The lonely shore

by Anne Weale

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CLARE switched on the bedside lamp and looked at the clock. Half-past twelve. She lay back on the pillows, brushing her tumbled hair away from her hot face. Was it really only three hours since she had stumbled upstairs to the sanctuary of her room? Her lips still burned from the ferocity of his kisses, and she felt weak and shaken as if she had come through some tremendous physical ordeal and could scarcely believe that it was over.Her first reaction had been anger: a searing white-hot anger at herself because at tile last moment she had ceased to struggle and capitulated to his superior strength. Then anger had turned to shame as, reluctantly, she acknowledged the wretched truth. Whatever her previous feelings had been, in the moment that his mouth had come down on hers with savage force, she had known a pang of exquisite delight. Even now, remembering how powerless she had been in his vice-like grip, she felt a primitive surge of joy. And, worst of all, when at last he had let her go, she had not shrunk away from him in scorn and loathing. Had he begged her forgiveness or kissed her again, more gently this time, she would have melted into his arms. Instead he had thrust her away from him and disappeared into the garden, leaving her to come to her senses. Where was he now? She had not heard his icotsteps on the stairs or the creak of his bedroom door. He must be still outside. What was he thinking? She could not even begin to guess. There was no means of knowing how such a scene would affect him, for nothing in his former behaviour had given her a key to tonight's outburst. She had never dreamed that his normally frosty demeanour concealed such a volcano of passion. 112 Nor had she guessed that she, too, was capable of such tempestuous feelings. Months ago a man had told her that she had a heart of stone and she had believed him. She knew now that it was not true. and never had been. The truth was that no man had ever roused her deepest emotions@until tonight. In David's arms her whole body had trembled with response and for the first-tune she had glimpsed the heights of ecstasy. How different from Paul's kisses, which had stirred nothing more than affection and a mild pleasure in her. Her mind still a jumble of confused thoughts, she fell asleep. David was not at the breakfast-table next morning, but as he frequently went on to the marsh at an early hour and had breakfast when he returned, his absence did not call for any comment. Clare had woken up in a calmer frame of mind, and told herself that, since last night's events could scarcely be ignored, it was up to him to give the lead for their future behaviour. She was busy typing in the study@and finding it extremely difficult to concentrate@when she heard him speaking to Hilda in the kitchen, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway carrying his breakfast-tray. "Good morning. Any post?" "Yes, three letters." He shut the door, set the tray on the window-ledge and took the letters which she handed to him. Then he said quietly, "Before we deal with these, there is a personal matter which must be discussed." Clare felt a rush of colour flood her cheeks, but she .said nothing. "First I must apologise for what happened last night." He was facing the window with his back to her so that she could not see his expression, but his voice sounded strained. "There is very little excuse for my behaviour," he went on, "and I've no doubt you've been considering giving me notice. It would be a perfectly natural course of action in the circumstances. However, although I have no right to do so, I would like to ask you to reconsider your decision. As you know, I have already had one secretary, and if you leave it will be some time before I can replace you, which means that the book will be delayed. I am anxious to get it away by the end of September at the latest, and for that reason I am asking you to stay. 1 can assure you that last night's incident will not happen again." dare heard him out in stunned silence. The crux of what he had said was his conviction that she was on the point of handing in her notice, and she had not even considered doing so. When she made no reply for several minutes, he turned and said, "Am I to take it that you cannot accept my apology?" "Oh no. I mean, I do accept it," Clare said hastily. "That is more than I deserve. Thank you. I suggest that we both forget the whole thing. Now, if you're ready, I'll answer these letters." It was not until late afternoon that dare had an op'portunity to think the matter over. Upon reflection she realised that it was precisely how he might have been expected to behave. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with his work. Did he honestly believe that they could both forget what had happened? Perhaps he could. But could she? Did she want to forget it? I'm out of my depth, she thought with a sigh. 114 The next three days were uneventful. Miss Lancaster returned from Scotland; Paul returned from London and he and dare had dinner together at an hotel along-the coast, but she was not in the mood for his banter and, on the pretext of a headache, she asked him to take her home early. On the fourth afternoon she was working with David in the study when there was a commotion in the hall. "Uncle David! Something awful has happened. I've. lost Josh!" Jenny burst into the room like a small whirlwind, her face pale with distress. "Lost him? Where?" "We were playing Indians m the woods and he disappeared. We called and called, but he didn't come. I'm sure something dreadful has happened to him? Her mouth trembled and two large tears trailed down her cheeks. "Take it easy, chicken." Lancaster drew her into the circle of his arm. "Now, tell me exactly what happened," Jenny gulped and fumbled for a handkerchief. "Have this." He gave her his. "Now, start from the beginning." "Well . . ." Jenny blew her nose and drew a long, shaky breath. "Mrs. Harker gave us a picnic tea, and we left Josh to guard it by the big beech tree, you know, the one you carved your name on when you were a little boy. When we came back to eat it he wasn't there, but I thought he'd just gone investigating, the way he often does. We went on playing for a while, and then Annabel cut her leg on some barbed wire, and it was bleeding a lot, so Tod said she must go home. Josh hadn't come back, so we hunted everywhere for him and then Tod said perhaps he had got bored and come home. But he isn't in the garden and Hilda hasn't seen him so he must be lost, poor angel." 115 @ @ "Don't cry, Jenny-wren," David said hastily, as her freckled face puckered up again. "I expect he's exploring and will come back in his own good time. It must have been pretty dull for him guarding the food. Maybe he heard a rat and chased it. Look, if he isn't back by dinner-time, I'll go out and look for him; but I'm pretty sure he'll come home in time for his own supper, the old scoundrel." "Do you really think so?" Jenny asked hopefully. "He'll turn up," her uncle assured her cheerfully. "Now run along and wash you face." When she had gone, he frowned and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully."It's not like Josh to go off on his own for any length of time," he said to dare. , "I hope to goodness he does turn up soon," she said. "Jenny loves him so much, she'll be in a terrible flap if he isn't back by her bed-time." "Yes, I'm afraid she will." By dinner-time there was still no sign of the dog. Jenny scarcely touched the welsh rarebit wh'ch was normally one of her favourite dishes, and although the older members of the household concealed their growing concern, conversation was forced. At half-past eight David said, "It looks as if he's got himself stuck in a burrow. I'll have a scout round. He's doubtless howling for his tea, so it shouldn't be difficult to track him down." "Let me come too, Uncle David," Jenny pleaded. "You'd better stay here in case he turns up," David answered. "Perhaps Clare wouldn't mind going with you. Two of you can cover a larger area," Miss Lancaster suggested. "Yes, I'd be glad to help," Clare said readily. "I should put an old skirt on. The woods are full of brambles. We'll take the car as far as the stile," David advised. 116 "I'll run up and change. I won't be two minutes." David was already at the wheel when she ran round to the garage. He was fitting a new battery in a powerful torch. "Just in case we're still looking by dusk," he explained. "What do you think can have-happened to him?" Clare asked as they turned out of the gate. "I'm afraid he may have got caught in an old gintrap." "Oh no!" Years ago she and Hal had found a dog caught in one of the cruel spring traps, and she remembered the ghastly condition of its captured leg. They had carried it home, but their father had taken one look at the injury and said brusquely that it would be' kinder to put the animal out of its misery. The thought of Josh struggling to free himself
from a gin trap was horrible. "We really need about six people for this job," David said as they climbed the stile. "The wood is roughly rectangular and stretches for about a quarter of a mile, so if you can cover the left-hand side, I'll take the right. There's a ditch at the far end. Whoever gets through first had better wait for the other." Half an hour later Clare scrambled through a bank of bracken and found herself at the edge of the wood. There had been no sign of Josh, although she had paused every few yards to listen for a muffled whimper. The only signs had been the rustle of the branches and once or twice she had heard David calling in the distance. If the dog was caught in a trap it was more than likely that he was too exhausted to respond to their calls, in which case they could scour the countryside all night without finding him. She looked along the dyke, and at that moment David emerged from his end of the wood. "Not a sign," he shouted, coming towards her. 117 "What's over there?" dare asked, pointing across the barley field on the other side of the ditch. "Those bushes, you mean? That's an old quarry. We might as well take a look, I suppose. Can you jump the ditch?" She looked doubtfully at the sluggish stream, which was about four feet wide. The far bank looked an in-secure landing-place, and she had no desire to plunge knee-deep in slime. "Hold on. I'll go over first and catch you if you slip," he said. He sprang across, and, as dare had feared, the bank crumbled dangerously under his weight. "Come on, I won't let you fall in." He held out his hands encouragingly. Gritting her teeth and fully expecting to land in the water, she launched herself across the ditch. Her feet landed on the very edge of the bank, which promptly gave way, but before she could overbalance David had grabbed her arms and heaved her to safety. "Just made it! Are you all right?" "Yes, I think so." She drew a long breath of relief. "My skirt is too narrow for these gymnastics." He was still holding her by the arms and she looked up at him. For a long moment they gazed into each other's eyes. Suddenly he stiffened. "Listen!" A faint cry echoed across the field. "That's Josh all right. He must be in the quarry. Comeon!" He began to run round the edge of the barley. Clare followed, stumbling over the rough earth. A thistle scratched her leg, but she did not feel it. She was hardly conscious of moving at all. All she knew was that David had looked at her with unmistakable longing. They scrambled through a hedge and up a slope to the _scrub surrounding the quarry. -"Watch your step, it's a sheer drop on this side," he warned. "There he is. Look, by those gorse bushes. I'm going down. You stay here." "It's much too steep," Clare cried, but he was already lowering himself over the edge. Terrified that he would fall, she watched him inch his way down the rock face, which seemed, from above, to offer dangerously few footholds. It seemed an age before he reached the floor of the quarry. By now it was growing dusk and she could just make out the dog's toffeecoloured coat in the shadow of the gorse. "He's torn his hind leg," David shouted up presently. "I shall need help to get him up. There's a farm just over the ridge. Tell them what has happened and ask them to bring a rope." An hour later dare sat in the back of the farmer's Land Rover with Josh's head on her lap. She fondled his silky ears. "Poor old boy! Never mind, the vet is coming to dress your cuts, and your leg will be as good as new in a little while." Josh licked her hand gratefully, rolling his eyes as if to apologise for the trouble he had caused. With the aid of the farmer and his son they had managed to. rescue him from the quarry, and now that the deep gash on his flank had been washed and temporarily bandaged, he seemed to have survived his ordeal in remarkably good spirits. How he had come to be m the quarry was a mystery. The farmer suggested that he might have been chasing a hare and been unable to swerve aside at the last moment, an accident which had befallen one of the farm puppies some years back. Miss Lancaster was waiting at the gate when they reached home. 119 "I thought you were never coming," she exclaimed. "Jenny's been crying herself sick for the past hour. She's just fallen asleep, completely worn out, poor child." "All is well," David said. "We found him in the old quarry. He's damaged a leg, but it will mend with care." They were carrying the dog into the house on an improvised stretcher when Jenny wandered out of the sitting-room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. As soon as she saw Josh she gave a cry of joy and flew to his side, her tear-stained face radiant with relief. When the excitement had finally subsided and Hilda had produced a tempting dish of liver and greaves which Josh ate with unimpaired appetite, David remembered that he had left the car by the stile. "Can't you leave it there, just for tonight?" Miss Lancaster suggested. He shook his head. "I shall have Constable Potter summoning me for obstruction," he said with a weary grin. "Come on, Jenny, it's time you were in bed." "Couldn't I have Josh in my own room just for tonight?" she begged. "He'd be better down here. I should think he'll sleep the clock round," David said firmly. "You must be tired, dear," Miss Lancaster said when he had gone to fetch the car. "We won't wait for David." Clare could hardly protest that she was not at all tired and wanted very much to wait for David, so she followed them upstairs and said good night. She had half decided to slip down again, but with her hand on the door-knob she realised that Miss Lancaster would be bound to hear 'their voices. Reluctantly she undressed and cleaned her teeth. She was just climbing into bed when she heard the car return. With quickened heartbeats she listened for his footsteps on the stairs. The minutes passed and there was still no sound. 120 Was he waiting for her? What an idiot she had been to undress. At last she heard him come up and the soft click of his bedroom door closing. Slowly she slid her feet between the cool sheets and lay down. So this was the singing of the heart ... the elusive rapture of love. How blind she had been not to recognise it before. * * @ * ' dare woke early and was already dressed when Hilda brought her cup of tea. "Jenny's still asleep. I reckon it will do her good to have a lie in after yesterday," she said. "Yes, it will. Thank you, Hilda. How is Josh this morning?" "Fidgety. He won't take kindly to being bandaged," Hilda said. "Still, it will teach him not to go gallivanting, the silly creature." Clare made her bed and ran downstairs, pausing a moment at -the dining-room door in a sudden flurry of shyness. As usual David was reading The Times. "Good morning." "Good morning." To her surprise he scarcely glanced up from the leading article he was reading. Helping herself to kedgeree, dare wondered if he, too, felt shy. She waited for him to finish the article and put the paper aside, but instead he turned to the sports page and continued to read. She stifled a small pang of irritation. Surely for once the morning ritual could be waived. Finishing his coffee, he folded the newspaper. "The vet will be here at nine-thirty, so there's not much point in starting work until he's fixed up Josh." "No, I suppose not." Now that he was looking at her she found herself ridiculously tongue-tied. 121 He pushed back his chair, and for a glorious moment she thought he was going to come round the table and take her in his arms, affirming with his lips all that his eyes had said last night by the ditch. But to her astonishment he picked up his letters and left the room. She was so staggered by this that she was still gazing at the door when Hilda slid back the serving-hatch and asked if she would like some more coffee. "No, thank you, Hilda, I've finished now." Automatically she began to stack the dishes on the trolley. "There's no call for you to do that, Miss Clare," Hilda said, bustling in. "You've enough to do without helping me. Now, that Miss Bunberry, she never raised a finger. Not that I expect it, mind, but it was her attitude, if you take my meaning. And faddy@my word! If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a plate with leavings on it. I don't pretend to be a fancy cook, but there's no call to sniff at good plain food like she did." "I wish I could cook as well as you do," Clare said sincerely. "I'm afraid I used to cook with a tin-opener in London." Hilda shook her head disapprovingly. She disdained all tinned foodstuffs, and marvelled that Jenny's American playmates were so boisterously healthy when they lived on a canned and refrigerated diet. When the table was cleared, dare went up to dust her room. It was silly to be upset by David's abrupt departure from the breakfast table. After all, Hilda might have popped her head through the hatch at any moment. It was not until mid-morning, when the veterinary surgeon ha
d been and gone and David was settling down to dictation, that she knew that once again he was adopting his policy of ignoring past actions. Whatever his eyes had said to her last night, this morning they were as coldly blue as the sea. 122