A Vengeful Deception

by Lee Wilkinson

  There were plenty of people still about, spilling from the shops and stores, laden down with last-minute purchases of gifts and goodies.

  The falling snow, which at any other time would have been condemned as an inconvenience, added the final festive touch.

  ‘A picture-postcard scene.’

  Her passenger’s comment echoed Anna’s own thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, and because he affected her so strongly found herself talking too much. ‘The weather has been very changeable lately. First it was unseasonably mild, then just a couple of days ago we had a severe storm with gale-force winds that did a lot of damage locally. Now this looks like being the first white Christmas we’ve had for a long time.’

  ‘I ordered it especially,’ he told her. ‘I love snow, and it’s been years since I saw any.’

  ‘Then you don’t live in England?’

  ‘I do now. The wanderer has finally returned.’

  ‘Have you been back long?’

  ‘A day or two.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘The States. After I left college I spent some time travelling the world before settling on America’s Western Seaboard. Eventually, having got into computer software, I bought a house on the coast and adopted the Californian lifestyle.’

  ‘Sun, sea, and sand?’ Anna murmured.

  ‘In a nutshell.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘After a while that kind of life can pall. I found I was longing for rural England and the changing seasons. Daffodils and April showers, the smell of summer and new-mown hay, October frosts and decaying leaves, November fogs and log fires… There was nothing particular to keep me in California—my business interests had diversified and become international—so when circumstances gave me the opportunity, I decided to come home.’

  He hadn’t mentioned a wife, but such an attractive man was almost certain to be married, or at least in some long-term relationship…

  Collecting her straying thoughts, she asked, ‘And you regard Rymington as home?’

  ‘I was born and bred here.’ With deliberation, he added, ‘At Hartington Manor, to be exact.’

  While keeping her eyes on the road, Anna was aware that he was watching her intently, as though he expected some reaction.

  ‘Hartington Manor? Isn’t that where Sir Ian Strange used to live?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m Gideon Strange, his son.’

  Sir Gideon Strange, and presumably living at the Manor now.

  His continued regard made her even more self-conscious, and her voice was jerky as she said, ‘I was sorry to hear of your father’s death last year.’

  ‘Did you know him?’ The question was casual.

  ‘No, not personally. But he’s always been well known and highly respected in the town. He did a great deal for charity and local good causes.’

  ‘Yes, he liked to be regarded as a philanthropist.’

  There was a suggestion of bitterness in the words.

  ‘I’d half expected him to leave his entire estate to some deserving charity. I could picture the Manor being turned into a home for abused women or stray cats and dogs.’

  Then with a quick, sidelong, mocking smile, ‘No, I’ve nothing against either abused women or dumb animals. But though it’s too small to count as a stately home, the Manor is a beautiful old place. It would have been a pity to let it go out of the family. There’s been a Strange there since Elizabethan times.’

  So why on earth would Sir Ian have left it to a charity, rather than his own son?

  As though in answer to Anna’s unspoken question, Gideon Strange went on, ‘I’m afraid my father and I never quite saw eye to eye…’

  The judicious wording convinced her that that was an understatement.

  ‘His carefully nurtured public image was somewhat different from the private reality, and I’m afraid he could never forgive me for pointing that out.’

  Not knowing quite what to say, Anna kept silent.

  After a short pause her companion changed the subject to ask, ‘Do you belong to these parts?’

  ‘Yes. In just a minute we’ll be passing where I was born and brought up… There… If you can see for the snow? The row of cottages on the right of what used to be the old village green… Ours was the second from the end.’

  A lump in her throat, she added, ‘I always loved Drum Cottage.’ Then swallowing hard, ‘Cleo, the friend I’m going to spend Christmas with, used to live next door.’

  ‘No family left?’

  ‘No. My parents and my younger brother died four years ago in a train crash.’

  After all this time it still had the power to hurt.

  As though he knew, he said, ‘Tough.’

  Then, after a moment, ‘So you’re planning to spend Christmas with a friend?’

  ‘Yes. At first I refused the invitation. You see, Cleo’s husband isn’t fond of company, and I thought I might be intruding… But she said the spare bed was ready and she had enough food to feed an army, so if I changed my mind I was simply to turn up…’

  Finding she was babbling again, Anna resolutely closed her mouth.

  By now they had reached the outskirts of the town and were bypassing the new estate where Cleo and her family had a neat, semi-detached house.

  Leaving the last street lamp behind them, they started to wind their way up Old Castle Hill, the headlights making a tunnel between the trees and picking up the driving white curtain of snow.

  ‘So where do you live now, Anna?’

  ‘I have a bedsit in Grafton Street… What made you call me Anna?’ she asked sharply.

  There was a barely perceptible pause, before he queried, ‘Do you prefer Savanna?’

  ‘No… It’s always been shortened to Anna. I mean, how did you know my name?’

  ‘It’s on the board above your shop for all to read. Savanna Sands. Very alliterative.’

  ‘How did you know that was my shop?’

  ‘I walked past earlier this afternoon and caught sight of you through the window.’

  She frowned. ‘What made you presume I was the owner? I could have been anyone.’

  ‘The shop appeared to be empty of stock, and you were wielding a hammer with great determination.’

  Before she could point out that he hadn’t really answered her question, he went on, ‘I rather got the impression that Savanna Sands is due to close down?’

  ‘It’s closed,’ she said flatly.

  ‘The end of a business, or a dream?’

  His percipience was uncanny.

  ‘The latter. Since I was a child I’ve dreamt of running my very own bookshop.’

  ‘So what happened? Not enough customers, or not enough cash?’

  ‘Both. Tourist trade picks up in the summer, but I couldn’t wait till then. My overdraft was stretched to the limit, the lease was up, and the new owners of the building had doubled the rent.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  It was the same question Cleo had asked.

  Anna gave the same answer. ‘As soon as Christmas is over, start looking for a job.’

  ‘An assistant in a bookshop maybe?’

  Stung, she said, ‘I’m a qualified librarian.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him raise a well-marked brow, before he murmured, ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘In a town this size I can’t imagine there are boundless opportunities, even for a qualified librarian?’

  Hearing the mockery behind the politely phrased question, she made a point of not answering.

  ‘Of course, there’s always London,’ he pursued. ‘Or perhaps you feel a big city isn’t for you?’

  He had the smooth abrasiveness of pumice-stone.

  ‘I know it isn’t. I lived and worked in London after I left college, and I was glad to leave it.’

  ‘You worked in a library?’

  She shook her head. ‘I had a job as a secretary.’

  ‘B
ut you were still keeping your dream alive.’

  Though it was a statement rather than a question, she found herself answering, ‘Yes. At weekends, and in my spare time, I went to salerooms and auctions to try and collect together enough rare manuscripts and first editions to start my own business.’

  ‘An expensive undertaking, even for a well-paid secretary,’ he commented drily.

  ‘I had some capital.’ Annoyed that she’d let herself be provoked into telling a perfect stranger so much, she relapsed into silence, concentrating on her driving.

  At the top of the long hill they skirted a bare spinney, where as a child she’d gathered wild primroses, before turning on to Old Castle Road.

  The lights of Rymington, below them now and to their left, had vanished, blotted out by the falling snow. It was coming faster now, the wipers having a job to keep the windscreen clear.

  Glancing to the right, Anna glimpsed the old red-brick wall of the Manor. The darkness and the conditions made it difficult to judge distances, but they couldn’t be too far away from the main gates.

  Apparently reading her thoughts, her companion broke the silence to say, ‘Only a hundred yards or so to go. You’ll see the entrance in a moment.’

  Just as he spoke, the headlights picked it up.

  Anna had only ever seen the tall, wrought-iron gates closed. Now they stood wide open.

  As she drove carefully through them and up the long, winding, unlit drive between tall trees, she remarked, ‘The weather seems to be getting worse. I expect your wife will be relieved to see you back.’

  ‘What makes you presume I’m married?’

  ‘Well…with all the shopping and everything…’

  ‘Even poor bachelors have to eat.’ He was undoubtedly laughing at her.

  A shade stiffly, she said, ‘Of course.’

  Through the snow the headlights picked up the bulk of a house and flashed across dark windows. It appeared to be deserted.

  But of course it couldn’t be. A place the size of Hartington Manor was bound to have staff.

  Yet, if there were servants, why had he been doing his own shopping?

  She brought the car to a halt, and, remembering his injured arm, asked, ‘Can I help with the groceries?’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you would.’

  Turning off the engine, she made to clamber out.

  ‘May I suggest that you wait here for a moment while I open the door and put on some lights? Normally the security lights would have been working, but the storm you mentioned earlier put an electricity substation out of action. We do have an emergency generator, but unfortunately it has only a very limited capacity.’

  He retrieved the carrier, and she watched him walk through the snow to the house. Awkward, one-handed, he held the bag tucked beneath his arm while he felt in his pocket for the key and opened the door.

  A moment later, the hall lights and a lantern above the door flashed on.

  Switching off the car lights to save the battery, Anna lifted out the box and followed him into the house.

  Shouldering the door shut against the snow blowing in, he led the way across a high, panelled hall, and into a large kitchen with a flagged floor and a massive inglenook fireplace.

  In front of the hearth, where a log fire was already laid, were a couple of easy chairs and a small, sturdy table.

  Beneath a deep shelf that held a gleaming array of copper saucepans and kettles was an Aga, which threw out a welcoming warmth. Around it, fitted in with care, marrying the old to the new, there was every modern convenience.

  The only things missing seemed to be servants.

  Anna put the box down on a long oak table and turned to the door.

  ‘Before you rush off,’ Gideon said, ‘I’ve a proposition to put to you.’

  Watching her freeze, he added sardonically, ‘Oh, nothing improper, I assure you. It’s simply this: you’re in need of a job, and I’m in need of an experienced secretary-cum-librarian.’

  Wondering if this was his idea of a joke, she looked at him warily.

  ‘Let me briefly explain. The internet gives me all the access I need to world markets, and enables me to buy and sell goods, services, whatever… So as soon as I’m properly established here, I intend to run my various business interests from home… Hence the need for a secretary.’

  ‘And a librarian?’

  ‘Hartington Manor has a very fine library, as you may well know.’

  She half shook her head.

  ‘But for a while now it’s been somewhat neglected. I’d like to see it put in order and properly catalogued. With regard to salary, I thought something in the region of…’ He named a sum that no one in their right mind could have turned down.

  When she merely stared at him, he added, ‘I hope you see that as reasonable?’

  The slight edge to his tone made her wonder if he was waiting for some sign of gratitude or enthusiasm.

  Before she could find her voice, however, he went on, ‘If you accept the post, I’d like you to start work straight after the holiday.’

  There was a silence in which the confusion of her thoughts was barely contained.

  Then, feeling the need to say something without committing herself, she asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘How big is the library?’

  ‘Quite large by private standards.’ He dangled the bait. ‘Why don’t you have a look?’

  She took it. ‘I’d like to.’

  Even if she didn’t accept the job, the opportunity to have a quick look at the Manor’s library was one she couldn’t miss.

  ‘Then please feel free.’

  He made no immediate move to take her and, somewhat at a loss, she waited.

  It appeared that his thoughts were straying, because it was a few seconds before he said, ‘If you come with me, I’ll show you where the library is.’

  He led her back across the hall, past an imposing central staircase on one side of which—rather incongruously, she thought—stood a large brass gong, and, opening one of the double oak doors at the rear, switched on the lights.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not very warm in here. The central heating is electric, so at the moment it’s not working.’

  Casually, he added, ‘You could probably do with a hot cup of tea? I know I could, so I’ll go and put the kettle on while you take a look around.’

  With a little smile, he closed the door quietly behind him and left her to it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE library was a high, handsome room, with a large stone fireplace and mullioned windows. On every wall there were shelves from floor to ceiling, filled with an array of books that delighted Anna’s heart.

  At first glance everything seemed to be well cared for. She could discern none of the neglect that Gideon Strange had mentioned.

  In one corner was a little pulpit-staircase. It was made of dark oak and beautifully carved; a polished handrail supported by banisters followed the spiral of the steps.

  She went over to it and found it moved easily on hidden castors. Slipping off her boots, she climbed the smooth treads and found she could reach the top shelf of books with ease.

  Working here would be a pleasure.

  But did she want to work for Gideon Strange?

  One half of her wanted to very much, but the sensible half warned against it.

  Perhaps because of a fancied resemblance to David, there was a physical attraction that made being with him disturbing, to say the least. But could she afford to turn down a chance that, had her prospective employer been anyone else, she would have jumped at?

  Perhaps if she asked for a few days to consider his offer? By the time Christmas was over she might feel differently, be able to face the thought of working for him with equanimity.

  But who was she trying to fool? He was too charismatic, too strong a personality, altogether too dangerous for her peace of mind.

  Though she’d only seen him relatively briefly, that tough, handsome face, with i
ts breathtaking charm and more than a hint of arrogance, was etched indelibly on her mind.

  The green eyes, long and narrow and heavily lashed; the chiselled mouth—oh, that mouth!—firm and clean-cut, a fascinating combination of strength and sensuality.

  Rather like David’s, but with added maturity.

  No, she was wrong. David’s mouth, while charming, had totally lacked that strength. It might even have been a little weak.

  To her great surprise she realised that David had suddenly become shallow and lightweight compared to Gideon Strange…

  Which only stiffened her resolve to refuse his offer. Having been badly burnt once had made her wary. He had the kind of explosive sexuality that made her want to run, and keep running…

  A soft patter of snow being dashed against the windows drew her attention. The plum velvet curtains were open, and through the darkness pressing against diamond-leaded panes she could see the white flakes scurrying past.

  It seemed the wind was rising.

  If she didn’t leave quite soon she might have difficulty getting back to Cleo’s, where everything was light and bright and modern, and the only books were dog-eared paperbacks jostling for space on chipboard shelves.

  She descended the steps carefully, put on her boots and, after switching off the lights, hurried back to the kitchen.

  The shopping had been unpacked and the thick folk-weave curtains drawn across the windows. A bunch of mistletoe with gleaming white berries lay on the draining board.

  Still wearing his jacket, and looking even taller and broader than she remembered, Gideon Strange was putting tea things on a tray. His fair hair, she noticed, was a little rumpled and quite wet.

  Glancing up, he said easily, ‘Ah, there you are. The tea’s already made.’

  Just the sight of him, the sound of his voice, told her that she hadn’t been mistaken about his intense attraction. Well, she wouldn’t be caught in that trap again. She had shed too many tears over David to want to repeat the experience.

  ‘Thanks, but I really haven’t time,’ she said briskly.

  His tone studiously casual, he refused to take no for an answer. ‘Just a quick cup before you go. You must be more than ready for one.’