A Haunting Compulsion

by Anne Mather

  ‘Hello.’ Rachel smiled, taking the seat on the upright chair he offered her. ‘I’ve never been in here before. Have you lived here long?’

  ‘Just all my life,’ he admitted with a grimace. ‘But you don’t live here, do you? I’ve never seen you before, or I would have remembered, believe me!’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, seriously, you’re not Robin’s wife, are you? And I know you’re not Jaime’s.’

  ‘No.’ Rachel sobered. ‘I—well, I’m just a friend of the family, that’s all.’

  ‘Here for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Terry acknowledged this with a thoughtful grunt. ‘I thought a girl like you wouldn’t come from around these parts.’

  Rachel recovered her composure. ‘I’m sure the girls around here wouldn’t appreciate you saying that.’ She saw the boy watching them from across the yard. ‘Is that your brother?’

  ‘No. His name’s Billy Hughes. He’s an apprentice. I’m teaching him the tricks of the trade.’

  Rachel nodded, then saw to her relief that Robert was approaching up the narrow lane that led from the main street. He grinned when he saw her, and came striding across the yard, looking sheepish.

  ‘I know, I know, I’m late,’ he exclaimed, after bidding good morning to her companion. ‘But he would insist on opening the bottle, and how could I refuse a drop?’

  ‘I expect Liz would have an answer to that,’ Rachel retorted wryly, and accompanied them into the workshop, as Robert explained why he had come.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you again some time,’ Terry commented, as they were leaving, and Robert glanced at Rachel with drawn brows.

  ‘Maybe,’ she agreed, picking her way carefully across the nuts and spanners littering the spot where the boy was changing the wheel, then exchanged a helpless look with Robert as they walked back down the lane.

  ‘You’ve made a conquest,’ he remarked, taking the basket from her, and she moved her shoulders dismissingly. ‘I suppose you’re used to it,’ he added. ‘You don’t need me to give advice.’

  Rachel coloured. ‘We talked, while I was waiting,’ she replied flatly. ‘He seemed harmless enough.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t advise you to get involved with him,’ said Jaime’s father dryly. ‘He thinks he’s the local Lothario.’

  ‘I thought he might be.’ Rachel shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, Robert. He’s not my type.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Robert declared comfortably, and she wondered why she sensed a certain air of satisfaction in the way he said it.

  At lunch Jaime joined them, and Rachel, fresh from her walk in the open air, thought how pale and dark-eyed he was looking. She knew he had been working by the slightly abstracted air he was wearing, but his pallor was unnatural, and she guessed his injury was troubling him.

  Still, he made an effort to behave normally with his mother and father, and they were obviously relieved by this demonstration of equanimity. He even responded to Rachel’s polite enquiry as to the state of his health without sarcasm, but his assurance that he was feeling much better did not quite ring true.

  When the meal was over, Liz suggested that she and Rachel should attend to the tree, which Andy, Maisie’s husband and gardener-cum-general handyman about the place, had raised in the hall. It looked green, but totally bare at the moment, and Liz was keen to have it dressed before her younger son and his family arrived. She had already brought the box containing all the tree decorations down from the second floor, and Rachel was more than willing to find herself occupied for the rest of the afternoon.

  Robert disappeared outside, having said he had matters to attend to with Andy, and as Maisie soon summoned Liz to advise her in the kitchen, Rachel was left to dress the tree alone. She didn’t know where Jaime had gone. She guessed he had probably returned to his writing, so she was surprised when he appeared from the library.

  ‘Reference,’ he said, by way of an explanation, holding up the book he held in his hand. ‘I see you’ve been abandoned. Do you need any assistance?’

  ‘From you?’ Rachel couldn’t prevent the tautness of her tone, and Jaime expelled his breath wearily.

  ‘Yes, from me,’ he agreed flatly. ‘It was an innocent suggestion, no more. But forget it. Obviously you’d rather not.’

  The words ‘Yes, I would’ hovered on Rachel’s tongue, but she bit them back, telling herself that she owed it to Liz and Robert to be civil at least. Instead, she swallowed her indignation and said stiffly: ‘If you’d like to help, of course you can. I—I just thought you might prefer to rest your leg.’

  Jaime looked sceptical at this. ‘Don’t you start!’ he exclaimed. ‘I can look after myself.’ He put down his book on the chest and looked round. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Rachel moistened her dry lips. ‘You could—sort out the decorations,’ she offered, pulling the step-ladder Maisie had supplied close to the tree. ‘I—I wouldn’t have thought this was your scene really. Don’t you usually spend Christmas out of the country?’

  Jaime squatted down on the floor, as she fixed the ornamental star to the top of the tree. ‘Revolutions invariably start at the most unsociable times of the year,’ he conceded. And then, looking up: ‘We’ve never spent Christmas together, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I know that.’ Rachel descended the steps carefully, glad she was wearing jeans and not a skirt. ‘Do you think that looks all right? Or should I change it for a fairy?’

  Jaime’s lean mouth curled into a smile that was neither smug nor sarcastic. ‘There’s no answer to that,’ he remarked, his brown eyes dancing, and her heart lurched at the unconscious way he could distract her.

  ‘No—really,’ she persisted, looking up at the tree, because it was safer than looking at him, and he grimaced.

  ‘The star looks very nice,’ he assured her dryly. ‘Come and look at these coloured ornaments. What do you want next?’

  Controlling the impulse to put as much space between them as was humanly possible, Rachel knelt down beside him, looking at the tree decoration in his hands. It was a silver ring, with a velvety red and silver harlequin suspended from it, and she did not have to invent her gasp of pleasure.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it pretty!’ she exclaimed, putting out her hand to touch, then withdrawing it again quickly. ‘I—I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.’

  ‘It is attractive, isn’t it?’ remarked Jaime thoughtfully. ‘I brought a dozen of them back from Hong Kong about five years ago. I was sent there to report on the plight of refugees from Vietnam—’

  ‘I know.’ Rachel interrupted him tensely, and he cast her a sidelong glance.

  ‘Of course,’ he frowned, ‘you worked on that story, too, didn’t you? It was your first month at LWTV.’

  ‘I only typed the story,’ retorted Rachel stiffly, picking several of the ring harlequins out of the box beside him, and standing up. ‘I’ll hang these next.’ Then, forcing herself to remain calm: ‘What else is there?’

  Jaime watched her attaching the ornaments to the branches for several minutes, his eyes following her progress up and down the step-ladder as she pulled it around the tree, then with a shrug he applied himself to his task again, pulling out several streamers of coloured tinsel and a box of crackers.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, leaning back on his hands, his injured leg stretched out in front of him, and Rachel approached diffidently, studying the things strewn around him.

  ‘I think I’ll use these first,’ she said, bending to pick up a collection of coloured glass trinkets he had unpacked earlier. They were small and delicate, shaped like lanterns and fruit, and huge frozen teardrops, and she admired them silently, avoiding his eyes. ‘Does your mother put all these things on the tree? There seems an awful lot.’

  ‘Just use what you think is necessary,’ said Jaime mildly. ‘I suggest you take the ladder, and I’ll handle the lower branches. I’m sorry if that sounds ungallant, but I d
on’t think I could make the steps right now.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to get up,’ Rachel protested, looking at him then. ‘Honestly, I can do it. I wasn’t hinting or anything. I was just—’

  ‘I’m not an invalid,’ retorted Jaime shortly, turning on to his good knee and pushing himself upright, keeping his other leg straight as he did so. ‘You see? No problem. Now, what would you like me to do?’

  Rachel was uncertain, aware that standing Jaime was far more intimidating to her. While he was sitting on the floor she had felt she could handle the situation. Now she was not so sure.

  ‘You’d better have some of these,’ she said, handing over the glass ornaments she was holding. ‘I’m sure you know what to do.’

  ‘I used to think so,’ he commented dryly, and she hastily climbed the ladder, before he could say more.

  They were working in what was, to Rachel, a rather uneasy silence, when Jaime’s mother appeared. She came bustling into the hall, glanced rather absently at Rachel on the step-ladder, then halted abruptly when she saw her son around the other side of the half-decorated free.

  ‘Jaime!’ she exclaimed. Then, looking at Rachel again, ‘Well, isn’t this nice! I didn’t realise you were helping, Jaime.’

  ‘I don’t know that I am,’ he remarked, with lazy humour. ‘But I’m trying—and that’s what really matters, isn’t it?’

  His mother held his amused gaze for several seconds, then, shaking her head, she transferred her gaze to Rachel. ‘Well, it does look nice, darling,’ she began, only to break off with an exclamation: ‘The lights! Rachel, you haven’t fixed the lights. Oh, my dear, they should have been fixed first.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Rachel sank down weakly on to the top step of the ladder and hunched her shoulders. ‘I didn’t think about the lights. Where are they?’

  ‘Well, they’re in this box somewhere,’ said Liz, rummaging among the tinsel and streamers still overflowing from the box her son had unpacked. Over her bent back, Jaime caught Rachel’s attention and grimaced, and an unwilling smile tilted her lips as Liz emerged triumphant. ‘Here they are!’ she exclaimed, displaying the container in which resided a string of tiny ornamental bulbs. ‘I wonder what you should do.’

  ‘We’ll fix them,’ declared Jaime, taking the box from her unresisting fingers. ‘I guess it won’t matter if they’re put on in the middle for once. Leave it to us, Ma, Rachel’s an expert at balancing on the ladder.’

  ‘Are you, Rachel?’

  Liz looked up at her enquiringly, and the girl pulled a wry face. ‘Hardly,’ she confessed, ignoring Jaime’s mocking expression. ‘But don’t worry, I—we’ll—handle it.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Liz was evidently bent about some business of her own, and after assuring herself that they could cope, she hurried upstairs, saying she was going to check on the bedrooms.

  ‘Okay.’ Jaime pulled the string of lights out of the box as Rachel carefully descended the ladder. ‘Now, you hold that end, and we’ll see how long this cable is.’

  ‘All right.’

  Rachel took the length of cord he offered and held it firmly while Jaime examined the remainder. There were at least three dozen light bulbs, all with their fluted glass shades, and composed of every colour Rachel could imagine.

  ‘I think if you can attach this one behind the star at the top of the tree, we could then divide the rest equally,’ Jaime said consideringly. ‘Here.’ He handed it to her. ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘I can try,’ said Rachel, with a grimace, now in possession of two lengths of cable, and slightly bemused by the cluster of lights about her feet. She was so afraid she might step on one accidentally, and she knew from experiences at home that one broken bulb could fuse the whole string.

  ‘Take it easy,’ said Jaime beside her. ‘You go ahead. I’ll hold them up for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Rachel half turned, but she was nervous, and as she did so, several of the bulbs spilled from her grasp. They tumbled on to the bottom step, right where she was going to put her foot, and losing her balance on one leg, she had to quickly find somewhere else to stand.

  She chose to go backward, forgetting Jaime was behind her, and only as her foot descended on his did she realise it was his injured leg. He gave a muffled oath and stepped backward himself, and his sudden movement threw her completely off balance. She felt herself falling, and tried to prevent it by groping for the steps, but all she grasped was fresh air before she cannoned into Jaime, who had no chance of saving himself. They fell together in a tangled heap of electric cable and coloured bulbs, Rachel cracking her head on the floor, and lying there stunned for a few seconds. Jaime fell beside her, with her flailing limbs half imprisoned by the weight of his body, his head faring a little better as he used his arms to save himself.

  ‘Lord!’ he muttered, raising himself on his hands beside her, and looking down into her shocked pale face. ‘Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Hell, I’m sorry. I’m not much use, with this bloody leg!’

  ‘Your leg…’ Rachel swallowed with difficulty, and her tongue came to circle her lips. ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault. You must be in agony!’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ he agreed, but she suddenly realised he was not speaking of his bullet wound. The other implications of their proximity were having their effect on him, and in the darkening emotion in his eyes she saw the inherent danger. He had made no move to get up, and she could feel the muscles of the leg imprisoning hers, and as she turned her head she could smell the warmth of his body from the open neck of his shirt. He was totally aware of her, as she, unwillingly, was of him, and when she realised what he intended to do she twisted wildly beneath him.

  But he used his hand to hold her face still for him, ignoring the clawing protest of her fingernails. He covered her lips with his in a swift hard kiss that demanded a response, and when she refused to give it he drew back to look down at her broodingly.

  ‘Little Miss Frigid!’ he taunted tormentingly, and when she opened her mouth to spit her contempt at him, he bent and kissed her again.

  Rachel realised her mistake at once. This time she was unprepared for it, and her lips were parted to denounce him, emotion of another kind trembling in her throat. But one emotion was much like another, she discovered, as she fought to get away from him, and the thin line between love and hatred was as difficult to define. His lips were firm and determined, possessing hers with a knowing expertise that sapped her strength and weakened her resistance. There was urgency and hunger in his kiss, and a deepening passion that assaulted her senses and set her blood surging wildly through her veins. No one but Jaime had ever kissed her this way, so sensually, so sexually, making her intimately aware of her own body’s needs, and as the kiss lingered and deepened she knew a wanton desire to surrender…

  At this point, however, Rachel rebelled. Her earlier feeble attempts to escape him had only quickened his ardour, but now she kicked out wildly, uncaring whether she hurt him or not. One booted foot connected with his ankle, and her knee drove upwards with vicious intent, and as Jaime muttered a savage oath and tried to evade her, she twisted herself free and got to her feet.

  The door chimes that rang almost at the same moment brought her round with a start, her hands groping desperately to smooth her hair. She thought for a moment they might be ringing in her head, her heart was pounding so violently, but as Jaime propped himself up on his elbows, his dark face taut and pain-racked, she knew she had not imagined it.

  ‘Saved by the bell,’ he remarked bitterly, and she put a nervous hand to her throat. ‘Go on,’ he added, ‘answer it, or someone may think something is wrong.’

  Rachel looked at him unhappily, biting her lips, twisting her hands together. ‘Are—are you all right?’ she pleaded, troubled by his harrowed countenance, and he moved his shoulders with hard-eyed indifference.

  ‘Does it matter?’ he asked, not trying to reassure her. ‘For God’s sake, open the door! Our—business—can be pursued at
some other time. There won’t always be interruptions, believe me!’

  Rachel quivered, ‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’

  ‘Because I’m unscrupulous—your words, not mine—or have you forgotten?’ he remarked flatly, as the chimes pealed again.

  ‘Can you answer that, Rachel?’

  Liz appeared at the top of the stairs, looking somewhat flustered, and Rachel could delay no longer. With an apologetic wave of her hand she hurriedly opened the door, then stepped back in some embarrassment as Jaime’s younger brother shouldered through the door.

  ‘Hey, it’s freezing out there,’ he protested, brushing past her to dump a folding pram and a carrycot in the middle of the floor. Then he saw Jaime and grinned. ‘My God! What are you doing down there? Playing electricians?’

  Jaime brushed the trailing length of lights aside and made an effort to get up. But his leg was evidently paining him more then it had done before, and he sank back with a grimace, obviously disgusted with his own weakness.

  ‘Here—’ Robin gave him a hand as a young woman appeared in the open doorway, carrying a baby in her arms, and he swung round to face her as Jaime reached for his stick.

  It was then he saw the girl still hovering by the open door, and he did a swift double-take. ‘Rachel! As I live and breathe!’ he exclaimed, giving his brother a sudden half disbelieving glance before going towards her. ‘Rachel!’ He bent and bestowed a less-than-brotherly kiss on her parted lips, before murmuring softly: ‘What have you been doing to him?’

  ‘Robin, can you take Lisa, please?’

  A slightly peevish voice interrupted them, and Rachel drew away from him at once and went towards the young woman carrying the baby.

  ‘Let me,’ she offered, holding out her arms, and although Nancy was evidently loath to hand her baby over to a stranger, she must have decided it was the lesser of two evils.

  ‘Can’t you close the door, Robin?’ she exclaimed, after he had rescued two bags that were sitting on the step, and with a sheepish grimace he slammed it behind him, just as Liz came down the stairs.