by Penny Jordan
Briefly she frowned. ‘No…no…he wasn’t…’
What an odd thing to ask her. She was just about to ask him the reason for his question, but he opened the door and stepped through it before she could do so.
‘Dominic gone, then?’ her father asked, coming into the hall a moment later. ‘He’s a nice lad. Clever, too.’
Christy’s eyebrows rose as she went into his study to collect the coffee cups. ‘If he’s so clever then what’s he doing coming to work here as a mere GP? I thought he would have been better off staying in America?’
‘Financially, maybe,’ her father agreed, his expression slightly reproving. ‘But the Savage men have been general practitioners here for three generations, and Dominic has a tremendous sense of duty. He always did have; don’t you remember how protective he always used to be of you? We never needed to worry about you when you were in Dominic’s care.’
‘I would have thought he had more ambition than to want to spend all his life in Setondale.’
‘Oh, he’s got ambition all right. He was telling me tonight about his hopes and plans. He wants to try to raise enough money locally to buy and equip a local surgery that’s capable of carrying out most of the more common operations. He’s seen it done in the States and is convinced it can be copied here, and I think he’ll do it, too. There’s going to be quite a lot of work involved in raising the initial finance, of course, but I’ve promised to give him what help I can—oh, and I told him that you’d probably be prepared to take on the secretarial side of things for him. It’s a very worthwhile cause, and I’m sure he’ll be able to get a lot of local support. After all, it’s going on for forty miles to the nearest hospital, and the sort of clinic-cum-operating theatre Dominic plans for Setondale could only benefit everyone.’
Her father’s enthusiasm for Dominic’s plans made it impossible for Christy to tell him that there was no way she was going to be involved in anything that brought her into closer contact with Dominic. She tried to comfort herself with the conviction that she was the very last person Dominic would want to assist him, but she couldn’t help remembering that since his unexpected return he had behaved as though that final annihilating scene between them had simply never taken place. Maybe he could do that, but she couldn’t. Every time she looked at him she remembered her humiliation.
Thoroughly infuriated and exasperated by her father’s lack of intuition in realising that she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Dominic, she carried the coffee tray into the kitchen.
CHAPTER THREE
FOUR days passed without Christy seeing anything of Dominic. She told herself that she was glad, and concentrated on settling into a proper routine. By the end of the week she was finding that she had time to spare, and because she was used to being busy, it weighed heavily upon her hands. So heavily, in fact, that her father’s announcement that a meeting was going to be held to discuss the setting-up of a committee to organise fund-raising for Dominic’s clinic-cum-operating theatre came as a welcome relief.
‘I’ve volunteered you to take notes and keep the minutes,’ he warned her. ‘Dominic was a bit dubious about whether you’d want to be so closely involved.’
Meaning that he didn’t want her closely involved? She felt a totally unexpected pain shaft through her, which she suppressed instantly, instead concentrating on fanning her anger.
‘Was he? Well, you can tell Dominic from me that I do want to do it. It will stop my secretarial skills from getting too rusty.’
‘You’ll be able to tell him for yourself,’ her father chuckled. ‘He’s coming round for supper tonight, so that we can make a few preliminary plans.’
The sudden lurch of her heart was so intensely reminiscent of her reaction to the mention of his name at seventeen that it drove all the colour from her face. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t that susceptible, adolescent, any more. She felt nothing for Dominic Savage, unless it was dislike.
‘Who else will be at the meeting?’ she asked her father, trying to distract herself.
‘Oh, John Howard, from the bank. He’s bringing a client of his who’s just moved into the area. A self-made man who’s just retired and who he thinks might be interested in making a donation. I think I’ve managed to persuade Lady Anthony to join us. She suffers quite badly from arthritis now, and isn’t as involved in local affairs as she was once, but I think she’ll consider this is something worth being involved with. She’s always had a soft spot for Dominic.’
‘Yes. Ever since he presented her with the chocolates he won at the summer fête!’
Her father gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Yes, you’d plagued the life out of him to give those chocolates to you.’
‘And he said they weren’t good for me.’
That had been the summer she was eleven, and Dominic had been, what? Nineteen and at medical school. She had adored him then, and he had put up with her adoration in much the same way as he might have tolerated the friskiness of an untrained puppy.
‘Lady Anthony has a relative staying with her at the moment. I haven’t met her, but I have heard that she’s a very attractive young woman. You’ll probably find you have quite a lot in common with her. She’s been living in London, but when her marriage broke up she came to stay with her godmother. The Vicar will be there of course—oh, and Major Barnes.’
When Christy’s eyebrows rose, her father grinned. ‘Yes, I know. He and Lady Anthony will argue like mad. They always do, and secretly, I’m sure both of them enjoy it. He’s an indefatigable organiser, though. We’re all meeting at Dominic’s house—you know he’s bought the Vicarage.’ He glanced apologetically at her. ‘I’m afraid I’ve volunteered you to take charge of the refreshments. Your mother…’
Christy sighed, not needing him to finish the sentence. Yes, had she been well enough, her mother would have been the first to offer her services. Like the Major, her mother was also an indefatigable organiser, and many was the hot summer afternoon when Christy had been detailed to assist with a mammoth cake-baking session for some local bring-and-buy sale or summer fête.
It must be her nostalgia for those long-ago times that made her refrain from objecting to her father’s casual disposal of her time, she decided the next morning as she surveyed the cooling sponges on their wire trays.
The inhabitants of Setondale were old-fashioned about some things; bought cakes were one of them. No self-respecting Setondale housewife would ever serve her visitors with something she had not prepared with her own hands.
Well, at least she didn’t appear to have lost her touch with a sponge, Christy thought approvingly as she tested the golden-brown confectionery. In addition to the sponges, there were biscuits, made to her mother’s special recipe, and later on she would make sandwiches and carefully cover them to stop them curling at the edges. She would have to borrow her father’s car to run them over to Dominic’s house, but since her father was out playing golf with one of his cronies he was hardly likely to object.
As she drove over to the Vicarage later in the day Christy wondered curiously why Dominic had bought it. Surely a smaller house in the centre of Setondale itself would have suited him more? The very reason the Church had sold off the Vicarage was its size, and the cost of maintaining and heating it. As far as she remembered, it had at least seven bedrooms, and then there were the attics.
The wrought-iron gates were permanently open; indeed, they had stood open for so long that she doubted they could ever be closed. Weeds and brambles had grown in between the spars, and the bright winter sunshine highlighted their neglected state.
The drive to the house too was overgrown, and the trees, which would look lovely in the spring, now looked gaunt and dreary without their leaves. Even so, the Georgian façade of the house was undeniably elegant, and the gardens, encircled as they were by a high brick wall, would be a haven of privacy once they had been brought under control. But who was going to do that? Not Dominic, surely? He would be far too busy.
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sp; As she parked her father’s car and climbed out it struck her that the Vicarage was very much a family house. Did that mean that Dominic had plans to marry? Her mind shied away from the thought.
As she approached the house the front door opened and Dominic came out. Dressed casually in ancient jeans and a plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he could almost once again have been the boy she had adored as a child, and then he moved and the bright sunlight caught the harsh planes of his face, and the illusion of the boy was gone and she was faced with the reality of the man.
‘I’ve just brought the eats for tonight.’
‘I didn’t think you’d come round just for the pleasure of my company.’ The dry remark made her stop and look at him. ‘Oh, come on, Christy, I’m not blind,’ he said. ‘You’ve made it more than obvious how you feel about me.’
She tensed then, unable to stop herself, alarm feathering over her skin as he came towards her. What did he mean? Her heart was pounding frantically, her throat dry. Surely she hadn’t…
‘It’s obvious that you dislike me,’ he continued curtly, and she felt her body sag with relief. He thought she disliked him. But he was right, she did…of course she did… Disliked and despised him…just as he had once despised her. ‘However, we live in such a small community that we can’t avoid one another,’ he continued.
She managed to gather enough composure to say hardily, ‘There’s a difference between not avoiding one another and me falling over you almost every time I walk in the front door.’
She saw the way the planes of his face altered, his muscles tensing under the self-control he was using.
‘Your parents happen to be old friends, and I’m damned if I’m going to give that friendship up just to suit you.’
She watched his jaw clench as he grated the words out at her, and then suddenly he turned to her, his body relaxing slightly as he appealed, ‘Look, Christy, what is it? We used to be such good friends…I accept that times, and people, change, but I can’t understand this…this antipathy you have towards me.’
He couldn’t understand? A wave of anger shook her. He had destroyed her world and now it seemed he couldn’t even remember doing it.
‘No, I’m sure you can’t,’ she agreed tautly. ‘But the days are long gone when I grovelled at your feet, Dominic, glad of every little scrap of attention you threw my way. Let’s just say that I’ve grown up, shall we, and leave it at that.’
As she walked away from him and back to the car she could hardly believe that he had actually forgotten what had happened. Bitterness mingled with her anger. How could she ever have been so stupid as to invest him with all the virtues of some chivalrous knight? The Dominic she had loved had never really existed; he had simply been a figment of her imagination. It was ridiculous that she should feel so…so betrayed that he couldn’t remember what he had done to her, but she did.
This time as she walked towards the house carrying her boxes of food he made no attempt to speak to her, simply preceding her into the old-fashioned kitchen and showing her where she could put everything.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he told her when she had finished. ‘I can get someone else to act as committee secretary.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you can, but as I told my father, it will stop my secretarial skills from getting rusty. Don’t flatter yourself that the fact that I have to come into contact with you affects my decisions on how I live my life, Dominic. It’s simply that you’re someone I’d rather not see unless I have to.’
‘So I see. Well, if that’s the case, you have my promise that I won’t encroach on our old friendship. I had hoped…’ He shrugged and turned away from her, but not before she had seen the bitterness twisting his mouth.
Dominic, bitter? But why? And what had he meant about him not encroaching on their old friendship? Surely he was the one who didn’t want her encroaching on it, just as he had made plain to her eight years ago?
Feeling thoroughly confused, Christy headed back to her father’s car. It was almost as though Dominic was trying to pretend that he wanted to be friends with her. But why? She wondered whether he was ashamed of the way he had treated her. But if that was the case, why didn’t he say so; why pretend that he couldn’t even remember that it had happened? It was like a jigsaw puzzle with all the vital pieces missing. For eight years she had harboured her resentment and dislike of him, and on hearing that he was back in Setondale she had expected that he would want as little contact with her as she did with him, and yet today he had implied that he wanted to resurrect their friendship.
At seven o’clock that evening, having made sure that her mother had everything she wanted, Christy and her father set out for the Vicarage. The temperature had dropped again, but the full moon had brought a clear sky with no threat of snow.
‘We will have some yet, though,’ her father predicted as he drove down the lane.
Little pockets from the previous week’s snowfall still lingered in hollows and by the roadside, and Christy was glad she wasn’t driving when she felt the car start to slide once or twice.
They were the first to arrive, and Christy went straight to the kitchen, leaving her father and Dominic to talk. The anger against Dominic which had sustained her for so long seemed to have dissipated, leaving her feeling on edge and unsure of herself. She felt uncomfortable being near him, constantly tense and apprehensive, although why she was no longer sure. It was obvious to her now that he wasn’t going to resurrect the past, as she had dreaded him doing, so why did she suffer from this inability to relax, even to breathe properly, when he was around?
During her years in London she had learned to deal with many difficult and fraught situations. Not even when she had had to refuse David had she experienced this degree of nervous constraint. It was almost as though Dominic possessed some special sort of power over her that made her intensely and uncomfortably aware of him. Even now, with the thickness of two walls separating them, she was acutely conscious of his presence. She didn’t even need to look at him when he spoke to visualise his expressions. She could have drawn his every feature perfectly from memory. She shivered suddenly, and told herself it was the old stone house that made her feel so cold.
‘Coffee ready?’ her father called cheerfully, coming into the kitchen. ‘The others seem to have arrived together.’
‘It will only be a minute; I’ll bring it through into the library.’
As she already knew, the Vicarage had four main downstairs rooms in addition to the large and old-fashioned kitchen. There was a huge drawing-room, which the Vicar had never used; a dining-room, a comfortable sitting-room, and then the library. The library had always been her favourite room, with its smell of leather book bindings and dusty parchments. It overlooked the rear grounds of the house, and three of the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with mahogany bookcases. The Vicarage and the living that went with it had originally been in the gift of the Anthony family, and the house had been built for a younger son who had joined the clergy, hence its generous proportions.
Carrying the tray of coffee, Christy nudged open the door with her foot. Several pairs of eyes studied her entrance, but only two of them drew her attention. The first belonged to Dominic, and she felt the colour bloom under her skin as she realised how instinctively she had looked for him. There was a curious expression in the grey eyes, and if she hadn’t known better she might have thought it was pleasure.
Angrily she dragged her glance away from Dominic’s, and found that she was being stared at rather hostilely by a pair of cold blue eyes set in a sculptured but rather hard face which she deduced belonged to Lady Anthony’s god-daughter.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear.’ Her father got up to relieve her of the tray, but Dominic beat him to it, which was rather strange as he had been seated furthest away from her.
‘I think you know everyone, don’t you, with the exception of Amanda, and Mr Bryant?’
Amanda Hayes’ cold blue
eyes acknowledged the introduction without making any attempt to make Christy feel welcome. Wondering what on earth she had done to merit the other woman’s patent hostility, Christy turned her attention to the older man seated with John Howard, their bank manager.
Somewhere in his fifties, he had the lean, predatory look of a man who challenged life head on, and Christy could easily visualise him in the role of a successful businessman.
Having made sure that everyone had something to eat and drink, she looked for somewhere to sit, and to her disquiet found that the only empty chair was one next to Dominic. Since he was obviously chairing the meeting she supposed it made good sense that she should sit next to him, but she saw from the narrow-eyed look that Amanda gave her that the other woman was equally displeased with the seating arrangements.
So that was the reason for her hostility, Christy thought as she sat down. Amanda couldn’t know Dominic very well if she thought that she was any threat to her.
The next two hours passed so quickly that Christy had no time for any private mental meanderings. Her fingers flew over the notepad as she faithfully recorded the details of the meeting. Their first task, Dominic informed them, was to find somewhere suitable to convert into a clinic.
‘I believe I’ve found the ideal place—a pair of Victorian semis that are up for sale in Setondale itself.’
There then followed a spirited discussion on the rival merits of buying a building and converting it, or having something purpose-built.
‘Purpose-built is ideal, of course,’ Dominic agreed.
‘But because of the historic and architectural nature of Setondale, I’m afraid we might have problems with the planning and environmental people if we wanted to start right from scratch.’
‘Well, I think the best thing for us to do is to go along and look at these semis,’ Peter Bryant announced. He got out his diary and consulted it. ‘I can manage tomorrow afternoon. After that I’m not free for two weeks.’