Storm Cycle

by Margaret Pargeter

  'Don't be so damned stupid!' he exclaimed furiously. 'Do you think I'd be lying here if I were capable of getting up?'

  'You—you actually are in bed?'

  His sigh was quite audible. 'I've already told you twice!'

  'I'm sorry . . .' Her stunned mind began slowly to work again. 'Have you called the doctor?'

  'No I have not.' He cleared his throat hoarsely. 'He couldn't do anything for me, these things only take time.'

  Zoe swallowed hard. 'But if you're really ill . . .'

  Impatiently he cut in, 'Stop making stupid remarks, Zoe, and get up here at once. I'll expect you in not more than ten minutes. Take the pick-up.'

  'Hadn't I better wait until the mail comes in?'

  'You can bring that later. Just do as I ask.'

  For a few seconds Zoe's thoughts were in chaos, as she tried to pull herself together. She was so used to Macadam standing over her, telling her what to do, keeping an eagle eye on her; without him she felt lost.

  'Whatever can be wrong with him?' she found herself wondering aloud.

  'Who are you talking to?' Ian asked.

  Quickly she spun around. Ian was lounging against the door watching her, his hands lazily in his pockets. Myself,' she snapped, refusing to be embarrassed.

  'Where's the boss?' he eyed her white face curiously, 'Is something up?'

  'He's ill!' she gasped, feeling suddenly, terribly anxious. 'Don't ask me how ill—he may be dying!'

  Ian's brows quirked derisively. 'Dying people aren't usually able to shout down the phone.'

  'Perhaps not,' she admitted reluctantly, biting her lip, 'but he did sound a bit peculiar—not quite him­self.'

  'Ha! That would be funny,' Ian laughed soberly. 'Well, let's make the most of it. The jailor's away so the bird can play.' He swept her into his arms and kissed her. Glancing over his shoulder, he murmured with assumed astonishment, 'What, no Macadam?'

  Angrily, Zoe pushed him away. 'Much as you dislike being reminded of the fact, Ian, he does pay us good salaries—and I wish you wouldn't make a habit of kissing me during office hours.'

  'Fat lot of chance I get out of them!' he grumbled.

  Recalling Macadam's warning, she glanced at Ian suspiciously as she gathered up some pads and things she thought she might need. 'If anyone rings tell them I shouldn't be long, if it's something you can't see to yourself.'

  'You mean you're actually going up there to see him?'

  'Boss's orders,' she replied.

  She had never been to Macadam's house before, but she knew exactly where to find it. It had belonged to his uncle and lay in the hills to the south of the town. Zoe loved it on sight. True, it looked old and grey and rather shabby, but it fitted so beautifully into the landscape that she couldn't help feeling it might have grown there. Behind it was a protective half-circle of rocky hills and tall trees, while below, at the edge of the grounds, the pounding sea filled the narrow chan­nel between the mainland and the island of Kerrera. A few hardy souls were out sailing, but for once she didn't gaze at them with envy. She was too anxious about Macadam this morning to spare the time to do that.

  She rang the bell and waited, then rang again when no one answered. Eventually Macadam himself opened the door. Zoe stared at him. frowning. He was wearing an old towelling robe, almost too short to be decent, and a faint colour stole to her cheeks.

  He appeared to be annoyed. 'If I had any sense I'd give you a month's notice,' he snapped.

  'A month's notice?' Her face went pale again. 'But why?'

  'Because I don't care to employ a girl with no brains,' he replied sharply. 'What the hell do you mean, standing here ringing the bell, dragging me from my bed when I'm ill?'

  With a few words he could make her feel very young and gauche, and she resented it. She had raced to him at a breakneck speed and apparently this was all the thanks she was going to get. 'I'm sorry,' she said stiffly, 'I didn't mean to fetch you downstairs. I thought your woman might be here.'

  'Here we go again!' he glared. 'What woman, now, am I being accused of harbouring?'

  'Your daily help. She's the one I'm talking about,' Zoe glared back at him.

  'I don't have one, just someone who cleans up once a week. I thought you knew.'

  'No, I didn't. How could I? You never tell me any­thing.'

  'I thought a good secretary knew everything,' he jibed, 'without having to be told.'

  'I may not know everything,' she retorted sharply, 'but I do know that if you're ill you shouldn't be standing out here.'

  'Point taken.' He turned, leading the way upstairs, obviously expecting her to follow.

  Closing the outer door quickly behind her, she chased after him, trying to keep her eyes off the flexing muscles in his long, powerful legs as he took the stairs two at a time. He didn't seem all that ill.

  The house was large. Inside, from what she could see of it, she would have described it as shabby but comfortable. Following Macadam into his bedroom, she glanced around curiously. Like the rest of the house, it was spacious but neglected.

  She heard him mutter derisively, from where he sat on the edge of his bed, 'I'm the one in need of atten­tion, not the decor.'

  'Sorry,' she didn't think he could be serious, 'I was just looking.'

  'So—what's wrong with looking at me?'

  Her eyes returned to him reluctantly, a pulse be-ginning to beat rapidly at the base of her throat. 'I— I'm not used to seeing men with so little on.'

  'Well, enjoy yourself while you can,' he muttered jeeringly, at the hot colour in her face. 'Plenty of women in this town would give a lot to be in your shoes.'

  Zoe stared at him angrily, but refused to be taunted into an argument. 'I'm sure you didn't ask me to come all the way here just to tell me that,' she said coldly.

  'I'm ill,' he excused himself, 'although you don't seem to believe it. You haven't even asked how I am.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zoewould never have believed that Macadam, always so arrogant, self-sufficient and hard, could feel so sorry for himself. Or was it just self-pity? Now that she was able to take a longer, closer look at him, he really did look ill. He hadn't had a shave since Saturday, she felt certain, and beneath the dark growth of beard his face seemed very white. His hair was uncombed and his eyes red-rimmed, as she had sometimes seen them after a long, rough day at sea.

  'Is it just a cold, or something else?' she asked care­fully.

  'I've probably picked up this 'flu bug that's going,' he said briefly. 'My legs feel next to useless and I'm aching all over.'

  Zoe stared at him anxiously, suddenly almost trem­bling. Because she didn't understand why she should be so concerned, she suggested quickly, 'Would you like me to go home and fetch my grandmother? If you won't have the doctor, she's very good.'

  'No, thank you,' he replied dryly. 'With all due re­spect to your grandmother, Taggart would feel obliged to come along to chaperon her, and that would just about finish me off!'

  Well, if he could still joke . . . Zoe sighed. 'I think you'd better get back into bed anyway.'

  'Yes,' he agreed meekly, and began peeling off his dressing-gown.

  She turned her head quickly, fixing her eyes on the window. She didn't think he had anything on under­neath and felt at once both outraged and excited. Her rage she could understand but not the excitement. It threatened to overwhelm her completely, drawing her towards Macadam when she only wanted to flee from him.

  'For God's sake, Zoe!' she heard him snap, 'I'm not about to assault you, I'm a sick man.'

  How sick? Feeling herself quiver, she remained silent.

  'You can look now,' he mocked.

  He was in bed, the blankets piled up to his chin. He looked far from comfortable and she wished she had offered to make his bed before he got into it again. Uncertainly, she smiled at him, 'Can I get you any­thing?'

  'I thought you'd never ask,' he muttered. 'A cup of tea would be nice. Maybe a boiled egg and some toast as well. Be
tter make it two slices and some mar­malade'

  'All that ...?'she gasped.

  'I can't promise I'll have the strength to eat it,' Macadam said grimly.

  'You'd better tell me where the kitchen is.'

  'Of course,' and he proceeded to give her the neces­sary instructions.

  The kitchen was pleasant, but every surface was littered. While the kettle boiled and the eggs cooked Zoe did a quick whip round and tidied up. What Macadam needed was someone to look after him and the obvious answer was a wife. Suddenly, Zoe felt guilty. She was always pleased when his affairs were over, but perhaps it would be better if he married one of the women he took out? Yet the thought of Macadam married was strangely repugnant to her. She liked him as he was, bad temper and everything. A wife might change him too much, she told herself.

  If she was aware of other reasons why she didn't want Macadam married, she wasn't ready to face them yet. She decided to concentrate on getting him well again; the boatyard never seemed the same without him.

  After setting a tray neatly, she added a rack of toast and took it up to his room. He was still in bed, his eyes closed.

  'I'm back,' she announced loudly. 'Are you asleep?'

  Wincing, he opened his eyes. 'How could I be, with the noise you're making?'

  'I've brought you your breakfast,' she said severely, 'but if you don't behave. I'll take it away again.'

  'Oh, no!' He sat up, in sharp protest, and the blank­ets dropped down to his waist. 'This smells almost as good as you look.'

  'No need to try and butter me up.' Zoe placed the tray with a small thump before him, managing to ignore the surge of pleasure which went through her. 'You can't be that bad!'

  'Because my appetite and appreciation of a pretty woman is still undiminished?' he taunted.

  She poured him a cup of tea without replying, doing her best to keep her eyes off his broad, hair-roughened chest. She had seen him stripped to the waist in the yard and at sea often enough, but here, in the intimacy of his bedroom, she was conscious of him as she had never been before, on those other occasions.

  'I prefer my tea in the cup, rather than the saucer,' he pointed out, as her hand trembled.

  She almost poured it over his head. Instead, main­taining her dignity, she passed it to him in continuing silence.

  'I've been thinking,' said Macadam, tipping half the contents of the sugar basin in his cup and stirring con­templatively, 'and I've come to the conclusion that what I need here is a housekeeper.'

  'You mean—a wife?'

  'It might come to that,' he glanced at her bent head quickly. 'Do you think I'd get many candidates for the post?'

  As though he couldn't guess! Zoe busied herself putting the tea-cosy she had found over the teapot to keep it warm. 'You wouldn't be very easy to live with,' she said at last, feeling quite shaken.

  'But some girl might be willing to put up with me?' he teased gently. 'How about you?'

  'Oh, don't be silly,' she snapped, hurt and angry that he should be mocking her in this way. Heaven help her if he ever guessed she was beginning to think of him a little too much for her own good! Better that he should believe she was half in love with somebody else.

  Apprehension drove her to add impulsively, 'I think I'd prefer someone like Ian.'

  'Graham?' Macadam's voice was suddenly harsh. 'What's he been up to?'

  'Nothing,' she stammered, her cheeks bright red.

  'He's been kissing you again?' Macadam's eyes smouldered. 'This morning, I presume?'

  'He was just fooling.' Zoe was bitterly regretting saying anything. 'You know what he is.'

  'I know what he is,' Macadam snapped contemp­tuously, 'and it's enlightening that you prefer him to me. Perhaps when I get out of here I should take a leaf out of his book—Early morning kisses in the office, rendezvous, no doubt, in the depths of the night. What does Taggart think of Graham seducing you in the dark on the sea-front? It must be time I had a word with your grandfather about him. Taggart's so busy watch­ing out for my probable immorality that he's missing what's going on under his very nose. You'd better be prepared to be dragged to the altar, after he's heard what I have to say!'

  'Macadam, please!' Zoe felt near to tears. 'None of that's true, you've got it all wrong—and you're making yourself ill!'

  'I am ill,' he fell back against his pillows with a groan, 'and you're making me worse.'

  'I'm not wasting your time at the office,' she pro­tested wildly. 'I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. Why, I was only saying to Ian, before I left, how well you pay us.'

  'Why did he need reminding?' Macadam asked flintily.

  Zoe gazed at him, her face hot with angry frustration. Even when ill, Macadam never missed a thing!

  While she searched for a reply which wouldn't in­volve Ian any further, he pushed his barely touched tray towards her. 'Here, take this, my appetite's gone. You'd better get out of here before my temperature soars any higher. I've made out a list of things I'd like done, you can give it to Donald or one of the foremen. Oh, and yes, when the mail comes in bring it to me immediately.'

  Zoe was almost glad to go, although she had a guilty feeling she hadn't done nearly enough. She hoped Macadam would be in a better mood when she came back. His insinuations regarding Ian and herself had annoyed and frightened her, but she decided not to take them too seriously. She was sure he wouldn't have said what he had done if he'd been well. He had probably had a bad night and begun imagining things. His allegations about her grandfather seemed to prove it. She found it impossible to believe that her grand­father suspected Macadam had designs on her, especi­ally when he knew Macadam was even stricter with her than he was. He might have kissed her, but he hadn't meant her to take it seriously. It had probably been his way of teasing her a little, of letting her know he considered she was growing up.

  When she returned, later in the morning, he had been up and shaved. He had gone back to bed but, she fancied for her sake, was wearing a pair of thin silk pyjamas. The house was lovely and warm, so he must have turned the central heating on. When he asked, with a slight smile, if she approved, Zoe replied with a hint of impatience. 'If you'd told me about it when I was here before I could have switched it on myself, and I needn't have worried all the way to the office about you being cold. I didn't notice the radiators and even got Jim Weir to chop me some sticks so I could light you a fire.'

  Macadam didn't appear at all repentant. If anything his eyes glinted with something more like satisfaction as they rested on her indignant face. 'My uncle had central heating installed years ago, then found he preferred being on the cold side. I'm afraid I often forget about it. I have an immersion heater and usually use that for baths.'

  He seemed as determined as she was to forget their earlier dissension, and for a while the atmosphere was as calm as a summer's day.

  'I brought the portable,' Zoe told him, after they had gone briefly through the letters she had considered urgent. 'I'll go and see to these in the kitchen while you rest.'

  'Find the study,' he grunted. 'You'll be more com­fortable there.'

  'I have some bones for soup. In fact it's already on,' she confessed. 'I'd rather work in the kitchen as it will be easier to look after it. We could have lunch at one. By then I should have most of the correspondence ready for you to sign.'

  To her surprise Macadam made no further protest, and her heart ached suddenly as she saw he looked quite exhausted. On impulse she crossed over to the bed and began tidying it, smoothing the sheets and straightening his pillows.

  As she leaned over him, absorbed in what she was doing, her thick, glossy hair fell over her face and she tossed it back impatiently.

  She heard his brief laughter, low and throaty. 'You ought to get yourself a ribbon, but it smells good.'

  His compliment, if it was meant as one, made her recall how she had felt when he had kissed her and brought a surge of delicate colour to her cheeks. In a rush the emotion she had experienced then welled th
rough her vividly. Again she found herself struggling with her breath and felt her knees weaken.

  He glanced up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, a touch of fever and something else in their depth. 'No kiss for me, I see?' he remarked dryly.

  Her breath inhaled audibly as she jerked upright. 'You're either joking or delirious,' she snapped.

  'I wasn't delirious on Saturday.'

  'No,' she retorted contemptuously, 'there was no excuse for you then.'

  'I don't recall having to use much force,' he mocked softly, 'nor do I remember any great struggle.' Persuasively, with a taunting smile, he caught hold of her hand, 'Perhaps we should repeat the experiment and see?'