A Vengeful Deception

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘When you were in the States, did you ever work for J. Arthur Rank?’ she enquired.

  Head tipped back, he grinned up at her. ‘I’m afraid they hadn’t got a leopardskin my size.’

  Her spirits rising for the first time in weeks, she made her way down to join him.

  At the bottom of the stairs he took both her hands and said, ‘Happy Christmas.’

  Affected by his touch, his nearness, she echoed a trifle breathlessly, ‘Happy Christmas.’

  His eyes were fixed on her mouth. She watched his lips part and his head tilt a little, as if he intended to pull her close and kiss her.

  Holding her breath, she waited. But after a moment he released her hands and turned away, adding mundanely, ‘Everything’s ready, so come and get it.’

  After a tasty and satisfying meal, eaten in front of a blazing fire, Gideon stretched his long frame and announced, ‘Now we need a spot of exercise.’

  Warm and comfortable, and feeling distinctly idle, Anna looked at him with a ‘you speak for yourself’ expression.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Woman, we can’t spend the whole of Christmas Day in idle sloth. There are things to do.’

  ‘Such as the generator to mend.’

  Shaking his head, he told her, ‘Hopeless, I’m afraid. Luckily the larder is like an ice-house, so the food won’t go off.’

  Ignoring the latter sentence, she asked, ‘How do you know it’s hopeless?’

  ‘I had a look at it this morning, while you were still in bed, but I couldn’t make out what was wrong with it.’

  From his laid-back manner, she got the impression that he hadn’t tried very hard.

  But perhaps she was judging him too harshly? How many people would actually be able to mend a generator? She wouldn’t know what a generator looked like if she fell over one…

  ‘Now to work!’ He broke briskly into her thoughts. ‘We’ve holly to gather, some spruce boughs to cut, a proper Yule log to saw and bring in, and we’ll need to dig up a Christmas tree. There’s one about the right size growing at the edge of the coppice.’

  ‘We? Isn’t that sort of thing men’s work?’

  ‘I thought these days women wanted equality?’

  ‘Well, of course I’d love to help,’ she assured him hastily, ‘but I’m afraid I left my lumberjack gear at home.’

  Eyeing her suede boots, which were standing in the inglenook, he asked, ‘Is that all you have with you?’

  ‘Apart from a pair of court shoes and these.’ Lifting her feet, she displayed her black velvet slippers.

  Shaking his head, he demanded, ‘How can someone who looks like a beautiful, smoky-eyed witch be so unprepared?’

  ‘I’m afraid my crystal ball got fogged up. When I left home yesterday morning, I had no idea it was going to snow.’

  ‘Then the first thing we need to do is get you properly kitted out. While I see what I can find in the garden-room, I expect you’d like another cup of coffee?’

  ‘Well, at least your crystal ball seems to be in working order,’ she commented approvingly, as he refilled her cup.

  The coffee was still hot and fragrant and, after a second’s hesitation, he refilled his own.

  ‘I thought you were off to the garden-room?’

  He grinned at her, making her heart miss a beat. ‘What was Adam’s excuse? The woman tempted me. But after this spot of indulgence it’s all hands on deck,’ he added severely.

  ‘No slacking?’

  ‘None.’

  As soon as Gideon had swallowed his coffee he put down his cup and disappeared into the servants’ quarters.

  Wishing this easy camaraderie could last, Anna lingered over hers.

  He was back quite quickly with a miscellaneous pile of outdoor things over one arm, and two pairs of wellington boots, all of which he spread out on the hearth.

  ‘There’s everything we need here. They’ll just take a little while to warm up.’

  As a faint steam began to rise from the various garments, he added, ‘Both pairs of boots are the same size, and they’ll be far too big for you, but there are plenty of thick woollen socks to pad them out. And now, as your special treat, I’ll let you have first choice of colour.’

  ‘The red socks,’ she said firmly, ‘and that pair of wellingtons. I’ve often thought I’d like to join the green wellie brigade.’

  He laughed. ‘Whatever turns you on.’

  Some five minutes later, having donned waterproof over-trousers, an Aran sweater, a man’s sheepskin jacket, a red knitted hat, a scarf and a pair of thick gloves, she clumped after Gideon who, apart from being bare-headed, was similarly attired.

  The garden-room, obviously used for changing outdoor footwear and clothing, had a row of pegs alongside a wooden bench.

  Tools were arranged in neat rows, and a series of shelves held an orderly array of vases, flowerpots, seed-trays, and so on. Several bags of potting compost, and a couple of deep terracotta planters stood on the floor.

  ‘One of those will be ideal for the tree,’ Gideon remarked. Then, indicating a massive log propped in one corner, he suggested, ‘And if we use that, it’ll save us sawing up a tree trunk.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you call that slacking?’ she asked drily.

  ‘Expedient. It looks nice and dry, so it’ll burn well.’

  ‘Sold.’

  Surveying her cumbersome boots and the heavy jacket, with its over-long sleeves and too-wide shoulders, his expression openly amused, he queried, ‘Are you going to have enough strength to move about in that lot?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said loftily. ‘At the moment, I could stand in for Mighty Mouse.’

  After a brief inspection, he shook his head. ‘The shoulders are the right size, but your ears aren’t big enough.’

  He yanked the woollen hat she was wearing well down over them and, after gathering up a selection of tools, opened the door and led the way across a low-walled terrace.

  Sun shone brightly from a cornflower-blue sky and the air was as cold and sparkling as iced champagne. The snow, which came almost to the top of her wellingtons, lay crisp and even, its virginal surface unmarked except for a few bird tracks.

  ‘Don’t forget there are three steps down to the garden,’ Gideon warned.

  The steps safely negotiated, she noticed a trail of footprints going to, and coming from, a high single-storey building on the left.

  Judging from the design, it had once been a rather grand coach-house, but was now, presumably, the place used for garaging the family cars and housing the generator.

  Recalling her earlier thought, she remarked, ‘Do you know, I’ve never even seen a generator.’

  He raised a quizzical brow. ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘Not really… But this might be the only chance I’ll ever get to have a look at one.’

  ‘There’s nothing much to see,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s just a machine for converting mechanical into electrical energy.’

  ‘I know what it is,’ she told him a shade tartly. ‘The point I’m making is, I’ve never actually seen one. And I’d like to,’ she added firmly.

  ‘We’ve work to do,’ he reminded her severely.

  Something about his reluctance to show her the generator stiffened her resolve. ‘It won’t take long. Just a quick peep.’

  Looking half-amused, half-exasperated, by her persistence, he agreed, ‘Very well. The place isn’t locked, so come along.’

  He put the secateurs into his pocket, and, propping the spade and saw against the wall of the terrace, led her across to the old coach-house and through a side door.

  Inside it was high-roofed and spacious, with a stone-slabbed floor. There were two main entrances, one of which was clearly no longer used and, at the far end, half a dozen partly screened, individual parking bays.

  Long windows were set in the whitewashed walls, and close by, above a workbench, several shelves held a miscellaneous collection of tools and equipment, including a l
arge rubber-covered torch.

  ‘There’s a torch,’ Anna pointed out.

  Quite unabashed, he admitted, ‘Yes. I noticed it this morning. Regrettably the batteries don’t seem to be working.’

  Why was he always so ready with an answer? she wondered crossly.

  Like a showman, he gestured towards some machinery surrounded by a high guard-rail. ‘Well, there it is… Your very first generator.’

  Though to Anna it looked complicated, it was a good deal smaller than she’d expected.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he asked after a moment.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered politely.

  With the merest hint of impatience, he suggested, ‘Then suppose we get on.’

  It was too chilly to want to stand around, and she was turning to accompany him out when, from the far end of the building, a flash of sun reflected from something metallic caught her attention.

  Curiosity made her take a few steps back and look more closely. The ‘something metallic’ appeared to be the boot of a car.

  Ignoring the door that he was holding open for her, she walked along to where a silver BMW was parked. Though by no means a new model, it was highly polished and looked to be well maintained.

  When she made no move to join him, Gideon let the door swing shut and walked back to stand by her side.

  Her grey eyes unconsciously accusing, she said, ‘Last night you told me there wasn’t another car. You said they’d all been sold after your father’s death.’

  ‘I said all the family cars had been sold. This BMW belongs to the Morrisons.’

  She half shook her head, unable to believe it. ‘This doesn’t look like the kind of car ordinary people would own.’

  ‘It used to be one of the family cars,’ Gideon admitted. ‘But when I arranged to have the others sold, I told Arthur he could keep the BMW. He’s been taking care of it for the best part of fifteen years, and it’s always been his pride and joy.’

  ‘So why didn’t they go on holiday in it?’ She made no attempt to hide her scepticism.

  Unruffled, he explained, ‘It’s a long drive up to Scotland, and they had to consider both the weather and the fact that they’re not getting any younger. In the end they decided to go by train.’

  Put like that it sounded eminently reasonable.

  Feeling a little sheepish, and hoping she hadn’t vexed him too much, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, but it just seemed a bit…well…odd.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ he assured her cheerfully as they made their way outside. ‘I don’t blame you in the slightest for wanting some kind of explanation. In your place I’d have wanted one.’

  Relief that he wasn’t angry made her spirits rise with a bound.

  Closing the door behind them, he said with a grin, ‘Come on then, Mighty Mouse, to work!’

  Flexing her muscles, she asked, ‘What would you like me to do?’

  Taking the secateurs from his pocket, he suggested, ‘Perhaps you can cut some holly while I get on with the rest?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘You’d be best keeping to this level area if possible,’ he warned. ‘The ground on either side of the lawn is uneven and slopes away, so there’s bound to be some deep drifts.’

  ‘Nothing I can’t cope with,’ she assured him jauntily. ‘Unlike California, we get snow here most winters.’

  He gave her a glinting look, which she answered with an innocent smile.

  A young holly tree was growing on the edge of some shrubbery bordering what was clearly the lawn, a few dark-green glossy leaves and red berries visible through its shroud of snow.

  Having difficulty picking up her feet, Anna advanced determinedly on the tree, and, seizing hold of a likely branch, struggled to cut it.

  Without warning a veritable avalanche of snow descended on her and, dropping the secateurs, she staggered sideways.

  Immediately she was floundering in a deep drift, and a moment later losing her balance completely. She found herself spread-eagled on her back with what seemed like half a ton of snow on top of her.

  Blinded, deafened, and half-suffocated, she brushed the cold wet mass from her face and was trying to struggle free when she saw Gideon standing looking down at her, his expression unnaturally deadpan.

  Then a corner of his mouth twitched.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ she warned him.

  Giving up all pretence, his green eyes sparkling with amusement, he threw back his head and laughed.

  His laughter was both attractive and infectious, and, seeing the funny side, she joined in. She was still laughing when his strong hands gripped her wrists and hauled her out.

  As soon as she had regained her balance, he retrieved her woolly hat, which he shook free of snow and jammed it back on her head, then, his expression smug, he taunted, ‘If you find you can’t cope after all, do let me know.’

  He’d only gone a short distance when a well-aimed snowball hit him on the back of the neck.

  ‘So that’s all the thanks I get for rescuing you!’

  A spirited snowball fight ensued, while she backed away and he gradually advanced on her. He was within a few feet when a hastily constructed snowball, thrown a shade wildly, hit him full in the face.

  ‘Why you little…!’ He caught hold of her.

  Cheekily, she peeked up at him.

  Bending his head, he kissed her. At first his lips were cold, but when he deepened the kiss his mouth was warm.

  Her wet, bedraggled state and her clumsy clothing were forgotten. The snowy garden ceased to exist. There was nothing in the world but his mouth on hers and a wild excitement that surged through her body like a tidal wave.

  He released her slowly, his mouth lingering as though reluctant to leave hers. Then, lifting his head, he said, ‘Just let that be a lesson to you.’

  Unable to answer back, she turned like someone in a trance to pick up the secateurs and resume her task.

  Though his words had been light, teasing, his quickened breathing and the husky note in his voice convinced her that he’d been far from unmoved by the kiss.

  A kiss that, with so much thick clothing between them and only their mouths touching, should have been relatively innocuous, yet had been anything but.

  By the time a huge bunch of prickly holly had been gathered, the spruce boughs had been cut, and a tall, slender Christmas tree dug up, it had turned appreciably colder. The sun had disappeared, and the blue of the sky had turned to an icy pearl delicately tinged with pink.

  Dusk was hovering in the wings.

  ‘It looks as if there might be a sharp frost tonight,’ Gideon remarked, ‘and if it freezes on top of this lot it’s bound to add to the chaos. Even if it doesn’t freeze, I doubt if anything will be moving in the next twenty-four hours. It’s a good thing neither of us have to go anywhere,’ he added cheerfully.

  Anna’s common sense metaphorically wrung its hands, while, alarmingly, her reckless streak rejoiced.

  Trying to banish that streak of what she recognised as insanity, and clinging to her sense of caution, she began firmly, ‘If I have no choice but to stay—’

  Almost managing to sound regretful, he broke in, ‘I think you’ll find you haven’t.’

  ‘Then there’s one thing I want to get quite clear…’

  He raised an enquiring brow. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘I have absolutely no intention of sharing either your room or your bed.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll move out.’

  Anna was surprised; she’d expected him to argue, or at least try to cajole her, and his easy acceptance threw her.

  ‘That isn’t necessary,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ll be quite content to have a blanket in front of the kitchen fire.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re a guest here. If anyone is going to sleep in front of the fire it had better be me. I’m used to roughing it.’

  Feeling guilty, she protested, ‘I don’t want you to spend an uncomfortable night b
ecause of me.’

  ‘I won’t. In fact, I’ll bring a pillow and some proper bedding downstairs, if it will make you happy. Now, if you can manage the holly without getting prickled to death…?’

  When everything had been carried into the garden-room, seeing that she was staring to shiver, Gideon said, ‘I suggest you go and thaw out now. I’ll deal with the rest.’

  Only too thankful to obey, she discarded her outdoor things and hung them on the pegs, before sitting down on the bench to deal with her boots.

  Clinging to the wellingtons was a residue of old soil, which the snow had turned to mud, and by the time she had managed to pull them off her hands were thoroughly dirty.

  There was a bathroom just along the wide corridor, but, chilled to the bone, she found the prospect of washing in a cold room in icy-cold water wasn’t an appealing one.

  As though she’d faxed him the thought, Gideon glanced up from planting the tree and said, ‘It’ll be a lot warmer in the kitchen, and if you look on top of the Aga you should find a kettle of hot water waiting.’

  Wearing one pair of the borrowed socks, she padded back to the welcoming warmth and washed her face and hands in the stainless-steel sink.

  Then, feeling considerably better, she found her bag and combed her damp, tangled hair, leaving it loose around her shoulders to dry.

  She had replaced the socks with slippers and was sitting comfortably in front of the fire by the time Gideon had brought everything through to the kitchen.

  When the fragrant spruce boughs and the bright holly had been put in place, he positioned the tree to the left of the fireplace and remarked, ‘All it needs now are some decorations.’

  ‘Have you got any?’

  ‘There used to be a box in the cupboard in the old nursery, if they’re still there. If not, we’ll just have to improvise.’

  Stepping on to the wide hearth, he heaved the massive Yule log into place, making a myriad bright sparks fly up the chimney and setting the other logs crackling fiercely.

  ‘There! That should burn all evening.’

  He dusted off his hands. They were lean and well shaped, with long fingers and a tactile strength. Exciting hands.

  Tearing her gaze away, she swallowed, and said, ‘When you’re ready to wash, I’ve left you half the hot water.’