Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

       Chapter 9

      IT HAD BEEN a hot day and now the night was unbearably humid. Unable to sleep, Luke threw off the bedclothes and for a moment he just lay there, arms above his head, eyes closed, and the tiredness seeping through his every bone.

      His mind, though, was alive with all manner of thoughts and emotions: pride in his work and the new contract he had managed to secure in spite of heavy competition; anxiety about Sylvia, who had been increasingly difficult of late. The dark, uncontrollable thoughts came with ferocity, lasted a moment or two and fell away just as quickly.

      It pained him to see her suffering like that. He wanted to do more. He wanted her to be the vibrant, shrewd woman she once had been. But that woman was long gone, and he could do nothing to help her. No one could.

      As always when he felt tired and lonely, his thoughts shifted to Amy. He recalled her warm, bright smile and those pretty eyes that twinkled even when she wasn’t smiling. In his painting he had caught the very essence of that smile, and more, he had caught her spirit, strong and brave. ‘Amy …’ He relished the sound of her name. ‘If only things had been different … if Sylvia and her lover had made a life together, you and I might have had a chance to get to know each other.’ But things were not ‘different’, and they never could be.

      Through the open window, he viewed the galaxy of stars and was mesmerised by their sparkling beauty. ‘I wonder if she’s looking at these same stars?’ It was a curiously comforting idea that they could be sharing this view. Luke thought of his cabin in Bowland Forest, nestling in the shadows of the fells. The sky there would be darkest black, not faded by the reflection of any streetlamps, and the stars would be piercingly bright in contrast. How he longed to share that night sky with Amy – the lovely, laughing, spirited girl, not an oil painting. Seeing her on Tuesdays at Tooley’s Café, then escaping to the peace of the cabin, he saw her as inextricably part of his private world. If only she could make the journey to the cabin too. Somehow, this would be so right.

      With thoughts of Amy came a warm feeling, and then tiredness began to swamp his consciousness. After a time he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

      He did not hear the door open, nor did he hear the soft tread of footsteps as they came across the carpet to his bed. When she leaned over him, he had no idea she was there. Even as she climbed into bed beside him, he did not feel her presence.

      In his sleep he began to dream, and the dream was of Amy. One minute she was in the painting and the next she was stepping out, into his arms, the soft touch of her hand on his body making him tremble.

      Beside him, Sylvia gently stroked her hand over him; touching the curve of his chest, savouring the feel of those strong vibrant muscles beneath her fingertips. Now she was reaching down, slipping her hand into the dip of his groin. When he seemed to respond, she pressed herself close to him.

      ‘Love me,’ she whispered, and as he turned to draw her closer, she gave herself up to him.

      Greatly aroused he lay along her length, his member standing tall as he prepared to enter her. ‘I knew you’d find me …’ His voice softly caressing her, he slid his hands beneath her buttocks, tenderly arching her into him. ‘You’re lovely,’ he kissed her neck, her ears, savouring the taste of her skin on his tongue, ‘… so lovely …’ He wanted her with every fibre of his being.

      In that moment she began screaming, shocking him awake. ‘LEAVE ME ALONE! GET OFF ME!’ As he rolled away, she leaped on him, her fists pummelling his chest and face. ‘GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU BASTARD!’

      There was no let-up, and he, reeling under the blows, could not seem to hold her off until, with one mighty effort he took hold of her arms and, swinging her away, rolled off the bed.

      ‘SYLVIA!’ Somewhere between dream and consciousness he had imagined it was Amy in his arms. ‘What are you doing here?’

      Suddenly she was like a child, desperately clinging to him. ‘Don’t punish me,’ she sobbed. ‘It wasn’t me … I didn’t do it.’ Her fear was so real, he could almost taste it.

      ‘I would never punish you. Be still. Ssh!’ As he reached out to comfort her she drew away like some frightened animal to cower against the pillow.

      ‘Where’s Edna?’ she said, her wide scared eyes scouring the room. ‘Please … I want Edna.’

      Trembling inside, his senses scrambled, he swiftly assessed the situation. It was clear she had wandered in here, looking for comfort … maybe even looking for love. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago they had been man and wife in every sense.

      Turning on the bedside lamp he grabbed his robe from the back of the chair and, slinging it on, tied it tight around the front. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart …’ Holding out his hand he gave a sigh of relief when she took hold of it.

      Sliding off the bed, she asked meekly, ‘Will you get Edna for me?’

      ‘In the morning,’ he promised. ‘I’ll fetch Edna in the morning.’ He lifted her gently into bed and covered her over. ‘You’d best stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘I won’t be far away.’

      ‘You won’t leave me, will you?’

      ‘No, I won’t leave you.’

      He stayed by her as promised, moving his armchair beside the bed, while she lay, quiet now, slipping gently into a calming sleep. ‘It’s all right,’ he said as she twice opened her eyes. ‘I’m here.’

      Soon she was sound asleep. ‘Oh, dear God, Sylvia, what’s happened to you … to us?’ He looked on that beautiful face, and his heart went out to her. To his mind there was no point in apportioning blame; it had all gone far beyond that.

      He thought of Amy again, and his mouth twisted in a smile.

      Amy was his dream and Sylvia was his reality.

      He was still thinking of Amy when the soothing waves of sleep overwhelmed him.

      In the morning, while Sylvia was sleeping soundly, he got quickly dressed and summoned Edna on the telephone he’d had installed at her home.

      ‘You can’t go on like this,’ Edna chided. ‘Just look at the state of you! You look terrible – dark rims under your eyes and a haggard look about you that tells the world you’ve not slept a full night in goodness knows how long.’

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ Luke protested. ‘A bath and a good breakfast, and I’ll be good as new.’ Though having slept in the chair all night had not helped his poor bones, which ached in every direction.

      Edna threw aside his protests. ‘How in God’s name d’you think you can run a factory without a good night’s sleep, tell me that?’

      ‘I do all right,’ he answered. ‘There’s no need for you to worry on that score.’

      ‘Oh, aye! You might well “do all right”, as you say, but for how long, eh? How long will it be afore you fall ill, or your brain won’t function because it’s half asleep? What then, eh?’

      ‘Stop nagging me, woman!’ he groaned, but fondly. ‘I’m fit as a fiddle, and my brain’s as sharp as a tack. The factory will be fine and so will I.’

      ‘I’ve a suggestion to make,’ she persisted. ‘Let me move