Sally-Ann by Susan Scarlett

Author:Susan Scarlett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2022-07-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cora was furious. She had been in that state since the wedding. In her own utterly selfish way she loved Timothy. Since she could toddle he had been part of her life. Long before she was supposed to be old enough to take in what was being said she was getting a kick out of the jokes of the grown-ups about herself and him. She had played up and looked wide-eyed, but inside she felt swollen and happy. They might laugh, but Timothy, who was so good at everything and so good looking that quite grown-up women liked talking to him, was hers, and always would be.

Even when he went up to Oxford and changed, she had thought it a passing mood. She had not been able to believe it that first term when he came down and forgot to ring her up. She was sure he had just taken it for granted they were riding as usual. To teach him a lesson she had started early and ridden alone. She had come back to find he had neither come round nor rung up. She had tried to get him back then. When she met him she had let him see she was hurt. He minded that, but not in the way she intended. He had been like a nervous horse veering away at sight of his saddle. He had broken out in a kind of fury, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cora, haven’t we outgrown that rubbish?” Even at that age Cora had been clever. Not by the flick of an eyelash did she show how much she was hurt, but quick as lightning she had flung up her head. “Silly old idiot, aren’t you? I was only pulling your leg. Do you think I want you telephoning all day and all night?”

That had made things easier for a bit. At least he had felt easy with her again. She learnt her lesson quickly; she must outdo him in being offhand; that way he felt free. But clever as she was, Cora could not always override her heart. There were days when her whole body throbbed with the need of some affection from him. When she needed his arms round her so desperately she was incapable of pretending that she did not care a damn when she saw him again. When she had to try and excite him into making love.

She was always sorry for those occasions. It made him more casual than ever. He seemed to be able to flirt with half the women of London, but not with her. Somehow the memory of her at those early hunts, jogging behind him on her fat little pony, keeping him from jumping because in her blind faith in him she would jump too, had remained a violent memory. There were only two roles in which he could imagine her in connection with himself, sister or wife. She had always been the first. It’s difficult to jump the mental chasm that can turn a sister into a lover.

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