When he had gone Lissa stared at the closed door.
Somehow that promise of his was not so very reassuring, after all. Rape was not what she really feared-it was the insidious, tempting seduction of his hands and mouth which might prove really alarming. In spite of what she had said to him about not wanting him, she knew that all her own sensual instincts fought on his side whenever he touched her.
Her common sense and her intelligence warned her not to give in to him, but her senses clamoured for the pleasure he had begun to teach her. Lissa was not certain that in a straight fight between her mind and her body, her mind would win.
She had meant what she said about disliking his attitude. If she gave in to Luc's seductive caresses she would be exchanging the frying pan for the fire. Luc could destroy her every bit as much as Chris would have done. She had no intention of becoming his mistress for a few months until he tired of her. Her whole nature disposed her to feel sick at the very idea.
For most of her life she had been floating in a romantic mist, not seeing very clearly, not understanding herself or anyone around her. She had been fooled by Chris because of her naive romantic blindness. Now she had grown up very rapidly and painfully and she was facing facts; not only about the world but about herself.
It had never occurred to her until recently that it was necessary to understand oneself. She had never known that she did not understand herself. The unthinking projection of her own personality which had gone on since she left the convent school had ended. The girl who had never noticed the sort of world she was living in had been a fool, and Lissa's own intelligence had sharpened at the realisation of it.
She had so much more to find out about herself, so much more to discover about the world, but of one thing she was absolutely certain; she was not the sort of girl who could blithely enter into a sexual relationship with a man she scarcely knew. She was strong enough to survive on her own-difficult though it might be-and she refused to trade her body for the sort of security Luc was presumably offering her.
The days when a woman had no choice but to do that were long gone. She was free and independent and she was her own mistress. She would not slide into becoming Luc's.
The following evening they drove to London through a windblown landscape whose bland, domestic contours seemed very strange to her eyes. Dusk was falling to shroud it as they drove, but she stared out at the countryside excitedly for as long as she could see it.
She kept comparing it with the fertile, vibrant colours and sounds of the island of her childhood. Everything she saw seemed to lack that drama-the empty great plains of Somerset, the neat little fields of Wiltshire, seemed colourless to her. But her fascination and surprise over the English countryside was as nothing compared to the traumatic cultural shock of London 's overcrowded grey streets and bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Her head ached and throbbed, her eyes were dazed, her ears hummed with noise. Luc glanced at her and smiled faintly. 'Something of a shock, isn't it?'
It was quite dark now, but London seemed to blaze with light. Shops and street lights flared orange in the night. The city lay in a smoky flaring light which could be seen from a long way off-for a moment Lissa had almost thought it was on fire. They drove in over an enormous flyover and she stared down from the car, wincing at the spread of the city.
'I feel like Alice in Wonderland,' she said to Luc.
'You'll get used to it,' he promised her with a reassuring glance. 'You can adapt to anything, believe me. In a few months you'll feel as if you've never lived anywhere else.'
Lissa wasn't sure she wanted to adapt to this crazy, surrealistic place. There were too many people, too much noise. Things rushed and pounded at her eyes and ears and she couldn't take any more of it in, her mind confused.
Luc obviously knew his way around the city. He turned into a stream of traffic going north and a few moments later they were purring down a" quiet street of eighteenth-century houses. 'Regent's Park,' he informed her as he drew up outside one.
She looked at the house and although she knew nothing much about London she did not need great imagination to work out th,at this was the home of a wealthy man. Luc watched her wary, pale face.
Lissa was too tired to make any comment. When he got out and walked round to help her out of the car she let him steer her towards the house while Dandy took Luc's place at the wheel and drove the car away.
'Where's Dandy going?' she asked, halting.
'To park the car,' he said drily. 'The garage is round the corner.' He gave her a cool glance. 'He'll be back in a few moments.'
The door was suddenly flung open and a very short, very thin woman rushed at Luc with her arms wide and hugged him, kissing his check. 'You're later than you said!'
'Traffic,' he said succinctly. When the thin arms released him he smiled down at the woman and said: 'This is Lissa, Megan.'
Lissa felt the quick searching stare of very bright dark eyes. Megan was around fifty, she guessed, filled with an energy which made her face vitally alive. Her grey hair curled around that face. She wore a dark dress which made her look thinner than ever and her voice had a faint, soft lilt which Lissa could not identify.
'Hallo,' said Megan, holding out her hand,
Lissa shyly shook hands and Luc said: 'Megan is Dandy's wife.'
Megan smiled at her. 'When he's home! One of these days I'm going with them to find out what they get up to on that boat.'
'You know you get as sick as a dog after five minutes,'
Luc told her, and she groaned.
'Isn't that the truth?' Her dark eyes smiled at Lissa. 'Are you a good sailor, Lissa?'
'Rotten,' said Luc, smiling. 'She was sick for most of the voyage. We thought we might have to chuck her overboard.'
Lissa flushed and Megan observed it with calm amusement. 'Take no notice, love. Luc is a terrible tease.'
The lilt had grown stronger and Lissa frowned, trying to work out what it was, but failing.
'That isn't an English accent, is it?'
'Welsh, love,' said Megan, with obvious satisfaction.
'She hasn't lived there for twenty years,' Luc drawled, 'but she clings to that accent like glue.'
'What's wrong with my accent?' Megan demanded.
'It's very beautiful,' said Lissa and Luc laughed.
'Tactful, isn't she?'
'People who don't like Welsh accents don't get any supper,' Megan assured him.
'I love them,' he said quickly, and got his ear pinched.
'Get inside, you!'
Luc waved Lissa into the house and followed her, talking to Megan cheerfully. Lissa looked around her with weary interest. They were standing in a cream-painted hall of spacious dimensions. Pale gilt medallions gleamed on the walls. A grandfather clock ticked in a deep, solemn voice near by. The carpet was deep and soft, a discreet shade of blue which was almost grey.
'Tired, love?' Megan asked her, making her jump.
She smiled and Luc said quietly: 'She's exhausted.'
'Bed for you, then,' said Megan. 'I'll take her up right away. She can have a tray in bed.'
Lissa followed her, barely aware of her surroundings now because her tiredness had become extreme. She stood in the bedroom to which Megan took her and shivered as though with a chill. Megan touched the radiator hidden behind a wood panelling. 'Cold, love?'
'Just tired,' Lissa admitted.
'Would you like me to help you get undressed?' Megan suggested.
Lissa shook her head. 'I'll be fine, thank you.'