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A man, of course, would never have acted as she had done that evening. If he had seen Luke with another woman a week after getting engaged to someone else he would merely have grinned and admired his nerve and probably his stamina. He wouldn't have lost his temper and been rude to someone like Luke Doulton, he wouldn't have despised him or, if he had, he wouldn't have been open with his contempt, he would have hidden it and smiled like mad. He would have remembered how much he wanted that job and told himself that it was none of his business what Luke Doulton did; out of sight was out of mind, what the eye didn't see the heart didn't grieve over, and so long as Baba didn't find out she wouldn't get hurt. In these fraught situations a cliché was a great comfort, Judith thought, punching her pillow viciously and wishing it was Luke Doulton's head she was thumping.
It didn't make her feel any better to admit to herself that she had lost her temper or that Luke had been right, it was not her business. She wished to God she had never gone to that nightclub with Robert; she would never have seen Luke with Caroline, none of this would have happened and she would be starting work on Monday without a care in the world. Whatever vague suspicions she had had about Luke she would not have had them confirmed in such a graphic fashion, she wouldn't be asking herself what she was going to do when she saw Baba again; was she going to have to tell her the truth or lie? And—if she lied—how was she going to feel about that?
'You could simply forget it ever happened,' a little voice pointed out, inside her head. Oh, yes? Sounds simple, she retorted to it, but I don't happen to have a wipe-clean memory. From now on every time I see Baba I'm going to remember Luke with that other girl and I'm going to feel embarrassed and uneasy, so before long I'll be avoiding Baba like the plague because merely setting eyes on her is bothering me. And if I do tell her what a kingsize rat Luke Doulton is— Baba will be heartbroken, no doubt, and then she'll start avoiding me because I make her unhappy and she can't forgive me for telling her what she wishes she'd never known.
No, I'm trapped, she admitted, I can't move in any direction without breaking something, and it's all Luke Doulton's damned fault, the man is a menace!
Sunday dawned bright and clear, the only sounds you could hear were the chirping of birds building nests and the rattle of milk bottles as the milkman slammed them down and went whistling back to his float. Wide-eyed and irritable, Judith lay and listened—as far as she could judge the rest of the street was fast asleep, waiting for their Sunday papers and breakfast in bed. Even her grandmother slept late on a Sunday. Although Judith hadn't slept at all she felt full of frustrated, furious energy. She had to work it off on something, so she had a shower, got dressed and went off to finish decorating her new flat very early, leaving Mrs Murry eating breakfast.
'Will you be back for lunch? I'm only having sated, but I could cook you something,' Mrs Murry said, and Judith shook her head.
'I'll probably work all day; I want to get the flat finished today if I can.'
Her grandmother looked at her with sudden compunction. 'I hope you don't feel I'm pushing you out, Judith. I'm very grateful to you for staying since ... it isn't that I don't want to see you, it's just that I'm not used to sharing my house with another woman. I suppose I'm too old to change my ways; it's a bit much to have to get used to having a strange toothbrush in the bathroom.'
Judith laughed. 'I know what you mean—I often wonder if that accounts for the high divorce rate; people just can't get used to strange toothbrushes in the bathroom.'
Mrs Murry chuckled. 'I know it sounds silly, but…'
'I know, it's the little things that cause the trouble; I like pop music and you don't, you like soap operas on the TV and I don't. You don't have to explain to me, Grandma. I do understand. I'm used to living on my own now, too, you know.'
Mrs Murry frowned. 'I'm not sure I like the sound of that. It's different at your age, you ought to get married.'
'I'm off,' said Judith, her eyes wry, and left the kitchen with a little wave. She drove to her flat through practically deserted streets; the air w
as so soft that she had the windows wound right down and felt her hair blowing in the wind and the warmth of the sunshine on her cheek, physical sensations which helped to cool her prickling irritation a little. She still hadn't decided whether or not to appear at Luke Doulton's office next morning; it would be a bit of an anti-climax to walk in as cool as a cucumber after the row they had had, but there was still that contract, very much signed and legal, and bristling with sub-clauses over which the various lawyers had spent a lot of midnight oil.
She set to work as soon as she was in the flat; it only: took her a couple of hours to finish the painting, and when she had washed her hands and face afterwards she made herself a cup of coffee and perched on a packing case to drink it while she contemplated what she had I done and felt a surge of satisfaction. A few moments later she stiffened in mingled alarm and shock when the doorbell rang violently. She wasn't, somehow, surprised when she opened the door and was confronted by Luke Doulton.
'What do you want?' asked Judith, blocking the doorway. She was faintly surprised by what he was wearing; a soft tan leather jacket over a cream polo-necked sweater and casual dark brown cords. Stupidly, she expected him to be wearing formal city clothes every time she saw him but the guy must have some time off from work, and the clothes he was wearing, although casual, were quite obviously expensive. The leather jacket was so smooth it invited you to touch it. Judith, however, refrained, in spite of an instinctive wish to do so; she felt he might misinterpret it if she obeyed her instincts.
'Don't be tiresome, Miss Murry; we have to talk.' He stepped forward, she moved to stop him entering the flat, and they eyed each other warily, impatiently, like duellists about to start fighting.
'How did you know I was here?' she asked.
'I rang your home and your grandmother told me. She seemed to think I was someone called Robert, I'm not sure why.' He knew very well why, his eyes held mockery.
'And you didn't disillusion her,' Judith commented coldly.
'I hate to disillusion anyone,' he said, and she picked up the double meaning and stared back at him in contempt.
'So I've noticed,' she said, and his eyes flashed.
'Look, I'm not discussing my private life on your doorstep.' He picked her up by the waist and carried her into the flat, kicking the door shut with his foot before he put her down.
Very flushed, Judith spat out: 'Get your hands off me!' They were gripping her waist in a vice and she tried to unlock them, slapping his hands down. 'Will you let go?' she yelled as the hands merely tightened.
'Don't lose your temper with me,' Luke muttered, his fingers shifting. She felt them brush the underside of her breasts and took a fierce, startled breath. He looked down at her at the sound and for a few seconds they stood there, staring at each other, only inches apart, then Judith wrenched herself free and walked away into the sitting-room. It was a moment before Luke followed her, and by then she was standing at the window, staring out blindly, wondering why her heart was battering against her ribs. Their little fight must have made her breathless, she decided.
Quietly, Luke said: 'Look, last night happened just the way I said it did—I was far from pleased to see Caroline again, but in front of a crowd of people I had to be polite to her.'
'I saw how polite you were!'
'I wasn't able to get out of dancing with her; she'd danced with all the other men. And when she put her arms round my neck what on earth was I supposed to do? Remove them? Make a scene in public? It didn't seem important at the time. It still doesn't—not to me. The only person making a big thing of it is you.'
'Why are you so worried about Baba being told if you don't think it's important?' she asked, swinging to face him. 'You know Baba would be hurt if she knew you were with Caroline last night. I know, too. You seem to forget, I've known Baba for most of my life, her sister is my oldest friend. They both matter to me. You don't, and as for the job—well, no doubt I'll get another, it may not be as good, but at least my next employer won't try to blackmail me . . .'
'Blackmail you?' he broke in, his voice rising. 'Now what are you accusing me of?'
