in such things.'

‘Roger, I did show an interest. We talked about quotes female matters close quotes for fully an hour! After that, I just dried up.'

‘And you showed it.’ Roger snorted. ‘I was embarrassed.'

‘Were you?’ Rachel's lips tightened. ‘I'm afraid I didn't notice.'

‘Obviously not.’ He swung off the main thoroughfare into Oakwood Road. ‘Still, that's not really relevant to the real bone of contention between us, is it?'

‘No.’ Rachel looked down at her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. ‘Have you made up your mind about the wedding arrangements?'

Roger sighed, drawing the TR7 in to the kerb outside the Victorian apartment building where Rachel and Jane had their flat. ‘I should be asking you that question,’ he said levelly. ‘It really is up to you, I suppose. I just wish you would consider my mother's offer, that's all.'

‘I have considered it.’ Rachel made a determined effort to appeal to him. ‘Darling, can't you understand? I don't want your mother interfering in something which is essentially the bride's prerogative.'

‘I think it's supposed to be the bride's parents’ prerogative,’ remarked Roger pedantically. ‘And as we both know, your parents are unlikely to care how it's carried out.'

Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘Roger, if it's only a question of paying for a reception, my father can do that. As to the other arrangements—my dress, and so on—I do have friends, you know.'

‘But Mother wants this to be a special occasion,’ persisted Roger. ‘She wants to make it easy for you, can't you see that? She could book the reception, organise the food, arrange about the cake; and as for yours and the bridesmaid's dresses—well, we are in business, aren't we?'

Rachel took a deep breath. ‘I only want one bridesmaid, Roger, and that's Jane.'

‘Jane!’ Roger was scathing. ‘For heaven's sake, Ray, do you want to make the whole affair look ridiculous? Jane's fourteen stone if she's an ounce! What kind of a bridesmaid would she make?'

Rachel seethed. ‘The very best kind,’ she declared tautly. ‘I wouldn't dream of leaving her out—simply because your mother has some idea of having a troop of little flower girls to follow me out of church!'

‘There you go again!’ Roger's jaw jutted. ‘Just because Mother wants you to look your best, you're determined to thwart her. Why? Why, for heaven's sake? Sandra's little girls would look delicious in pink satin!'

‘Delicious!’ Rachel's lips curled. ‘Can you hear yourself, Roger? I don't want our wedding to be remembered because of its pretty appearance! Marriage is a serious commitment. It's a serious occasion. And I want Jane to be a witness, because she's the best friend I've got.'

‘Perhaps you should be marrying Jane, then,’ declared Roger childishly, and Rachel knew a blinding moment of anger.

‘Perhaps I should,’ she retorted, thrusting open her door and getting out. ‘Don't bother to come in. There's no point in us discussing this any further.'

‘Aw, Ray——’ Roger leant across the front seat, calling after her. ‘Ray, I didn't mean it. Come back! We haven't even kissed goodnight.'

‘Call me tomorrow,’ replied Rachel, over her shoulder, and she heard the car roar away as she inserted her key in the door.

The following day was Friday, and Rachel went to work with a feeling of resignation. Still, she consoled herself, whatever was said, the weekend was close enough to dispel any rumours, and perhaps by Monday someone else might have done something noteworthy.