Fires in the Forest

by Oliver, Marina

  *

  She took one of her more expensive purchases out of the wardrobe. It was a tawny and scarlet patterned dress, in a clinging jersey that showed her figure to great advantage, while fastening high at the neck with deceptive demureness and opening high on the shoulders to bare them provocatively. The skirt clung to her hips and thighs, flaring out in flamenco style from just above the knees, revealing inset panels of plain vivid scarlet. The colours flattered her hair, bringing out the gold highlights, and made her skin look creamy in subdued lighting. She had dreamed of wearing this dress first when dancing with Robert, but her opportunity for that had gone and she might as well use it to show Jane she was not the meek little governessy figure Jane obviously thought her.

  She had bought some red shoes to go with the dress and she fetched these out of their box, still wrapped in tissue.

  Making up with extra care, using more eye make-up than she usually did, Nicola was ready just as the front doorbell rang and she went to open it.

  Paul raised his eyebrows appreciatively and pursed his lips in a whistle.

  'Boy, what a stunner!' he exclaimed, and Nicola blushed.

  'Shall we go?' she asked, picking up a small gold evening bag from the table beside the archway and checking she had a key and some money.

  Paul's car, an old Volvo estate, was waiting and he helped her in, fussing unnecessarily long, she thought, seeing her skirt was not caught in the door, and then forestalling her as she reached for the safety belt and fastening it for her, his hands making contact with hers as he did so.

  He drove for some miles through the Forest, talking knowledgeably as they went.

  'Have you visited Beaulieu? As well as the Palace there's a marvellous collection of vintage cars in the Motor Museum.'

  'Wasn't it once an Abbey?'

  'Yes, Cistercian. Those monks knew where to settle,' he added, stopping for a moment outside the gates and looking across from them to the broad placid river where swans glided peacefully.

  'Lord Montagu has been adventurous with his stately home, from all I hear.'

  'He has still preserved the old parts. Buckler's Hard, a few miles down the river, is still exactly like an eighteenth century boat building village, no ice cream parlours or chip shops. A lot of warships were built there, including one of Nelson's.'

  They arrived at Jane's cottage which fronted onto the open Forest. Paul drove through a narrow gateway, clattering over a cattle grid, and swept down a semicircular drive which dropped past sloping gardens to the house and up again to sweep past a garage and out through another pair of gates. A dense shrubbery concealed the gardens to the right of the drive, and on the far side beyond the garage Nicola could see two handsome-looking horses grazing in a white-fenced paddock.

  The cottage was about three hundred years old and tiny. The door was central, but the right-hand half of the cottage, which was taller than the rest and had probably been added a century after the original had been built, projected several feet forwards. Small windows peeped from under a newly thatched roof and the old oak door stood open.

  Two cars were already parked on the drive, an ancient Ford, and a Porsche, and as Nicola got out of the car she could hear voices beyond the screen of bushes to the right.

  Jane appeared in the doorway and to Nicola's dismay she saw that her hostess was casually dressed in white jeans and a checkered shirt, the tails of which she had tied in front leaving her midriff bare. On her feet she wore thonged gold sandals.

  'Oh, Nicola, did I forget to say not to bother dressing up?' Jane asked in apparent contrition, but Nicola thought she saw a gleam of satisfaction in her green eyes. 'But do come in and meet the others,' she added and led the way through a tiny hall into a drawing room that stretched the full depth of the house.

  *

  They went through another stable-type door onto a paved patio facing west, with a glorious view of one of the most magnificent sunsets Nicola had ever seen, a riotous confusion of greens and golds and reds and purple framing the thick dark green of the fir trees, fading away into the pale blue of the evening sky.

  The remainder of the evening was a disaster for Nicola. Apart from Paul, who was wearing a dark suit, the others were casually dressed in jeans and open-necked shirts. The photographer, whose name she never did discover, had clearly been drinking heavily all day. Instead of talking about work for Jane he rambled incoherently about how much he would like to do a series of photographs of Nicola with, she gathered, as little clothing as possible, if indeed any. His wife seethed with scarcely veiled fury and the other man, a red-faced, hearty type, made matters worse with loud consoling whispers about what he described as 'your husband taking profeshionishm mush too far!'

  Nicola endured the meal as they were squashed together round the small gate-legged table in Jane's dining room, which was expertly furnished with antiques but, Nicola decided after a while, without the same sure taste as in Paul's cottage. She concentrated on evading the attempts of both men to touch her hands as they passed her things, and when they moved into the drawing room for coffee she quickly secured one of the small button backed chairs beside the huge stone fireplace, resisting their blandishments to share either of the chaises longues where the men had hopefully deposited themselves.

  Very soon afterwards the photographer completely lost interest in the proceedings, permitting his head to fall backwards and starting to snore loudly. Paul assisted his furious wife to get him out to the Ford, and with only the briefest of thanks to Jane she accelerated up the drive, throwing up a shower of gravel as she shot out of the gates and along the road.

  'I think we'd better go too, Nicola looks tired,' Paul said to his sister.

  'I don't think I have completely recovered from my migraine,' Nicola seized gratefully on the excuse and Jane, tight lipped, watched them depart.

  Paul could scarcely contain his laughter as he drove away.

  'Lord! Poor old Jane. She won't speak to me for a month!'

  'Have you met any of them before?' Nicola asked, feeling she had to say something.

  'Thomas, believe it or not, is a very competent accountant. He sorts out Jane's tax for her, and does pretty well at it too. The other couple I've heard of but didn't know.'

  'Weren't you hoping to do some business with him?'

  'Business? What sort?'

  'Oh, I thought Jane said you wanted to do something with him, to do with your antiques. I assumed she meant photographs for a magazine or a book.'

  'She said that, did she?' He seemed amused. 'I wouldn't trust him to hold a camera straight, would you?'

  Nicola laughed and agreed, but wondered why Jane had felt it necessary to tell her something which semed to be inaccurate, and then forgot it as Paul entertained her with amusing stories about various friends and fellow dealers.

  When they drew up in front of The Lodge the light in the hall was on but no other lights were visible.

  'Thank you for the lift,' Nicola said, and Paul leant across to open the car door for her.

  Before she was aware of his intentions he kissed her swiftly on the lips.

  'Don't forget our date on Saturday. I'll collect you about seven. You'd better go in now, before there are fireworks!'

  He laughed softly, and Nicola, her cheeks flaming, bit back the angry retort she had been about to make and slipped hastily out of the car. She had reached the top of the steps leading to the front door before she realised Robert was standing there, surveying the Volvo's disappearing tail lights angrily.

  *

  'So you were too tired to visit Sarah and dance with me?' he threw at her as she hesitated in front of him where he blocked her way.

  'Yes, I was!' she retorted, angry at his tone and furious with Paul for kissing her in such a way, and that Robert had witnessed it.

  'There is no need for you to tell lies or make excuses if you prefer to spend your evenings with a man like Paul Moncrieff!' he went on, his brows drawn tight together as he glared down at her
.

  She gasped. 'I told no lies! Jane telephoned after you had gone and needed another dinner guest!'

  'Jane? For pity's sake grant me some intelligence. As if Jane would ask you to dinner.'

  'But she did,' she cried furiously. 'Why don't you phone her if you choose not to believe me?'

  'And look a complete idiot? Oh, for God's sake don't stand there on the step. Come in.'

  Taking a deep breath to calm her angry nerves, Nicola stepped past him and in the hall light he saw the dress properly. His eyes narrowed and grew darker but Nicola was not looking at him. She was walking towards the stairs, her head high, struggling to keep the traitorous tears from falling.

  'Believe what you choose,' she flung over her shoulder. 'It's far too complicated to explain. I tried to help her and all I get is abuse and humiliation.'

  To her horror she finished on a sob, and she hastened to turn the corner and run down the stairs before he could see she was weeping uncontrollably.

  'Nicola!'

  She ignored the sudden doubt in his voice and tried to run faster, but a few stairs from the bottom her heel twisted and she fell down the remaining steps to collapse in a heap in the lower hall.

  Fortunately the carpeting was thick and she did not hurt herself, but this added failure on top of the calamitous evening was too much. She lay there and struggled to control her weeping and suddenly found Robert's arms about her. When she lifted her head his eyes were close to her own and she could feel his breath – and the fumes of brandy, she realised with dismay – on her cheeks.

  'Nicola, are you hurt?' he demanded urgently.

  'No!' She struggled to rise but her skirt was caught under her foot and she half fell again.

  Robert bent and scooped her up in his arms. She noticed confusedly, for her senses were in a whirl at his nearness, that the bedroom doors were open and all the lights on. Presumably, finding the house empty when he returned home, he had been searching for her.

  'Are you sure you're OK? You didn't twist your ankle?' he demanded, looking down at her as she lay in his arms, her face streaked with tears.

  'I'm fine! Oh, for goodness sake, put me down!'

  'You need something to calm your nerves,' he said calmly, ignoring her words, and carried her through to his bedroom, his dark eyes glinting down into hers.

  'Robert, please put me down! I can walk perfectly well!' she insisted, but he held her with infuriating ease and carried her through into another room beyond, which was at the corner of the house and matched Mrs Frayn's sitting room. He deposited her none too gently on a large, velvet-covered settee, and turned towards a small table on which several bottles stood.

  Without asking her what she wanted he poured a generous measure of brandy, and came across to push it into her hands, taking her nerveless fingers and folding them round the glass, keeping his own fingers laced protectively over hers.

  'Drink that,' he commanded and Nicola took a deep breath.

  'I can hold it,' she snapped.

  Infuriatingly, again ignoring her words, he forced her to raise the glass to her lips and sip the warming brandy.

  She gulped, spluttered, and glared up at him.

  'I can hold it,' she repeated, and almost dropped the glass when he suddenly released her.

  She sipped the brandy again. It was soothing. Robert walked across the room to the big windows and jerked the heavy dark red curtains closed. Then he turned and picked up his own glass, which was half empty, from another table and walked back to stand looking down at her.

  'Don't you realise I am responsible for you?' he asked in a controlled voice. 'I had no idea where you were. You left no message and Mrs Trotter said she had thought you were going to go to bed early.'

  'I'm sorry, I should have thought to leave a note,' Nicola said quickly. 'There wasn't time and I didn't think you'd be home early.'

  'Where did you think I'd be going? They keep early hours in hospitals.'

  'I thought you'd have had dinner somewhere,' she replied in a small voice.

  'And leave you alone? You must have a poor opinion of me as your host.'

  'You're my employer,' she snapped suddenly.

  He stared at her.

  'To be perfectly accurate it was my mother who engaged you. But let us not quibble. Sarah is much improved, by the way, and will soon be able to come home. She didn't even have a tantrum about my treatment of Mr Scott.'

  'I'm sorry. I should have asked about her earlier.'

  'You scarcely had time,' he said quickly. 'I beg your pardon, Nicola, I should not have shouted at you as I did. Will you forgive me? You said I was bad-tempered when we first met, and I'm afraid you're right,' he added with a grin.

  She blushed and smiled tremulously at him, and he came and sat beside her, taking the glass out of her hand and capturing both hands in his.

  'I really did go to Jane's. She had a photographer and she needed another woman,' she explained hurriedly, her heart thumping so loudly at his nearness she thought he must hear it.

  'If Jane needed someone I would have thought she could have found plenty of people without involving you. Paul took you?'

  'Yes, he wanted – at least Jane said he did – to talk to this man about some project. Jane was also hoping he would give her some work.'

  'And was her ploy successful?' he asked, and Nicola thought he sounded unwarrantably concerned. Did he fear Jane would be lost to him if she resumed her modelling career, she wondered. Suddenly the recollection of the man snoring on the chaise longue made her giggle, and Robert's fingers tightened over hers.

  'I don't think so,' she said. 'He was trying to persuade me to pose for him, and Paul never even mentioned his ideas!'

  'Discriminating photographer, to choose you! That is a very seductive dress you know!'

  'I don't think he wanted me to pose in the dress,' she said, now able to laugh at it, but Robert's fingers tightened again so suddenly that she gave a squeak of protest.

  'You didn't agree?' he demanded.

  'Of course not. He was drunk, anyhow. He went to sleep and snored and his wife had to drive him home.'

  Robert laughed. 'Poor Jane,' he said lightly. 'She didn't mention she had guests when I saw her in Bournemouth this afternoon.'

  Nicola's thoughts were in a whirl. He had seen Jane, and she had known that Nicola would be alone that night. Why had she not said so? And why had he seen her, she cried inwardly to herself. Had it been a chance meeting, or previously arranged? There were quite a few questions about Jane's dinner party that needed answering.

  'I – I'd better go to bed,' Nicola said quietly, and tried to free her hands. He held them tightly and looked closely at her for a moment so that she blushed under his scrutiny, and then with a lithe movement he rose to his feet, pulling her with him, and held her away from him.

  'A friend of mine is having a party on his boat on Saturday. Will you come with me?'

  Startled, pleased, Nicola was about to accept when she recalled she had agreed to dine with Paul.

  'I – I'm sorry, I've already made arrangements,' she said slowly.

  He frowned at her, began to speak and then shrugged, dropping her hands and turning away.

  'I'm sorry about that,' he said in a cool, remote voice.

  She began to walk towards the door, and he escorted her politely through the bedroom and into the hall.

  'Will you need to borrow the Fiat? You're welcome to if you'd find it useful.'

  She turned to thank him.

  'That is kind but it won't be necessary. Paul is collecting me.'

  'Paul!' he exclaimed. 'Not another dinner at Jane's?' he asked scathingly, and Nicola stiffened at his tone.

  'As it happens, no,' she returned angrily.

  'I would advise you not to see too much of that man. He's not to be trusted,' Robert said curtly.

  'I can't see how it's your business. You have already said you aren't my employer.'

  'I would be failing my duty if I didn't warn
you,' he replied in an angry tone.

  'I can judge for myself,' Nicola replied.

  'Can you? Have you ever mixed with people like Paul Moncrieff before? A man who treads a fine line between fraud and trickery in his business? He's escaped the law so far, but by the closest of shaves. Can you take care of yourself with a man who has no scruples, who would use you until he tired of you and then toss you aside?'

  By the time he had finished his furious questions he had taken hold of her shoulders and Nicola was too astonished at his outburst to do anything but stare up at him, bemused. Suddenly he groaned and swept her into his arms, crushing her against his chest and bringing his mouth down on hers. For a surprised moment Nicola was incapable of movement, and then she tried to push him away but only succeeded in making him hold her more firmly. A strange languor seemed to deaden her resistance at the same time as it heightened her awareness of the feel of Robert's hands against her back, pressing her to him, and his lips, firm and sensuous as he tantalised her mouth into a response to his kiss. The by now familiar perfume of his Blackwatch aftershave wafted over her and she went limp in his embrace, unable to think of anything apart from the bliss of being held so securely where, she suddenly realised, she had for so long wanted to be.

  She seemed to be drowning in the bliss of it and then, when Robert moved slightly, she tried to bring her hands up to put them round his neck. He released her before she could, however, and after a steady, hard look into her eyes he stepped back and through his bedroom door, closing it with a firm decisive click and leaving Nicola standing outside. She was shattered by the intensity of her feelings for this exasperating, unpredictable man, feelings which had been growing, she realised, so slowly until now, but had emerged suddenly with that shattering kiss, the like of which she had never experienced before, which had left her weak with a fierce longing to stay in Robert's arms for ever, uncaring for everything except his nearness, his touch.

  *