But as the summer progressed her fantasies changed, veering wildly between innocence and adult eroticism, and during the long, hot days of July, Grant lost his godlike, unobtainable aura. Suddenly he was a man, a flesh and blood being she could actually touch, possessed of a man's thoughts and desires. She looked at him and watched him with different eyes, the broad sweep of his shoulders and powerful thigh muscles causing a clutch of nervous excitement in the pit of her stomach. In bed she plotted ways to make him notice her, and spent restless nights living dreams that made her burn with heat and strange longings, and the fear afterwards that others might somehow be able to read her secret, shameful thoughts.
But no one suspected, and at the start of the summer holidays she began a deliberate pursuit. She knew that Grant took his dogs on to the hill behind the house most evenings, so after tea she took her own dog over the river and up the long climb the other side. Freed from her uniform she wore shorts to display her long, slim legs, and skimpy sleeveless tops, sometimes choosing old ones which had become too small and clung tightly, drawing attention to her breasts, unrestrained as yet by a bra. Her shorts were the length her aunt considered decent, but once away from the road she turned up the cuffs to make them as brief as possible, and satisfied with the result, continued her climb.
It made her legs ache, and she and Muffin were always breathless when they reached the top, but the times she encountered Grant made it all worth while. She would wave and call—everyone did in the country—and it was perfectly natural to turn and go the same way so that they completed the walk together. At the top of the hill they would always sit for a while on the rock-strewn grass while Muffin and the terriers made excited forays into the bracken for rabbits. She dropped down beside him as close as she dared, calculating the chances of their hands or arms brushing, but wise enough to know, in spite of her dreams, that if Grant ever guessed what she was doing, their meetings would cease.
By the middle of August she was sick with love for him. He haunted her nights and was the first thought in her mind each day as she awoke; wherever she went she carried the image of his dark, tanned face, tormenting herself with visions of his thickly lashed eyes looking into hers with the same love and passion that she secretly nursed for him.
Thoughts of him obsessed her to the exclusion of all else; each day was so many hours to be lived through until she saw him again, and when he began to invite her into the house for a Coke on their way down the hill she sometimes thought she might faint with sheer happiness. His mother had re-married and gone to live abroad after his father died, but the housekeeper was always somewhere about, and he was careful never to touch her, even casually.
She realised it was deliberate and was bitterly disappointed until the day she looked up and caught him studying her with a curiously intent gaze. The expression was instantly shuttered, but inside she leapt with elation. The adult part of her recognised physical awareness in his flared nostrils and oddly intense regard. It gave her a sense of power which she hugged inside her, and her hopes and fantasies magnified.
But he never invited her into the house again afterwards. They still met with their dogs in the bracken above the woods, but something was different—he had withdrawn from her. She fretted, yearning for what she couldn't have, and her despair deepened as the holidays drew to a close. Soon it would be back to school and her uniform, and dusk would fall earlier so that she couldn't make the hour-long climb after tea.
Six more days, then five—the precious time sped by faster. With only four more days to go she sat beside him on the grass and watched him under her lashes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be kissed by him; willing him to turn to her, as though by the power of thought she could make him embrace her.
She was so absorbed that when his arm slid round her it seemed for one startled, bemused moment that she had succeeded, but then he ordered quietly, 'Don't move!' and she saw the adder gliding silently from the bracken towards her.
In the same calm voice, he said, 'They're perfectly harmless as long as you don't disturb them. Just keep quite still until it's gone.'
Fran wasn't really frightened. It was adder country and she had frequently encountered them on her walks, though never so close, nor when she was sitting down. But she could not repress a small, nervous shiver as its tongue flicked out and it moved slowly past her leg, watching her with its reptilian eye. It was easily within striking distance, and she felt Grant's arm tighten warningly as he turned his head to follow its progress.
The tension in her changed with that slight movement. Suddenly she was suffocatingly aware of the hard strength of his hold and his fingers pressing into the bare skin above her elbow. Her heart missed a beat, then picked up in pace, and she knew he could feel the heavy thud transmitting through her pulses.
Knew as well, with an insight far beyond her years and experience, that he had not mistaken it for fear. As clearly as though she had told him in words, he had recognised the cause of the sudden clamour within her.
He stiffened, and for a long, unmeasured moment they were still. She was aware of the tautness of the muscles down the inside of his arm and of a faint tremor in his finger, then a thready pulse began to beat insistently in the base of his thumb.
Wild exultation flared in her with the knowledge that he was stirred—that he was reacting as a male to what he could feel in her. When he said finally, 'It's gone,' and the arm round her eased, preparing to pull away, she twisted round with a quick movement so that his hand fell against her breast.
Almost instantly she knew that she had made an irretrievable mistake.
He drew a sudden breath then froze, staring down at his fingers where they rested on the thinly covered swell of flesh. Colour darkened across his cheekbones and he slowly raised his eyes to her face, then snatched the hand away as though it had been burned.
The following day he was gone. Fran lived desolately through the cold and empty winter, and in the spring her aunt told her he was married. She thought her young heart would break from the pain, and lay in bed that night praying that she might die.
CHAPTER TWO
Silent on her rubber-soled shoes, the nurse said sympathetically, 'Still awake?' and Fran gave her a rueful smile.
'I'm afraid so.'
'You can have another sleeping tablet if you like.'
Anything to keep her from thinking of Grant. She nodded and said, 'Please,' but even after she had swallowed it down, sleep wouldn't come. Pictures and memories flowed back. Not of Grant this time, but of Julia.
Everyone in the village was so pleased he was married at last, though it was eighteen months before he brought his bride home. By then Fran was seventeen and working in the library in the nearby town. Her sense of betrayal was so deep that she had never again crossed the river to the other side of the valley; never went into the forge where she knew she would see an image of Grant leaning against the wall as he always used to.
It was surprisingly easy to avoid him—he was rarely seen in the village now, almost as though the evasion was mutual, but Julia was another matter. She shopped in the village store, visited the elderly, gave prizes in the little school. A lovely woman, Fran's aunt said—she was just the sort of wife everyone would have wished for him, and it was a pleasure to see a couple so much in love and so obviously happy together. She was a Brigadier's daughter too, which was very suitable.
Fran nodded dumbly, and her uncle remarked that she wasn't unlike their young Fran to look at.
'Same colour hair and eyes,' he said. 'And she features her a bit; I noticed it the first time I saw her. They could be sisters, even side by side.'
Aunt Beth allowed it, but said Fran had a long way to go before she could match her in manner.
Oh, Julia Mercier was a paragon, Fran thought bitterly, perfect in everything. They all sang her praises from one end of the village to the other. It was when they began to speculate on how long it would be before there was another Mercier that she knew she ha
d to get away. It was torture enough to run into Grant's wife at every turn, but jealousy would poison her very soul if she had to watch Julia with his children.
When she was eighteen she went with two of her friends to London, but even that wasn't far enough. She could remember with sickening clarity the moment when she had looked across the foyer and seen Grant. It had been five years since that fatal mistake of hers up on the hill, but nothing had changed. Her stomach still seemed to turn over with an actual, physical movement.
He was older, with lines round his eyes which hadn't been there before, but he seemed more handsome than ever—darker somehow in his formal evening clothes, and more lean, though he was still a big man.
Recognition was instant and mutual. Something lit up in his eyes and they stared at one another, then a mask came down over his features and he turned to Julia at his side. Julia, elegant and beautiful, with her serene face and controlled grace, her long blonde hair smoothly coiled on top of her head, her slim figure modestly displayed by her black evening gown.
Watching, Fran saw Grant slip his hand round her waist in a gesture that was lovingly protective. She knew he was about to point her out to Julia. What would he say? Look, darling, there's Fran, the blacksmith's niece from the village?
A wave of jealousy washed over her, so intense it seemed to take her breath, and she whirled away before those beautiful, calm blue eyes could turn to meet hers.
Fran had never seen either of them since. Not until that moment when she had heard his voice and opened her eyes briefly to see him bending over her.
Eventually she slept and woke reluctantly when the day staff came on duty. Annoyingly she was tired all day and she was dozing when Seth came in the afternoon. He asked how she was, then pulled the bench seat up to the side of the bed and sat there, glum and almost silent until she remonstrated with him, asking if he had come to cheer her up.
'Yeah, well.' Restlessly he sat on his hands and rocked backwards and forwards. 'What with one thing and another, it's been that sort of week. And now Libby says she's pregnant.'
'Oh,' Fran said. Uncertain how to react, she settled in the end for, 'I'm sorry.'
'So am I.' His gloom deepened. 'I only wish Libby was as well. She's over the moon. Swears she took her pill every night and she doesn't know how it happened, but I dunno, I've got my doubts.'
'Will you be getting married?'
His eyes rested on her and for a moment he didn't answer, then he shrugged. 'I suppose so.'
Sunk in thought, his gaze strayed to the roses on the sill and Fran said, 'Thank you for the flowers.' She paused, watching him. 'Pay off, Seth?'
'If I couldn't sell you before, darling, I'm not going to be able to do it now you've got a zip up your front.'
'No,' she agreed.
Plainly unhappy, Seth said, 'Face it, darling, you've never been really into it—not how you should be if you're going to get on. We both know there's no glamour in the job itself; it's boring and you're either too hot or too cold. The glamour only comes with the money you can earn if you're at the top, but you're never going to make it. You would have done if you'd stripped off when I told you to, and you perhaps could have cashed in on it now.' He shook his head. 'But as it is, there are too many good-looking birds in competition with you if you haven't got anything to back you up.'
Resignedly, she said, 'I know, and you're right; my heart's never been really in it. I'll look round for something else when I'm out of here. You tried for me, Seth, and I'm grateful, but probably this has happened for the best.'
Relieved by her acceptance he nodded, then said casually, 'Did you ever have anything going with this writer guy who was at the party? Grant Mercier?'
Fran stiffened. 'No. Why do you ask?'
'He came round to the office, looking me over as though I was the opposition. Asked a lot of questions about you as well.' The dark brown eyes regarded her steadily. 'You weren't at your beautiful best before we sent you off in the ambulance so he didn't fall for you then. What gives?'
'I knew him when I was young, that's all. We come from the same village.'
'Which doesn't really explain it,' Seth commented. 'I gave him a progress report, but he could have rung the hospital himself for that. I get the feeling he thinks we're more than just good friends and he doesn't like it.'
'There was never anything like that between us,' Fran denied. Not on his side anyway, she qualified mentally. She pushed back the memory of that brief flaring of light in his eyes when he had first seen her in the theatre.
Seth shrugged, then his eyes went beyond her to the double doors at the end of the ward. Jerking his head to draw her attention, he said, 'Don't say I didn't warn you.'
Fran turned swiftly. Grant was talking to the Sister in her glass office and hadn't seen her yet. She felt panic rise in her until it seemed to grip her by the throat. Panic and that other feeling which seemed to drain all the use from her limbs, and which Grant must never guess at. She turned back to Seth. He was a good-looking man in his casual way, and an idea formed. With desperate urgency, she said, 'Seth, don't leave me with him!'
He flicked her a quick glance, astute and questioning, and she felt her face colour as she went on, 'And would you mind pretending… well, what he thinks?'
'You want Libby should kill me?' Seth demanded, deliberately becoming very Jewish.
'Please,' she whispered. 'There isn't time to explain now, but please, just this once. He won't come back again if you do.'
'Okay, darling, I suppose you know what you want.' Grinning, he added, 'But if Libby ever gets to hear of it, I warn you here and now that I'll drop you straight in it!'
She smiled her gratitude, and with another quizzical glance at her, he said, 'Here goes, then,' and leaned over and kissed her.
There hadn't been time for Fran to wonder how he intended to carry out her request and her immediate reaction was shock. His kiss was searching, too intimate for a public ward, and she was taken aback as she realised the emotion behind it wasn't feigned.
When he lifted his head she said uneasily, 'Whoa, boy, you're getting married soon, remember?'
He drawled, 'Final fling,' though his expression was disturbing. Then it cleared and he stood up, still holding one of her hands, and she saw Grant watching them from the foot of the bed.
For a second his dark face held threat and Seth straightened in response to it, and quickly and nervously, Fran said, 'Grant! How lovely to see you! You know Seth, don't you?'
Grant sent him an unreadable glance. 'We've met.'
'I'm surprised we've never run into each other before,' Seth returned easily. 'I don't handle theatrical stuff, but I'm into television commercials and we get round all the premieres and showbiz parties pretty well. Does the girls good to be seen at them and get a few free publicity shots with the celebrities.' He looked down at Fran, his smile faintly malicious. 'Perhaps we could set something up with your friend here, darling.' He paused, then added significantly, 'After I've got you home again, of course.'
Fran saw Grant stiffen and cringed inwardly. God, she hadn't meant Seth to go as far as that! But then it didn't really matter what Grant thought of her as long as he never came back to torment and tempt her with something she had glimpsed but daren't put into thought.
Seth had launched into the sales talk she had heard so many times before, exaggerating her trifling successes and painting a golden picture of her future prospects. She couldn't think why until she realised he was linking them together in a way that made it seem they had been lovers a long time. It left a faintly sordid impression. Almost as though he was living off her immoral earnings, Fran thought helplessly, seeing Grant's face grow colder and more tight with every moment.
He looked at Seth contemptuously, then turned his back on him with calculated offence and walked up by the side of the bed.
For a moment he gazed down at her, his mouth rigid, then he demanded harshly, 'Is it true?'
She tried to say yes—it was t
he whole point of this charade—but the word wouldn't come. A vivid flush of shame ran up to her hair, and she looked quickly across at Seth who was standing like a graven image, all expression wiped from his face.
Grant took her silence and that quick look for her answer. His jaw tightened. 'I see.'
Meeting his eyes she read an odd mixture there. Contempt? Yes, she would expect to find that, but not the regret or the strange hunger that showed for a split second before he added, 'Good luck, then.'
With a curt nod to Seth he turned away, and Fran leaned back, tears starting to her eyes as her gaze followed his retreating form. When the doors at the end swung shut behind him she took a deep breath, and his tone carefully neutral, Seth enquired, 'Are you sure that was what you really wanted, darling?'
She nodded. 'I thought you went over the top a bit, but it doesn't matter.'
'You mean you didn't want him to think we were having it off?' He shrugged. 'If you're going to do the job at all you might as well do it properly.' He regarded her shrewdly. 'I don't know what's with you two, but you can take it from me he wouldn't be put off by anything else. You didn't see his face when you passed out in front of us. You'd have thought it was his old mother breathing her last at his feet.'
He paused to give her time to weigh his words. 'If you want to change your mind it should be easy enough to find where he hangs out.'
Pain twisted inside her. It wasn't just nostalgic regard that had brought Grant, she knew that as well as Seth did, but his words only deepened the wound. She wondered why she didn't simply tell Seth he was married, but curiously she wanted to protect Grant from any repercussions from his visit and she couldn't trust Seth to remain silent if he knew. Attempting a smile, she said, 'No thanks, Seth, and though I'm sure you're wrong about him, you maligned me with the best of intentions. It's just that we virgins tend to get a bit touchy.'
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