Chapter 8

Helen Aiken sat in the front seat of the strange car and watched the snowflakes falling against the bleakness of the early morning sky. "Let me finish my cigarette and then I'll go," she stated softly, her head resting on the strong shoulder, the collar of her mink turned up around her cheeks. They were parked at the corner of Tennyson Circle and she could see the roof of her house far down the street. "I hate to leave you," she murmured truthfully, glancing at his rugged profile. "Once I'm gone, you'll remember me as a tramp. Or worse."

"That's not true," he stated firmly.

She smiled and brushed back a strand of hair. "I couldn't blame you if you did." She was thinking about her behavior in the strange bed, about her insatiable passion and the acts that were only blurred in her mind. "I didn't conduct myself in much of a lady-like fashion."

Ben Argon studied her soberly and she liked the honesty of his eyes. "You're quite a woman, Helen," he murmured softly.

"And you're quite a man." She caressed the line of his jaw and trembled inside with the memory of his power and mastery. "Know something? I am going to have trouble forgetting last night. You'll be my guilty secret for the rest of my life. I won't be able to forget you." She lowered her eyes, knowing it was impossible for a woman to convey in full the peace and serenity and wonderment that came to her in total completion and fulfillment. "Talk to me while I smoke," she said finally, snuggling close to his hard chest. "Tell me about yourself. Have you always lived in White-bank?"

"Yes, but I moved around a lot in the Army."

"How long have you been a policeman?"

"Five, six years."

"Do you like it?"

"It suits me, I guess."

"Why haven't you married?"

Argon laughed amusedly. "Scared, I guess. Beside which, I haven't found anyone I'd like to marry."

Helen indulged in a fleeting daydream, knowing it was a harmless one. "I'd be a good wife to you. I'd cook and clean and care for you. I think I could be a very good wife to you."

"You're already a good wife to someone."

She nodded slowly, the pleasure of the fantasy fading. "Yes, you're right." She blinked away the thoughts of the house down the street and glanced up at his rumpled hair. "How did you hurt your head?"

He seemed to hesitate and his eyes grew wary. "You ever hear of anyone named Marty Jex?"

"No."

He seemed then to dismiss his secret motivation for having asked her the question and she saw his gaze drop down to the parted coat and her silken nightgown. "It's your turn to talk," he smiled. "Tell me why you were running around in the snow dressed like that last night."

"I'd have to tell you the story of my life to answer that question," she replied bitterly.

"Try."

Helen inhaled on the cigarette and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Charles was a widower when I met and married him. I was impressed with him, his stature, his gentleness, his goodness. He was a little like my father and I'd always adored my father. It was enough for me to marry him. I suppose I thought I was different from other women, in that I didn't care much about the physical side of marriage that much. I enjoyed sex, of course, but not to any vast degree. I felt it was a perfectly normal and civilized attitude ... that's funny, isn't it?" She felt a twinge of pain pierce her heart as she thought of what her life would be like after having been given a glimpse of what real passion and pleasure were like. "At any rate, I was content with Charlie and Charlie seemingly was content with me and ... well, the years slid by. Lately, I've been restless and discontent even though I've tried hard to expend my energies in social and charity work. I didn't realize until last night what it was I needed ... what had been building up inside me over the years."

"I think I understand," Argon offered.

Helen knew he was trying to be helpful, that he was trying to put an end to her painful admissions, and she loved him all the more for his sensitivity. "How am I going to force myself to leave you when I finish this cigarette?" she stated honestly. "How can I go back to all that awaits me after all that happened last night?"

"You'll forget."

She shook her head, feeling the tears brimming. "No. Never."

"Well, you can't stay so you really haven't much choice."

"Ben?"

"Yes?"

"See me again, please." He frowned, troubled. "Please, Ben."

"Let's give each other time to think things over."

Helen sighed, knowing he was right and that she was being unfair. Reaching out to the dashboard tray, she deliberately snuffed the cigarette. Then, turning, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. She felt his heavy hands through the thickness of the mink coat, moving on her back, and they reminded her of the thrills he'd given her during the hours of their intimacy. She wondered if she would ever know them again.

"Ben?"

"What is it?"

She trembled, her breasts throbbing again, her nipples hardening, her blood heating. "Let me make love to you once more. Let me make love to you right here in the car."

He eased her away from him. "Go home, Helen. Go home and think it all over. I'll call you, I promise. If it's still the same for the both of us ... well, let's give it time."

Shuddering with inward disappointment and yet knowing again he was right, she sagged and nodded. "Whatever you say, Ben." She didn't try to hide the desperation when she gazed at him, one hand on the door handle. "You will call?"

"I promised."

She smiled. "Will I have to wait very long?"

"I don't know."

She opened the door and the cold air slipped into the car. "Tell me one thing before I leave you. Just one thing."

"All right."

"Was I good, Ben? Did you like me?"

The powerfully built policeman stared at her for a moment before answering and the hesitation gave emphasis, wonderful emphasis, to the words that followed. "It's never been as good for me, Helen. I've never known a woman who ... who was so much a woman. I mean it."

A warmth spread within, replacing the despair and emptiness. "I know you do," she smiled, feeling laughter bubbling within. "That's the most wonderful part of it ... I know you mean it. Good-bye, Ben." She closed the door and began walking the quiet and deserted street toward her home. She was almost there when she heard the car motor start and it took all her resolve not to turn her head to watch him drive away.

Charlie was waiting for her at the top of the stairs when she closed the door and entered the house. She climbed the stairs slowly and saw the worry and confusion and guilt of his expression. He stepped to one side as she drew near and cleared his throat. "Are you all right, Helen?"

She nodded, suddenly very tired. "Yes, Charlie."

He followed her down the hall to their bedroom. "Where did you go? Where have you been?"

"Please, Charlie," she sighed, shedding her coat and moving to sit on the edge of the bed to pull off the boots, "no questions. Not now."

He said nothing as she slid between the sheets and tugged the blankets up to her chin. Finally, as if accepting the fact that he had no right to interrogate her, his shoulders slumped and he walked spiritlessly to draw the blinds of the window, putting the room in comforting shadow.

Helen watched him walk slowly out of the room and close the door behind him. Then she turned on her side and hugged the pillow and closed her eyes.