Yesterday's Scars

by Carole Mortimer

  Rafe sighed. ‘No, you don’t, we both know that. And must I remind you that you’re a Savage?’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not!’ she denied vehemently. ‘I’m a Stanford.’

  ‘Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Fiery, huh?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he drawled with a grin.

  In that moment he was the old Rafe, never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. ‘Oh, Rafe, I’ve missed you!’

  His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. ‘You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.’

  She shook her head. ‘You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.’

  ‘And you wrote often, I know.’ He sat back. ‘Did you enjoy America?’

  ‘Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.’

  ‘And boy-friends? Anyone upset by your return here?’

  She thought momentarily of Josh, and then dismissed him. He had probably already replaced her, he certainly wasn’t the constant type, and they had only been dating a few weeks. ‘No one,’ she replied clearly. ‘Now that I’m back here I may as well see if I can get a job in London. I can’t see any point in going back to America, Jonathan has already employed my replacement.’

  ‘Then why not get a job locally? You could continue to live here then.’

  Her eyes were wide. ‘You—you told me to leave,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘So? When did you ever do what I told you?’

  Hazel gave a rueful grin. ‘Most of the time. I found it easier to do so.’

  ‘So you’re going to leave here?’ he persisted.

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted.’ She looked puzzled. ‘You said so earlier.’

  ‘I know that, but perhaps I was being a little hasty. You have as much right here as anyone. It was your home for eight years. Besides, I could do with your help,’ Rafe added ruefully.

  ‘You could?’

  ‘I could. I’ve never liked all the paperwork running this estate entails. You could stay here and deal with that.’

  ‘But Celia said—’ Hazel broke off. What she had been about to say sounded too much like telling tales. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Rafe shook his head. ‘The two of you have never got on. I could never understand it.’

  Neither had Hazel until a few hours ago when Sylvia Marston had explained Celia’s reasoning. ‘Just a clash of characters. It happens. It isn’t important.’

  He frowned. ‘It is if your shouting can be heard all over the house,’ his voice hardened.

  ‘Look, Rafe,’ said Hazel, ‘if you want me to go to London I will, but I’m not staying here on sufferance. I have some of that Savage pride you possess in abundance.’

  ‘I’ve noticed.’ His mouth twisted with humour. ‘Stay until after your birthday anyway. And think over what I’ve suggested.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Perhaps Celia could arrange a small dinner party for you here tomorrow evening,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A sort of welcome home party, just a few close friends. I’ll suggest it to her.’

  ‘Oh, not tomorrow,’ Hazel said hurriedly. ‘I—I already have arrangements made for tomorrow,’ she admitted with guilt, although why she should feel that way she had no idea.

  Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show surprise. ‘You’ve been to the club this afternoon?’

  She nodded. ‘With Trisha. We had a game of tennis.’

  ‘So you’re going to the dance tomorrow evening?’

  ‘Yes. We—um—we met Mark and Carl and they invited us to join them for the evening. It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she finished lamely.

  Rafe ran his fingertips absently down the livid scar edge on the side of his face. ‘You don’t have to explain your movements to me.’ He rose to his feet, leaner than she remembered but just as powerful. ‘The dinner party can be arranged for another night. Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll shower and change for dinner.’

  Hazel accepted his words for the dismissal they were, going up to her room. Dinner had always been a formal affair in the Savage household and she wanted to dress with more than her usual care for her first night at home with Rafe and Celia. Celia had found fault with enough to do with her for one day without giving her cause to criticise her choice of clothing too.

  The dress she chose was an emerald green chiffon and floated down to her ankles in a cloud, adding a honey-gold colour to her blonde hair and giving luminous depth to her golden-brown eyes.

  ‘I see your taste in clothing has improved,’ Celia remarked bitchily as she came into the lounge for a sherry before dinner. ‘You seemed to live in denims the last time you were here.’

  ‘Not for dinner,’ Hazel replied vaguely, unable to take her eyes off Rafe as he stood watching them with enigmatic eyes. He looked so attractive, dressed very formally in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, that it made her heart beat faster just to look at him.

  ‘The velvet pants you wore were almost as bad. So masculine,’ Celia wrinkled her nose delicately.

  Rafe gave a wry laugh. ‘Hardly, on Hazel. She’s too shapely to ever look anything but completely feminine.’

  ‘Really?’ His sister arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that you’d looked at her that closely.’

  He gave her a cold look. ‘Well, now you know I have.’

  ‘I see.’ Celia bit her lip before looking at Hazel. ‘When do you intend leaving?’

  ‘Celia!’ Rafe’s glass slammed down on the drinks cabinet. ‘You’re being rude,’ he said darkly.

  ‘It’s all right, Rafe,’ Hazel began. ‘I—’

  Celia’s blue eyes glared her dislike. ‘I don’t need any help from you! I’m perfectly capable of making my own explanations—when I think them necessary.’

  ‘I think one’s due now,’ Rafe said tightly. ‘Your rudeness is inexcusable.’

  ‘I don’t consider my question rude,’ she told him tightly. ‘I merely enquired when Hazel was leaving.’

  Rafe was in the process of pouring himself another drink and so Hazel thought she had better make some effort to stand up for herself, hard as that was turning out to be against the dominant Savage family. Once again she felt herself to be overwhelmed by their forceful personalities.

  Before she could utter a word Rafe was speaking again. ‘She isn’t leaving.’

  His sister looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean? Why isn’t she?’

  Hazel was wondering the same thing herself; she certainly hadn’t said she was going to stay on.

  Rafe appeared unperturbed by Celia’s aggressive attitude. ‘She isn’t leaving because I’ve asked her to stay,’ he told her calmly.

  Celia stiffened. ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I’ve asked her to stay—and she’s accepted.’

  Celia turned furiously on the still silent Hazel. ‘You little cat! You lying little bitch!’ Her mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘You told me you were leaving. It didn’t take you long to start wheedling around Rafe again. I suppose you’re paying for your keep with services rendered,’ she added insultingly.

  Rafe’s mouth tightened, a certain whiteness about his lips. ‘You’ll apologise for that remark,’ he told her grimly.

  She turned on her heel, marching purposefully towards the door. ‘I won’t apologise to that little—to her,’ she amended at Rafe’s threatening step in her direction. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not staying here to interrupt your first dinner together in three years. Perhaps you deserve her after all!’ With that she slammed out of the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HAZEL was deathly pale, Celia’s insults having hurt her more than she cared to admit, even to herself. How could she have said those things, and in front of Rafe too! Her face flooded with colour now as she looked at him, her
imagination taking her along the same lines as Celia, of being taken in his strong arms and made love to by him. She brought her thoughts up with a start; she mustn’t think of things like that, she must put all such thoughts out of her head.

  ‘I’ll see that she apologises for her rudeness when she returns,’ Rafe said hardly.

  Hazel looked uncomfortable, knowing that if Celia were forced to do such a thing her resentment would only grow—if that were possible. ‘It isn’t important. And she does have a point,’ she tried to make light of it. ‘When I was a child there was little I could do about providing for my keep, but now that I’m older I can’t presume on our tenacious family tie any longer.’

  His blue eyes had narrowed to icy slits. ‘Meaning?’

  She shrugged. ‘Meaning I can’t accept your charity any longer.’

  His face was livid with anger, the scars standing out whitely against his otherwise swarthy skin. ‘It was never charity and you know it!’

  ‘You never made it seem like it, you were too thoughtful for that, but I realise now what a burden I must have been, both emotionally and financially. Celia is honest enough to show her resentment.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m not?’ he queried mildly, too mildly.

  Her eyes pleaded for his understanding of what she was trying to say. ‘You know I didn’t mean that, I’m just trying to tell you that I understand Celia’s attitude towards me, her resentment. I’m not even related to you really.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  She looked at him sharply, the relief in his voice not going unnoticed. She had always been aware that most of the Savage family had not altogether approved of her father as a husband for Marisa Savage, but she had never realised that Rafe was of the same opinion. She resented his condescension.

  Consequently her answer was sharper than she might otherwise had intended it to be. ‘So if I’m to stay I’ll have to work for my keep.’

  ‘In what way?’

  She blushed as she remembered Celia’s mentioned method of payment. ‘Acting as your helper with the paperwork, of course,’ she said quickly.

  Rafe gave a wicked grin at her embarrassment. ‘That’s what I thought. Shame!’

  ‘Rafe!’ she blushed anew.

  He gave a husky laugh. ‘Only joking, Hazel. Only joking.’

  Sara bustled in to announce dinner, waiting on them herself in honour of Hazel’s return. Conversation was general through dinner, with Rafe wanting to know more about her time spent in America. She relaxed with him completely over coffee, even going so far as to tell him a few of the humorous mistakes she had made during her first few months as Jonathan’s secretary.

  Rafe sipped his brandy, perfectly relaxed as he sat in one of the armchairs. ‘I’m sure Jonathan understood.’

  She frowned. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Only slightly.’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Why should you? I only said I knew him slightly. I know his son better. Did you like Josh?’

  Hazel looked confused. ‘You know Josh too?’

  ‘We met some years ago in London.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because there was nothing to tell. We’re only acquaintances.’ He looked bored with the subject now, as if he regretted mentioning it.

  ‘Yes, but—well, all this time and you never once mentioned it. It seems a little strange to me, almost as if you were both keeping quiet on purpose.’ She sprang to her feet, not liking the implications that conjured up in her mind. ‘Rafe?’ she questioned uncertainly. ‘Did you keep quiet on purpose?’

  ‘What an imaginative child you are! I never mentioned knowing Jonathan because I don’t—at least, not well.’

  She put her cup down on the side of the mantelpiece. ‘But you do know him. Why didn’t he mention it either?’

  He stood up with barely concealed impatience. ‘Possibly because he didn’t consider it important either. Stop making such a thing about it! And stop letting your imagination run riot, it didn’t influence Jonathan’s employing you.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.’

  ‘Believe what you like, I’m going to my study to do some work.’

  ‘This time of night?’

  ‘Like I said earlier, it isn’t easy finding time to do all the work necessary on this estate. The paperwork usually takes up most of my evenings.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you?’ she asked vaguely, her mind still mulling over Rafe’s recent revelation. His knowing Jonathan must have had something to do with her being taken on as his secretary. After all, Rafe was the one who had found her the job.

  ‘Not on your first day home. You’ve had a long day, the flight and everything. I should have an early night, try and sleep off some of the jet-lag.’

  Rafe’s mind was obviously already on the work ahead of him and he barely heard her words of goodnight. Left on her own she decided to take his advice and go to bed; it had been a long day and she was exhausted. She shouldn’t have played that game of tennis this afternoon, but the tiredness from the flight hadn’t become apparent until this evening.

  Nevertheless, once in her room she took time out to stand on her balcony and look at the magnificent view, a view she hadn’t seen for three years. This view of the Savage beach by moonlight couldn’t be equalled. Hazel had forgotten just how beautiful the moonlight shining on the white crests of the waves as they crashed on the beach could be, how clear and perfect the sky, and how beautiful the sound of the water lapping against the golden sand.

  She left the balcony doors open; it was cooler now but not too cold to allow the fresh breeze to pervade her room. A quick shower and she was literally dropping asleep on her feet.

  She slept late into the next morning, instructions obviously having been left not to disturb her. But she was disturbed, and quite abruptly too, as her bedroom door flew back on its hinges to crash against the wall. Hazel focused her eyes with effort, blinking rapidly to clear the fog from her brain.

  Celia stood beside her bed. ‘I’ve just stopped Sara in the process of bringing you up a tray of coffee. This isn’t a hotel, you know.’

  Right now coffee was exactly what Hazel needed—and she felt sure Celia had realised this too. She sat up. ‘I am aware of that, Celia,’ she said groggily. ‘I didn’t ask for it to be brought up to me.’

  ‘Oh, I know. You never did need to ask for anything, everyone always rushed to please you. You’ll find things different now I’m mistress here.’

  Hazel sighed. ‘You were mistress here before I left,’ she reminded her.

  Celia smiled. ‘So I was. That was one of the reasons you went to America, wasn’t it?’

  Hazel pushed back the bedclothes and stood up to walk out on to her balcony. She stretched like a lazy feline in the sunshine. ‘I’m glad I came back in the summer. There’s nowhere as beautiful as Savage House during the summer months.’

  ‘Make the most of it,’ Celia snapped. ‘This will be your last summer here. You haven’t answered my question.’

  Hazel came back into the bedroom, picking up a brush from the dressing-table and brushing her long hair with firm even strokes so as not to show her anger. ‘About my going to America?’ she asked casually. ‘I had to leave some time, so why not then? And America seemed just as good a place to go to as any other.’

  That sneering smile appeared again on those red-painted lips. ‘Strange you should feel the need to leave just at that time.’

  The hairbrush landed on the dressing-table with a clatter. ‘I can assure you that it had nothing to do with you,’ Hazel said stiffly. If only Celia knew, it was for quite another reason that she had wanted to leave the only home she had known for eight years. But Celia never would know that, it was her secret, and one she intended keeping to herself.

  Celia looked bored now. ‘If you like to think so, Hazel. Who am I to disillusion you?’ She sat down on the bottom of the rump
led unmade bed. ‘So you’ve decided not to tell Rafe about my—little omission.’

  Hazel frowned. ‘Little omission?’ She wished Celia would just get out of her bedroom and let her get showered and dressed and go down for that coffee she had prevented Sara bringing her. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her head was so foggy she was no match for her cousin-in-law.

  ‘Mm,’ the silky knee-length gown was smoothed down over even silkier legs. ‘My little omission in not telling you of Rafe’s accident.’

  ‘So you do admit you did it on purpose?’

  Celia stood up with a shrug, walking over to pick up the gold and onyx comb that matched the brush Hazel had so recently put down. ‘This is nice. Expensive too.’

  Hazel blushed, snatching the comb out of her hand and replacing it on the dressing-table. ‘They were a goodbye present from a friend.’

  Celia raised one dark eyebrow. ‘They don’t look like goodbye to me, more like thank you.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your opinion. Did you deliberately not tell me about Rafe?’ Hazel persisted.

  ‘Not deliberately, no. I just didn’t think it any of your business. After all, you aren’t family.’

  Hazel would have liked to have refuted this, but she couldn’t when it was almost exactly the same as she had said to Rafe the evening before. ‘And what makes you think I haven’t already told Rafe? We were alone yesterday evening, I had plenty of time to tell him exactly what a deceiver you are.’

  Celia smiled. ‘Very politely said, Hazel. I’m sure you could have said a few other names that would have suited the occasion better.’

  ‘Like you did yesterday?’

  ‘You make it too easy for me, Hazel, you always did. You never would tell Rafe when I pinched you or pulled your hair, and you haven’t told him about this either.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Hazel shivered under the other girl’s contemptuous gaze.

  ‘Because if you had Rafe would have blasted me out for it. But he hasn’t said a word about it, only told me to apologise for last night, which I have no intention of doing. But I’m sure you won’t tell Rafe that either.’