Fire Mountain

by Rose elver

stretched out his long legs, leaned back and clasped

  his hands behind his head. 'Frankly, Amelia, it's a

  relief to have found someone who doesn't indulge in

  romantic fantasies and who won't make emotional

  demands I can't meet. Time's too short, and I have

  enough problems on my hands before I go off to

  Sarava again. I trust you, and with me that means

  everything.'

  Emma had decided that he was a cold fish—and he was. Amelia shivered involuntarily and remarked with a touch of astringency, before thinking, 'I wish Emma could hear this.'

  He frowned suddenly. 'Do you propose discussing our concerns with your sister and brother-in-law? A prime bit of gossip for the village ! '

  `Good heavens, no ! ' she returned hastily, and his brow cleared.

  `No, you're too self-possessed and mature to go rushing to Emma to pour out girlish confidences. Emma is delightful to look at, sociable and agreeable, perfectly adapted to her own sophisticated and aimless little world, but she talks too much. You're so unlike her, it's hard to remember you are sisters. You're much more

  `Inarticulate?' she murmured dryly.

  `I was going to say reticent,' the smile glinted in Lyne's eyes again. 'Even after a year of working closely together there are times when I haven't the slightest clue to your thoughts.' The grey glance caught and held hers deliberately for a second. 'At

  this moment I have no idea what's going on in those depths.'

  `There are no depths,' she countered, looking away to protect her feelings at all costs.

  `Oh, yes, there are. But I respect your right to keep them to yourself.' He picked up the cigarette packet, found it empty and tossed it with some force into the waste-paper bin.

  'Well, that's about it. I can offer you escape and independence from the pressures of Emma's ethos, in exchange for a kind of partnership with me. I give you my word my claims on you will not be too tiresome and inconsiderate,' he saw the colour rise from her throat to her face and plunged on, 'and once I go back to Sarava you will be free, to all intents and purposes. I know you'll be discreet and sensible. A child, if we have one, will be a tie, of course, but one you would welcome, am I right?'

  `I've always wanted to have children of my own,' she conceded in a low tone, chilled by the implication that he would never be returning from Sarava.

  `Good. I'm glad we understand each other.'

  He rose again and went to the window, expelling a brief sigh as if a weight had slipped from his mind. `Compatibility, common interests and mutual respect, Amelia. That's a much sounder basis for living together than a brainstorm of physical attraction which fizzles out in rows and bitterness.'

  The irony of it was cruel enough to snatch at her breath. There he was, so coolly, academically reasonable while that same physical attraction he despised so much was exerting such a strong pull on her that

  she was too bemused to reply. Her gaze clung to the lean tall back, the long square-tipped, capable hands, the thick hair shaping close to his head and into his neck. She ached to go to him, to have the right to touch him, to feel his arms hard around her binding her to him. The moment spun out. The longing built up until it was almost unbearable.

  He turned his head and she dropped her glance, willing herself to breathe quietly and evenly.

  `You'll want time to consider it,' he said, as though he had to set this against his own plans and schedules. `I'm taking another month here before returning to town. If you agree to come with me, there are various arrangements to be made, including our marriage.' He paused. 'I don't want to rush you, but I like to be well organised—years of training for expeditions,' his mouth quirked humorously. 'This is Friday. Would it be asking too much to have your decision by, say, Monday?'

  `That should be all right,' she replied sedately. `I'll let you know.'

  As if they had been discussing a house removal, or one of his minor forays into a jungle, thought Amelia, instead of one of the most significant decisions of her life ! With quiet deliberation she picked up a new pencil and went back to checking through the page of typescript she had been working on before his proposal had shaken her out of her habitual appearance of imperturbability.

  He stood looking at her down-bent head, the soft waves of brown hair drawn back and loosely rolled and pinned at the nape of her neck, the abstract air

  of concentration and the unconscious little gesture of pushing her spectacles back on to the bridge of her nose. Unable to get her to look at him again, he thrust his hands into his pockets and moved away to the hall door.

  `I think I'll take a walk down to the village, I need some cigarettes. You have a lot to mull over. Take the rest of the afternoon off.'

  `Thank you,' she said. 'I'll just clear things away before I go.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  EMMA was lounging in a deep wing chair having tea when Amelia walked into the sitting-room of their private suite at the Manor. Her cup came down with a startled rattle on to the saucer.

  `Good heavens, what are you doing back here at this time of day? Has the professor fired you or something?' She set the cup down on the silver tea service on the table beside her.

  Amelia almost blurted out that, on the contrary, he had asked her to marry him. But she shut her teeth tight on the impulse, smiled a perfunctory smile and answered calmly : 'We decided to give it a rest for the weekend.'

  `We?' Emma laughed exasperatedly. 'Oh, Melly, for goodness' sake don't get yourself so wrapped up in that peculiar man and his work. One of these days he'll be up and off to some godforsaken jungle and you'll be left sitting around here again! Honestly, you're beginning to identify yourself too much with him.'

  `Is there enough in the pot? I didn't wait for tea at the cottage.'

  `You haven't heard a word I've said, I might as well be talking to myself as usual.' Emma poured a cup of tea as Amelia laid her windcheater and scarf on the back of a chair. 'Ask Haskins to bring in an-

  other cup, Edward will be here in a minute.'

  Amelia went out to the pantry and fetched the cup, knowing that the butler would be busy in the lounge of the club. On her return she picked up her own cup and sank into a chair.

  Emma immediately started again on the subject, as though the opportunity to confront Amelia with the hard facts of her situation was not to be missed. `Melly, do you know how much longer Professor Lyne is going to be here? Edward says he only leased the cottage for a year and as far as we know he hasn't renewed it. We're worried about you. This girl we've got now to look after the twins has settled in nicely and there's no question of getting rid of her for you to take over again, that's definite.'

  `Mm-m,' Amelia responded absently, sipping her tea.

  `Look, you must think about the future,' Emma rounded on her irritably. 'Pull yourself together ! You're too complaisant. I don't know how you'll fend for yourself when this book thing comes to an end, as it soon will. There must be other jobs around like it. You ought to be making inquiries. Ask this man exactly how long he's going to need you, don't wait until it's all on top of you. He knows people at the Fenn Foundation, he could recommend you to his friends ...'

  Her voice went on and on, sharp, bracing and impatient as she tried to penetrate her sister's preoccupied mood. Amelia looked around the sitting-room reflectively, as though she were seeing it for the first time. The sun streamed in through the tall french

  -windows which led to a terrace and a sweep of shorn grass as smooth as a bowling green. Long claret-coloured velvet drapes hung almost from the high, moulded ceiling to the polished parquet surround of the Persian carpet. The settee and chairs were solid and chunky, upholstered in glossy beige buttoned leather. The walls were hung with sporting prints, and there was a squat bookcase of sporting books and journals. A large colour television set occupied pride of place in the corner beyond the plaster columns of the fireplace, and the whole room was devoid of any personal touches. Even the vase of yellow a
nd wine-red tulips, set on a pedestal stand between the velvet curtains, had a rigid formality like a wired display in a florist's window.

  Amelia sighed, wondering what had prompted her to come here instead of quietly making herself a cup of tea in the pantry and taking it straight up to her own room. The unconscious need for company, she supposed. Emma was her sister, after all, the only one left of her family. If circumstances—and Emma—had been different, she would have been able to confide in her and talk out the nagging conflict of indecision that was going round in circles in her brain. But she felt completely alienated from the woman lounging in the chair opposite.

  Emma was looking particularly beautiful in a turquoise jersey suit which enhanced the brightness of her blue eyes and her pale, smooth, delicately made-up skin. Her cap of shining gold hair was well sprayed, without a strand out of place. She had become a stranger; an elegant stranger waiting for the

  influx of weekend guests at the club.

  The sense of Emma's antipathy was growing every minute, and if the Professor had done nothing else he had jolted Amelia out of her inertia into a realisation of just how strong it had become.

  `... If you're afraid to tackle Professor Lyne yourself, Melly,' Emma was saying, 'there's no alternative but for me to ask Edward to broach it to him for you.'

  `You'll do no such thing ! ' Amelia jerked her head round and faced her, a sudden flare of determination in her eyes. She had spoken quietly, and yet so positively that Emma's brows arched in astonishment.

  `Well, really ! There's no need to take umbrage !' she said shortly. 'We're only trying to help, you know ! Do it yourself, if you prefer, but I should like to hear what your plans are before the summer season starts.'

  Amelia laid her head back against the bulging squabs of the chair and regarded her sister.

  `Emma, I'm grateful to you and Edward for finding room for me when Father died. But in all fairness, I've paid my own way—first with the little bit of money he left me and helping in any way I could, and more recently out of the generous salary Professor Lyne gives me. I don't live in a daydream, as you fondly imagine, we just function on different levels. All I can say is I'm sorry you've found my presence such an embarrassment.'

  Now that's foolish ! ' Emma protested, and had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'After the way you nursed and took care of Daddy we had to give you a break for a while, but Edward and I both feel that

  it isn't much of a life for you here, and it will be worse when the Professor goes.'

  `Ah ! You've been putting up with me for Daddy's sake,' murmured Amelia in a mocking tone. `Well, you can safely assume you've done your duty now.'

  `What do you mean?' Emma stared at her, taken aback by the palpable change in her sister's attitude. She had never known her to be caustic.

  At this point Edward entered the room, a burly man immaculately turned out in jodhpurs and a hacking jacket, his boots gleaming, his hair slicked well back and his moustache trimmed close to his broad, handsome face.

  `Amelia! You here? You feeling all right, old girl?'

  `Perfectly, thank you, Edward.' Amelia turned and bestowed a glowing smile on him, the first genuine smile he had ever seen from her, which somehow transformed what he had always considered a plain face.

  Disconcerted, he cleared his throat and smoothed his hair, glancing at his wife and saying, 'Fine, fine. Glad you could be home for tea.'

  Amelia rose and put her cup on the tea tray. Standing beside Emma's chair, she looked down at her and said coolly : 'Don't worry, Emma. I can promise you, unreservedly, that I won't be an encumbrance much longer.' She picked up her windcheater and scarf. 'If you'll excuse me, I must go up to my room.'

  As she was closing the door she heard Edward's gruff inquiry, 'What was all that about?' and Emma's,

  `Don't ask me, I never know what's going on in her head ...' accompanied by an irritable clatter of the teapot on the tray.

  Amelia crossed the hall quickly and went upstairs, and the sound of their voices faded behind her.

  It wasn't difficult to avoid them for the rest of the weekend because the weather continued fine and the club was crowded with members and guests. On Saturday morning Amelia took the mid-morning bus to Whimpleford, the nearest market town. She changed her books at the library, did some shopping at Boots and Woolworths, and collected a pair of shoes from the menders. Later she treated herself to lunch in a small restaurant off Market Square and was lucky enough to get a small table to herself in a corner where, after a delicious chicken fricassee, fruit pie and cream and a glass of white wine, she sat sipping her coffee and musing sadly on the fact that she would not be frequenting this friendly little place much longer.

  If there was one point she had now definitely resolved, it was that she would be leaving Whimpleford when Professor Lyne left, either as his wife, or independently to find a job elsewhere. He was not emotionally involved and would not hold it against her if she declined his offer of marriage, and she felt certain she could rely on him to help her get away from the Manor House. At the very least he would be able to provide her with the necessary references when she looked for a suitable place in London,.

  Amelia found herself wishing he could have been here with her, sharing her table in the quiet little

  restaurant, talking it over. How strange that they had never been out together! The professor had gone up to town occasionally to keep in touch with his department, but he had never invited her along and it had not occurred to her that he might ask her out.

  All the more reason to be wary of his totally unexpected proposal of marriage, she thought, and her mind still shied away from committing herself. The notion went too deep with her and was too intimate for making a snap decision. She had not come to terms with it yet, and she resolutely put it aside for the time being.

  Back .in her own room, she looked at herself in the mirror. Once her reflection had shown a shapely figure, but living through so many anxious months had seemed to make her shrink. In the past year she had regained some weight, but the old dark green tweed suit and biscuit-coloured sweater still gave an impression of shabby make-do, and the colours made her skin look sallow.

  The round horn rims cut across the thin planes of her oval face; she slipped her glasses off, leaning forward and peering a little. Suddenly she realised how vulnerable her moss-brown eyes looked without them, and she quickly replaced the frames. Her vision focused again, and so did her mind. At once she became calmer and able to cope.

  Sunday passed much as usual, with Emma and Edward immersed in the club's activities. In the afternoon Amelia washed her hair and sat down to dry it in the old rocking chair which had once belonged to her grandmother and had been salvaged, in the

  teeth of Emma's derisive objections, from their old home. Rocking slowly to the rhythmic strokes of the hairbrush under the warm stream of the hand drier, Amelia faced the important problem that she must decide before the next morning.

  Donovan Lyne had said that she had become indispensable to him. Here in the small village community it was probably true. Here he needed her, liked her, trusted her. But once he was back among his colleagues in his own academic world, what then? He had spent so much time studying human customs and foibles all over the world that even his own most personal relationships were subjected to the same cool, dispassionate appraisal. His admission that he had chosen her because she would not make any emotional demands on him had dismayed her with its chilling honesty. Such a bleak, expedient partnership—for reasons of his own. What reasons? Women? Clever, charming, sophisticated women who kept him from his work?

  Her heart urged her to accept—with the hope that in two precious years with him she could try and change all that. Her head said no; his chief motive had been to settle his affairs conveniently, and their arid 'bargain' could become a kind of bondage from which she would never be free, especially if she had a child of his to remind her constantly that she had loved and lost him. And if she failed to give him th
e child which had seemed to be one of his main reasons for wanting to marry, the sense of her inadequacies would be even harder to bear than it was now.

  She switched off the drier and sat very still, her

  eyes closed, overwhelmed by the desire to accept and give herself to him completely, whatever the strains and stresses of their short time together. She tried to imagine what it would be like. He had never so much as attempted to touch her yet—except for the firm handclasp when he had first introduced himself there had been no physical contact between them at all. What kind of joy would she have in lovemaking that was a brief sexual transaction any woman would give him? For some women it might suffice. But Amelia's deepest nature required much more than that.

  It was a long time before she rose from the chair and went to the mirror to comb out her hair. The swathe of soft brown tendrils hung down to below her shoulders, and as the comb ran through it natural waves sprang into place around her head. She coiled her hair haphazardly at the nape of her neck, pushing the pins in with trembling fingers, and wandered out to the tiny bathroom along the corridor to have a bath before slipping into her one and only black formal dress for the evening.

  Amelia was a few minutes early the following morning, crossing the grounds of the estate and in through the hedge at the back of the apple trees. The professor must have been in the office waiting for her arrival, for she glimpsed him briefly at the window. Then he was coming across the grass to meet her.

  She paused, standing under the flowering boughs. A year ago she had watched these trees blossoming and in a way she had begun to blossom again herself, emerging from the winter of loneliness in which she

  had been living. Now the tiny, tender apple buds were springing into rosy-white sprays along the bare branches once more, flecking the grass with drifting petals, and once more her life would change with the season.