Carne Maitland stepped out of the shower, his hair, his skin glistening with water, his hand reaching casually for one of the towels on the rail. He saw her at-once, of course. She couldn't have moved. She was frozen to the spot with shock and sheer embarrassment, her hand still covering her mouth. For a second, his eyes were incredulous as they registered her, then he moved, grabbing for a towel now and winding it round him, and his voice was like ice as he said 'Out, darling. Now!'
Her face burned, and she was so mortified she could have died, but at least she didn't feel like a graven image, and she turned and fled, back to the bedroom to collect the dusters and the tin of polish.
She bit back a cry of dismay as she saw the crumpled bed, the wrinkled cover showing clearly the outline of her body. It was obvious even to the meanest intelligence that she hap peen lying there, and Carne Maitland certainly didn't come into that category. She dropped the polish and the dusters and bent frantically to pull the covers straight, but it was too late, of course.
He was standing in the doorway, the towel safely secured round his waist, and drying himself with another. And he was looking at the bed, and if Rowan had been embarrassed to have him walk naked out of the shower in front of her, that was nothing to the way she was feeling now. The blush was all over her body from her toes to her hairline.
His mouth twisted unpleasantly, and the scar beside it made him look like a devil.
He said, 'And what are you? My welcome home present? I'm flattered, of course, but aren't you a little young for games of this sort?'
CHAPTER THREE
THEY said ice could burn, and every word seemed to scorch along her skin.
She said, babbling, 'I'm not-I mean, it isn't how you think.'
'I suppose I'm relieved to hear it.' He began to towel his hair. 'Perhaps you'd like to tell me just how it is-and what the hell you're doing in my room.'
Mutely she bent to retrieve the polish and the dusters.
'I see,' he said after a moment. 'And where is Antonia?'
'In Keswick, shopping. I-I said I'd do the bedrooms. I'm sorry.’
'Does she often leave you here like this?' He was frowning.
Expediency warred with honesty and won. 'Of course not. She works very hard, and I don't mind helping.' 'When will she be back?'
'I don't know.' Rowan lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘Is there something I can get you?'
'I was hoping there might be some food-something light, preferably. I had a hell of a flight, and the motorway was murder. Eggs would be fine.'
'Eggs it is,' Rowan agreed with false brightness, looking round for her sandals, and finding them on the other side of the room. She wished Carne would return to the bathroom and leave her with a clear exit out of the room, but he didn't seem to be particularly disposed to move. He watched her as she crossed the bedroom and slid her narrow feet back into the sandals.
'Do you always do the housework in your bare feet, or do you regard my rooms as some kind of Holy of Holies?' he enquired sarcastically.
'Neither. It was an impulse,' she mumbled.
'Was it now?' His eyes went reflectively back to the crumpled bed. 'I think we're going to have to do something to curb these impulses~ of yours, Miss Winslow, before someone misunderstands too drastically.'
She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes unable to meet ·his.
He wasn't going to move out of the doorway, and she was going to have to talk past him with what rags of dignity she had left.
'And one more thing,' he said softly as she reached the door. 'Coffee with the eggs. Black and strong with no sugar.
‘I'll be down in ten minutes.'
Rowan was breathless when she reached the kitchen, and it wasn't because she'd been hurrying. She spooned coffee into the percolator bearing Carne's instructions in mind, then sliced mushrooms and tomatoes and put them to grill, while she broke eggs into a basin for an omelette, before sinking down rather limply on to one of the benches which flanked the stripped pine kitchen table. She had just made a complete and utter fool of herself in every way possible. There would be no difficulty now in convincing Carne Maitland she was only sixteen; in fact, he might even doubt that she had that much maturity. She groaned inwardly. Antonia's view of the situation didn't bear thinking about, however amused she might have to pretend to be. And it would be a poor defence to say she hadn't intended to go to sleep, when she had had no right to be lolling around on Carne's bed anyway.
'I think my Freudian slip must be showing,' she muttered, attacking her basin of eggs with a fork.
Omelettes were one of her specialities, and in spite of her agitation, this one was no exception. It was light, fluffy and golden brown, and she was just sliding it on to a warm plate and arranging the grilled mushrodms and tomatoes round it when Carne walked in.
'Would you rather eat in the dining room?' she asked as he slid on to the bench.
'No, I wouldn't. Didn't you set this place for me?' 'Well-yes, but . . .'
'No, buts,' he said. 'Or do you just intend to tantalise me with that food?'
'I'm sorry.' She put the plate down hastily on the mat in front of him, and went to switch off the percolator.
'This is fantastic,' he said after the first mouthful. 'Aren't you joining me?'
'No, I ate earlier.' She set the coffee cup down beside him.
'Then have some coffee with me. Bring another cup,' he said in a tone which brooked no refusal.
After the briefest of hesitations she obeyed, sitting down on the bench opposite and clasping her hands round the pottery beaker, grateful for the comfort of its warmth.
'Whatever your shortcomings as a chambermaid, you can certainly cook,' he commented. 'Perhaps you'd better limit your activities, such as they are, to the kitchen from now on.'
'What do you mean?' Rowan stared at him.
He sighed. 'Do I really have to spell it out? I have no pyjamas, nor have I ever owned a dressing gown. And if the expression on your face just now was anything to go by, close encounters of the bathroom kind aren't exactly your scene, so I think it would be better if Antonia dealt with the, upstairs rooms from now on.' He paused, his eyes studying her, then he said rather more gently, 'Don't look so stricken, love. I'm only trying to spare your blushes, charming though they may be. To be frank, I'd forgotten that girls still could blush.'
She said, 'Oh.' And then, 'That means I'll have to tell Antonia.'
'Tell her what?'
'Why I can't help with the bedrooms any more.' She sighed. 'I'd hoped I wouldn't have to do that.'
'Why in the world not?' Carne was grinning. 'Has she lost what little sense of humour she used to have?'
Rowan shrugged, recognising the need to become evasive. 'No--but I don't think she'll see much humour in that particular situation.'
It was true. Antonia would not want any mishaps to mar Carne's return home--nothing that would reflect on the efficient image she wanted to project. And she wouldn't find the fact that Rowan had curled up on Carne's bed for an afternoon nap amusing in the slightest. She might indeed find it uncomfortably significant, and Rowan could foresee difficulties enough in the weeks ahead without arousing her stepmother's jealous suspicions, or laying herself open to the kind of barbed remark in which Antonia excelled.
Carne, fortunately, read none of this into her words. 'I can't really see Antonia as the protective stepmother,' he said with a slight shrug. 'But perhaps you know her better than I do.'
'I doubt that very much,' she said unthinkingly, then seeing his brows rise, and the cool silver eyes fixed on her with a kind of hauteur, she stammered, 'I mean, you were close--very close--at one time. Antonia said so.'
'We saw quite a bit of each other when we were younger.
Our contacts in recent years have been rather more limited, for reasons I'd prefer not to go into.'
He means because she was married to my father, Rowan thought with a little pang. She remembered Antonia saying, 'Your father, to speak plain
ly, sweetie, was jealous of him.' She said rather stiffly, 'I expect I can guess.'
'If you've been living with Antonia, then I expect you can. Is there any more coffee?'
'Yes, of course.' She took the cup he passed to her, and his empty plate. 'Would you like anything else to eat? There's some cheese and fruit, I think. If we'd known you were coming . . .'
'I barely knew myself.' Carne sounded vaguely irritable, as he flexed his shoulder muscles. Rowan remembered that in their earlier encounter he had mentioned his journey, and now that she had the courage to look him in the face a little more she could see the signs of travel fatigue in the lines of weariness about his mouth and the shadows under his eyes. 'Yes, I'll have some cheese, and an apple, please.'
She served his dessert, then refilled his coffee cup and brought it to him.
'Five-star attention,' he approved lazily. 'Keep up the good work, Rowan, and I may even start to feel like a human being again.' He smiled up at her, his fingers brushing hers as he took the cup from her, and she felt the compulsion of his attraction so strongly that it took all the self-control of which she was capable for her not to snatch her hand away and run out of the room.
And this is when he isn't even trying, she told herself in rueful desperation.
'How do you like Ravensmere?' He cut off a piece of apple and offered it to her on the blade of the knife.
'I like what I've seen very much,' she said, declining the apple with a prim shake of the head.
'It seems to have missed out on the tourist boom, which is all to the good as far as I'm concerned,' he said. 'We get our share of serious climbers, of course, but they tend to' concentrate on the other side of the valley. Raven's Crag hasn't a great deal of excitement to offer. It's a scramble in places, but no more than that.'
'It's possible to get to the top, then?'
'Oh, yes, there's even a track for walkers to use, but you still need to exercise a reasonable amount of care. As you're living in my house, I suppose I'm responsible for you to a certain extent, and I'm warning you now, Rowan, not to regard any of the fells as an afternoon stroll in the park. The weather can change in minutes, and you certainly haven't lived here long enough to recognise the signs. So you never go out without the proper gear, and we'll make that a rule, please. I don't want the mountain rescue team being called out because you've behaved irresponsibly.'
It was hard to bite her lip and attempt to look suitably chastened, when she was longing to tell him that she had not the slightest intention of behaving without responsibility, and that she was fully aware of the dangers as well as the delights of her-new surroundings. After all, you could hardly pick up. a newspaper during the summer months without reading of someone who had come to grief, sometimes with fatal consequences, because they hadn't taken the mountains of Britain seriously enough.
She said quietly, 'You really don't have to worry about me. I don't think fell-walking is my scene particularly.'
'Then perhaps you'd like to give some thought to what is.' Carne finished the last of his apple. 'I'll be honest, Rowan. I didn't really take you into account when I arranged for Antonia to come here, and if she hadn't assured me it was imperative that you remain in her custody, I'd have made some kind of alternative arrangements for you. This is a very isolated spot for someone of your age.'
'You can be just as isolated in London.'
'But in a different way,' he said with a shade of impatience. 'At least there you have all kinds of opportunities. Here there's very little. I don't know how you're going to fill in your time.'
'Well, I shouldn't worry about it,' she said with thinly-veiled sarcasm, thinking of the hours of cleaning and polishing she had put in since she arrived. 'I'm sure I'll think of something. I'm sorry if you feel I'm going to be a burden to you. I'll do my best not to get in the way.'
'That isn't what I meant at all, you prickly child,' he said wearily. 'God, I don't grudge you a roof, but I didn't intend that you should sweat it out here with Antonia while she repaid her debt, one way or another.'
'You make it sound like a prison sentence,' she said tartly. 'Repaying her debt to society.'
'I've no doubt that's exactly how she regards it,' he said drily, glancing at his wristwatch. 'And I presume this trip to Keswick is time off for good behaviour.'
Rowan flushed slightly. 'I--suppose so.'
'You didn't want to go with her?' he asked casually. 'Or have you already exhausted its pleasures?'
'Something like that,' she mumbled. 'I'd better wash these dishes.'
'Leave them.' It was quite definitely an order, and she glanced at him in s0llle surprise. He smiled rather tightly. 'Wrong fairy tale, love. You're Goldilocks, not Cinderella.'
'Goldilocks?' In spite of herself, her hand strayed up to touch a strand of her hair which had never, even in her most optimistic moments, been better than light brown.
'Why, yes.' He quoted softly, 'Who's been sleeping in my bed?' and grinned maliciously as her colour deepened. 'But don't fear, fair maiden, your secret is safe with me. I won't mention it to Antonia, if you feel it's so important.' He stood up. 'And now I must go and pay my respects to Sybilla. How has she been?'
'I think she's well. We--we don't see a great deal of her.'
'That's a pity, but something else I failed to take into account-the fact that she and Antonia never got on together.' He gave her a quick glance. 'I take it time hasn't mellowed the situation?'
'Not really,' Rowan admitted; and he grimaced swiftly.
'The trouble is Sybilla isn't prepared to admit how bad her arthritis really is. That's one of the main reasons I wanted someone else living in the house for all the times I couldn't be here to keep an eye on her.'
'You're very fond of her.?'
'M y mother died when I was small. Sybilla damned near brought me up,' he said briefly. 'I intend to look after her.' He gave Rowan a wry glance. 'Don't look so surprised, love. I'm not entirely devoid of all decent feelings, whatever Antonia may have implied.'
'Oh, but she hasn't,' Rowan interpolated hastily.
'No?' His smile was cynical: 'Then she must have said something to cause this unease I sense in you when I'm around.'
Rowan shrugged. 'Perhaps I'm just not very used to men.'
'At your age no one would expect you to have vast experience, but you're not an early Victorian either.' He sounded amused. 'As we're going to be sharing the same roof for some considerable time, you're going to have to become used to me, I'm afraid.'
She stared at him. 'You mean you're staying here? You're not going away again?'
'Yes, I'm staying,' he said. 'And you, Rowan Winslow, will just have to make the best of it.'
As he passed her, he ran a careless finger down the curve of her cheek and every nerve-ending in her body leapt in response to the casual caress.
'Thanks for the meal, love, and remember what I said. If you want to contribute, stick to the kitchen, and stay clear of my bedroom, if you know what's good for you.'
Shaken to the core, Rowan watched him go, and her hand stole up to touch her cheek. She thought, 'My God, I'll stay so clear I'll be invisible. And if I'd known what was good for me, I would never have come here at all.'
Antonia seemed in a high good humour when she arrived home an hour later, but her smile faded rapidly when Rowan told her that Carne was back.
'He could have given us some advance warning,' she complained, dumping two laden shopping bags down on the kitchen table. 'Thank God the house looks reasonable. I hope you remembered to do his room.'
'I think I remembered to do everything,' Rowan said a little coolly, and Antonia gave her a placatory smile.
'I'm' sure you did, sweetie. Put this food away for me, will you, while I go and find his lordship.' .
'He's talking to Sybilla still, I think,' Rowan called after her, and Antonia turned and came back again.
'In that case I'll wait for him to find me. He'll have heard the car by now. Make me some
tea, will you, Rowan. Standing in queues at the butcher's is my least favourite occupation.'
'Oh, you've brought some fresh meat,' said Rowan, relieved. 'I'll make a goulash or something for this evening.'
'Make whatever you like,' Antonia's voice was frankly uninterested. 'I wonder why he's come back so suddenly?'
'He didn't say,' Rowan admitted. 'But he did tell me that he's come to stay for quite some time.'
'Good.' Antonia's smile was cat-like. 'That's fantastic news.'
'What's so fantastic?' Carne spoke coolly from the doorway, and Antonia turned towards him, her smile widening quite enchantingly.
'Why-darling!' She held out both hands to him. 'The fact that you've come home, of course.'
'If I'd known the kind of welcome awaiting me,' he said as he came across the kitchen to her, 'I'd have been home much sooner.'
She gave a little throaty laugh and lifted her face as his arms went round her.
Rowan murmured something and made her escape.
Preparations for the evening meal would have to wait until she had the kitchen to herself. She had not the slightest desire to hang around watching Carne kissing Antonia:' especially after what she suspected was the deliberate ambiguity of his last remark.
Antonia's bag and gloves and the camelhair jacket she wore while driving were flung down in an untidy heap in the hall, and Rowan sighed soundlessly as she bent to retrieve them. She went slowly up the stairs and turned towards the East Wing. She left Antonia's things on her bed with no great hopes that they would be put away, then went into her own room. She was glad it was so attractive because she had a feeling she would be spending a good deal of her time there. She went over to her table and looked down at the sheet of paper protruding from the typewriter. She had been trying her hand at a love story for a woman's magazine, and had been quite pleased with her efforts, but now the characters seemed cardboard, and the storyline ludicrously thin. She found she wanted to cry, but without knowing the exact cause of her depression. After all, things were turning out exactly as she had expected. There was no reason for her to have hoped for anything different.
Sara Craven - Summer of the Raven Page 6