With the curtains drawn the rooms looked dark and dismal, and the kitchen was in a similar state to the one she had found it in before. Dirty cups and plates and cutlery littered the cupboards and the sink, but before she could do anything about it she had to find the tea. After a brief search she found it shoved right to the back in one of the cupboards, and while the kettle was boiling she quickly washed the dishes, leaving them on the rack to dry themselves. There was not much else she could do in the time allotted to her, but she fully intended restoring everything to its proper order the following day.
Liz carried the tray of tea out into the garden some minutes later and poured out two cups. She was aware of Grant’s eyes following every move she made, but she was not in the least disturbed by it.
“Why did you sell Riverside?” Grant asked while they were drinking their tea.
“Was it necessary, or was it simply that you have no interest in farming?”
“It was a little bit of both,” she confessed, draining her cup and placing it on the tray. “My father wasn’t well these last few years, and he had neither the energy nor the means with which to fight the last two years of severe drought. A large number of our cattle died, and the rest weren’t fit for human consumption.”
“So you decided to sell.”
She sensed an accusation in his remark, and said defensively, “It wasn’t an easy decision, but I knew it would take someone far more enterprising than myself to put Riverside back on the map as one of the best cattle ranches in the district.”
“And now you’re a lady of leisure.”
“Not exactly,” she denied his mocking statement. “I write children’s stories.”
“Do they sell?”
“They do,” she said firmly, casting a swift glance in his direction. “And don’t look so sceptical about it.”
“Forgive me,” he smiled derisively, “but I simply can’t imagine you churning out stories for children as a paying proposition.”
“It pays well enough,” she replied stiffly, and on the defensive one more.
“Not well enough, I gather, to have saved Riverside.”
“Unfortunately not.” He seemed to be accusing her again, and this time her temper flared. “Dammit, Grant, if you think I enjoyed having to sell-“
“Temper, temper!” he interrupted mockingly, grabbing a handful of her hair playfully, and twisting it about his fingers, then he leaned closer to examine it. “Your hair’s like spun gold.”
“You’re hurting me,” she protested, his nearness definitely disturbing the rhythm of her heart, but he did at least slacken his hold to ease the pressure on her scalp.
“What would you do if I kissed you?” he asked softly, his eyes lingering on her soft mouth in a purposeful way that filled her with panic, but she forcibly suppressed her fears.
“I’d probably run like a scared rabbit,” she said, watching a flicker of surprise dart across his face.
“Does the thought of being kissed frighten you that much?”
“Kissing is a serious business, and it shouldn’t be indulged in as if it were casual entertainment.”
“Is that what you think I’m after?” he asked, a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
“Well, you wouldn’t want me to think that you have any serious intentions where I’m concerned, would you?” she countered swiftly in her defence.
“You certainly have a refreshing way of dampening a man’s ardour,” he laughed harshly, releasing his grip on her hair to light a cigarette. “Are you always this frank, or do you reserve that for when you’re in a tight corner?”
Her heartbeats slowly settled back into their normal rhythm. “You should know that I have a nasty habit of saying what I think.”
“How could I have forgotten?” he murmured mockingly.
It was time to terminate her visit, Liz decided, getting to her feet and picking up the tray. “I’ll take these cups inside and tidy the kitchen before I leave.” She said without looking at him. “But you’ll have to make do with tinned food until tomorrow.”
“Liz…”
“I’ll collect a few things on my way out here in the morning, and I shall present you with the dockets,” she went on determinedly as if he had not spoken, but Grant was equally determined to be heard.
“Are you sure that that’s what you want to do?”
Her steady, challenging glance met his. “You’re not going to try and stop me, are you?”
“The thought of a juicy steak with fresh vegetables does somehow appeal,” he smiled twistedly.
“I shall keep that in mind,” Liz laughed softly, and a few minutes later she was happily planning the menu for the following day while she swept and tidied the kitchen.
Chapter 3
“You’re crazy!” Stacy’s angry voice echoed through the silent living-room.
“Grant Battersby could afford to hire a dozen or more servants without his bank balance even being aware of it, but you politely step in and offer yourself as a willing slave.”
Liz felt her insides contract. “I have no intention of accepting money from his.”
“Whether you accept money from him or not is quite irrelevant,” Stacy argued.
“Can you imagine what people will say?”
“I can’t turn my back on someone who needs help, and Grant needs it badly.”
“Oh, Liz!” Stacy threw up her hands in a gesture of despair. “You’ve always been impossible and impulsive, but this is the craziest thing you’ve ever done!”
“Now hang on there a minute, Stacy,” Angus intervened for the first time. “I had an interesting chat with Sam Muller yesterday, and from our conversation I gathered that Grant is pretty embittered. If anyone can help him in that respect, then I believe Liz can.”
“Thank you, Angus.” Liz smiled at him gratefully, but Stacy was still not convinced.
“I agree that Liz is capable of shaking the very devil out of his horns, but-“
“Stop worrying so much, my love.” Angus interrupted his wife. “Liz can take care of herself.”
It was gratifying to know that Angus, at least, had faith in her, and Liz appreciated his support when she had needed it most. She could not, of course, explain to herself why she felt this urgent desire to help Grant, but she told herself that it was the least she could do for someone who had been a friend of the family for so many years. There could be no other explanation, could there?”
Liz arrived at Grant’s cottage shortly after nine the following morning. The door was unlocked, but Grant was out, so she packed away the things she had brought with her, and tidied the kitchen. In the bathroom she discovered that he had made some attempt, at least, to wash his clothes, so she finished the job for him and thrust the whole lot into the tumble dryer.
She worked quickly, dusting, sweeping, and opening up the windows as she went along to let in the fresh air. Two hours later, when she was in the kitchen peeling the vegetables, and preparing the steak, she saw Grant approaching the cottage, and she switched on the kettle to make a pot of tea.
He was walking slowly, pausing occasionally to rest, and Liz had made the tea and was ready to pour when he finally entered the cottage through the kitchen door.
“Would you like a cup?” she asked, skipping the usual preliminaries, and he nodded briefly, lowering himself on the upright wooden chair beside the table.
“How did Stacy react to this decision of yours?” he asked unexpectedly.
“She thought I was crazy,” Liz said without turning.
“I imagined she’d talk you out of it.”
Something in his voice made her turn to glance at him speculatively. “Don’t tell me you were actually hoping she would succeed?”
Liz was strangely hurt, but she hid it behind a laugh, “You’re an ungrateful so-and-so, aren’t you?”
“I prefer my own company at the moment.”
“Oh, but you’re welcome to it,” she snapped at him, picking up his cup of tea and marching towards the
door. “You may have your tea in the lounge, sir, while I get on with preparing your meal.”
“Liz…” With an agility she had not expected of him, he barred her way, and those compelling grey eyes held hers masterfully. “Strange as it may seem to you, it’s you I’m thinking of.”
“Really?”
“Your reputation, for one thing, is not going to be worth much when word gets around that you’re here most mornings,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “And for another, I’m bound to be foul company most of the time.”
“Your foul moods shan’t bother me, and my reputation is my concern, not yours.”
His mouth tightened. “I’d rather have people thinking of you as Liz the horror, and not Liz the-“
“Don’t use the word!” she interrupted sharply, and the hand that held the cup was shaking visibly. “If people don’t know me well enough by now to realise that I could never be that kind of woman, then they’re not worth bothering about.” There was a hint of defiance in her golden-brown eyes, and her voice was businesslike as she asked, “Where do you want your tea? Here, or in the lounge?”
“Here, where I can watch you,” Grant smiled faintly, resuming his seat, and she put his cup down on the table with a disgusted snort.
“Are you afraid that I might walk away with the family silver?”
“The family silver, as you call it, is at my home in Johannesburg,” he told her mockingly. “It’s a precaution I took even before Sam Muller moved into the house.”
“It seems I shall have to forget my ‘get rich quick’ notions,” she sighed with mock disappointment, picking up a potato and peeling it energetically.
“Is money important to you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she laughed, startled by the severity of his tone.
“What if it could have prevented the sale of Riverside?” he persisted harshly, and Liz put down the potato before turning to face him.
“That’s a tantalising question,” she said gravely.
“Do I get an answer to it?”
“You’re being unfair, and you know that, but-” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I admit that money was important to me a few months ago. It would have saved us all a lot of heartache if I could have afforded to install a manager as you’ve done here at High Ridges, but there was no way I could lay my hands on that sort of capital, so we decided to make a clean break, and sell.” She shrugged carelessly. “Money lost its importance to me after that.”
Grant drank his tea, and Liz resumed peeling the potatoes, convinced that the subject was at an end, then he surprised her by saying, “You must have made quite a lot out of the sale.”
“Oh, yes,” she smiled mockingly. “After all the accounts, IOUs and whatnots had been paid, the three Holden girls are in a position to say that they have a little nest-egg which will still necessitate working for the rest of our lives.”
“But your father-“
“Was once one of the wealthiest farmers in the district,” she forestalled him without bitterness or rancour.
“What happened?”
“I told you,” she replied vaguely, wiping her hands on a cloth, and swallowing down a mouthful of her cold tea. “There was the drought, and he wasn’t well.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. “You’re hiding something from me.”
Liz was on the verge of telling him to mind his own business when she realised that, if she wanted to help him at all, there would have to be complete honesty between them about all things.
“My father started drinking heavily,” she conceded, “and he subsequently seemed to lose interest in life itself.”
“But why?” Grant frowned.
“I don’t know,” Liz gestured helplessly with her hands. “He seemed to want to dwell in the past, and he talked a lot about my mother.” She bit her lip to steady it while she considered her father’s behaviour over the past two years. “I think he missed my mother more than anyone ever guessed, and perhaps that was one of the reasons he never married again,” she finally explained.
“No one could ever replace her.”
Grant sounded quite strange, and Liz sensed at once that he was not thinking of her mother, but of Myra Cavendish. She glanced at him questioningly, but he averted his eyes, and she was positive now that she had been correct in her assumption.
“When I fell off my horse as a child, my father made me get up and ride again, and that’s what life is all about,” she said in a voice which was deliberately devoid of sympathy. “We take plenty of spills, but we have to get up and go on again.”
“Are you lecturing me?” he asked coldly.
“Could be,” she said abruptly. “You’re very much down at the moment, and you could do with a helping hand into the saddle.”
“Into the saddle of what?” he demanded harshly, his glance suspicious, and his manner somehow forbidding.
“Work, for instance,” she replied without hesitation, “or simply living.”
“I’m going for a walk,” he thundered, snatching up his stick and getting to his feet.
“Do that,” she said, quite unperturbed by his display of temper. “The more you exercise that leg, the sooner you’ll be walking without a stick.”
“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Holden,” he snarled at her as he reached the door.
“You’re welcome.”
The cottage seemed to shudder with the force of the door being slammed, and Liz flinched, realising for the first time how tense she had been. From the kitchen window she could see him making his arduous way towards the river, and her heart ached for him.
When Liz left the cottage shortly after one o’clock that day she had done the ironing, and Grant’s dinner was in the oven. She only hoped he would return before the steak was spoiled.
During the week that followed Liz seldom, saw Grant. He left the cottage soon after her arrival, and returned only she had left. On one particular morning she decided that she had had enough of this, and she deliberately stepped into his path.
“You can’t avoid me for ever, you know,” she said. “Or do you intend never to speak to me again?”
“I’m following your advice, and exercising my leg,” he remarked pointedly, gesturing her out of his way with his stick, but she caught it in her hand and held on to it.
“Grant?” Her golden glance captured his. “If you would prefer me to stay away altogether, then all you have to do is say so.”
His jaw tightened, and she thought for a moment that he was going to tell her to do just that, then he said abruptly, “I’m going for a walk, but I’ll be back for tea.”
Liz released her grip on his stick, and when he walked away she had a strange feeling that she had won a small victory.
Life took on a different pattern after that. Grant would go for a long walk early in the morning, and would return for tea. Afterwards he would sit with her in the kitchen while she prepared his meal, and they would have lengthy discussions about various topics, but they seldom talked about anything personal. Quite soon, however, Liz was sharing his meal with him each day before returning to Pietersburg, and she began to treasure those moments she shared with him.
Grant was regaining his strength rapidly the hollows in his cheeks had filled out, and his clothes no longer hung on his frame as though they were several sizes too big for him. His limp was becoming less noticeable, although he still relied on his sturdy stick for support, but the lack of total flexibility in his hand was still something that troubled him immensely.
Liz spent her afternoons and her evenings trying to catch up on her work, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to shut Grant out of her thoughts. Physically he was in better shape than he had been on his arrival, but mentally he was still embittered, frustrated, and cynical. His fits of depression were less frequent, but she sensed that it lurked continuously beneath his often flippant remarks. He treated Liz like a younger sister, and it was to her as if they had gone back to that time when she had been a
sixteen-year-old, but she could not in all honesty say that she minded. It became her shield behind which she could hide her feelings, and she was grateful for it, but deep down she was becoming aware of an impatient longing for something more. She thrust this thought aside and concentrated on her work once more, but a few days later she was to recall her thoughts when the situation between Grant and herself altered drastically.
She was standing on a kitchen chair, hanging up the lounge curtains which she had taken down and washed early that morning, when she became aware of someone in the room with her.
“Oh, hello,” she said, casting a quick, casual glance over her shoulder. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Can I help in any way?” Grant asked, stepping further into the room.
“You could pass me that curtain draped across the back of that chair when I’ve finished with this one,” she suggested, and he waited until she had slipped the last hook into place before he passed her the bright floral curtain she had asked for.
She felt her breasts straining against the bodice of her dress when she reached up to hang the curtain, and she was aware, too, that she was displaying perhaps a little too much offer smooth, shapely legs. She knew that Grant was watching her, she could almost feel his eyes acquainting themselves with her feminine curves, and although embarrassment sent a surge of warmth in to her cheeks, there was a part of her that actually welcomed his masculine appraisal. Her fingers fumbled nervously with the last few hooks, and then Grant was there, his hands gripping her firmly about the waist as he lifted her effortlessly on to the floor.
Their eyes met, and something in those silver-grey depths deepened the flush on her cheeks. He was looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time as a woman instead of a child, and she was not sure whether she ought to feel excited or afraid. Young men her own age had flirted with her occasionally, and she had been able to laugh it off and hold them at bay, but she could not do the same with Grant; not with the man who had always held her heart so carelessly in the palm of his hands.
His fingers bit into her slim waist with surprising strength, the heat of his hands burning her flesh through the silk her dress. And her raised glance settled inadvertently on his mouth. The harsh lines had been softened by a distinct sensuality, and her pulse quickened with a longing so intense that her breath locked in her throat.
House of Mirrors Page 4