by Sara Craven
He said, 'I've got to the stage where I think I'll scream if I see another text book.'
Rowan tried to sound brisk and encouraging. 'You'll be fine.'
He gave her a wry look. 'I wish your confidence was shared by the staff at school, or anyone—myself included.' He paused, then said swiftly, 'Look, there's a disco at Arnthwaite next week. Will you come to it with me? A sort of pre-exam binge?'
Although she had been half expecting an invitation at some time from him, Rowan was a little taken aback. David saw her hesitation and said hurriedly, 'Of course, if you're too busy . . .'
If she refused, he would be hurt, she thought. He knew as well as she did how limited the opportunities for any kind of social life were in the village.
She made herself smile. 'Thank you,' David. I'd like that.'
'Great!' He returned the smile with interest. 'In fact, fantastic. I'll get Dad to lend me the van. The disco's on Friday evening, so I'll pick you up about eight.' He hesitated. 'There'll be no problem? I mean, there's no one you should ask first?' '
'No one at all,' she said steadily. She could imagine the sort of barbed comment she would have to put up with from Antonia, but she would face that when it happened. She closed her mind against what Carne would think.
David seemed disposed to hang around and chat, so she was almost relieved when a car stopped outside and disgorged two elderly couples. It turned out they visited the area each year and were regular customers at the pottery, so Grace had to be fetched from the workroom to welcome them, and show them the new lines. Rowan hung about in the background, feeling surplus to requirements, and was glad to hear the shop bell tinkle again.
She turned to greet the newcomer, and paused, the words choking in her throat as she saw Carne standing in the doorway, watching her. He was wearing close-fitting black pants which emphasised the length of his legs, and a matching high-necked sweater in thin wool. A cream coloured jacket hung fr0Il1. his shoulders. She had grown so accustomed to seeing him in casual jeans that she had forgotten how elegant he could look.
She stared at him, not knowing what to say or how to react, her hands twisting in the folds of her overall. Carne observed the nervous movement with an enigmatic expression, and at that moment Grace also turned and saw him.
'Hello, stranger. What brings you here?'
'I wanted a word with Rowan,' he said briefly. 'I thought this might be her lunch hour, but I can see you're busy.'
'Oh, that's all right,' Grace said blithely. 'I can manage.
Take her away with you, Carne, and give her a breath of air. She's been looking peaky all morning, poor child.' 'But I've had lunch,' Rowan protested. 'I'm not entitled to . . .'
'Rubbish!' Grace declared roundly. 'We don't operate under union rules here. Run along, and don't keep Carne waiting.'
Rowan groaned inwardly, but the customers were beginning to look more interested in what was going on than they were in the pots they were examining, so she made no further protest. Her mouth set mutinously, she went across to the door and Carne stood courteously aside to allow her to precede him into the fresh air. His car was parked a little way up the street, and she looked ·at it a little uncertainly.
Carne's hand fastened round her arm with no uncertainty at all. 'In' you get,' he ordered.
'But where are we going?' she demanded, trying to twist ·free of his grip and failing. 'I'm supposed to be working and . . .'
'Grace said you needed air, so I'll take you down to the lake. We'll use the car, because I haven't a lot of time.'
She sat silently beside him as he manoeuvred the car expertly through the narrow street. There were a number of cars parked near the pub, adding to the congestion. 'I ought to get back,' she said resentfully. 'Grace will be rushed off her feet in a moment.'
'Grace will cope. She's noted for it.' He shot her a sideways glance. ‘But I wouldn't say you can. In that get-up you look like little Nell, or some equally washed out product of a Victorian novel.'
'Thanks,' muttered Rowan, and he smiled faintly.
'At least when you're annoyed you have some colour in your cheeks.'
They were out of the village by this time, and on a road Rowan had never taken before, running along the edge of the lake. Carne swung-the car on to the verge and stopped, switching off the engine and pocketing the keys. Rowan opened the passenger door and climbed out. There was a faint breeze coming from the water, and she breathed it deeply and gratefully, trying to make herself relax. She walked forward through the scatter of trees and mossy boulders to' the narrow shingle beach which ran down to the water's edge. There weren't many people around some picnickers a few hundred yards away, with children dipping cautious feet in the water, and in the middle of the lake, a boat with a solitary, hopeful fisherman.
Carne came to stand beside her. There was space between them, but she was as aware of him as if she was pinned in his arms, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, and she gave a slight, involuntary shiver.
'Are you cold?' he asked.
'No-the sun's realy warm today,' she returned stiltedly. She hesitated, then said, 'How-how is Sybilla?'
'She spent a comfortable night, and is making excellent progress, or so I was told this morning. That telephone call last night--' his mouth twisted a little '--didn't come from the nursing home.'
Rowan moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. 'Well, that's good.'
'That isn't exactly how I saw it last night,' he said wryly. 'Although now I'm inclined to think it was a blessing in disguise. I'm sure that's your view, anyway.' She made no reply, 'and after a brief pause, he went on, 'That's the reason--or one of them at least-that I didn't come back to the house last night. Because I guessed that by the time I'd driven to Heatonbank and made sure all was well with Sybilla and returned, saner counsels would have prevailed with you-and I wasn't in a mood for kicking down locked doors.'
'I t wasn't locked,' she said without thinking, and flushed deeply at his sardonic laugh.
'No? Then perhaps that's an omission you'd do well to repair from now on. Although you'll be safe for the next few days, because 1 have to go to London. That's why I wanted to talk to you first.' .
'It's all right,' Rowan said hurriedly. 'You-you don't have to apologise or explain. I understand.'
'I haven't the slightest intention of doing either,' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'Any regrets I may have certainly wouldn't add up to an apology, and as for an explanation-I'm male and you're female. That's all that needs to be said.'
'I see,' she said bitterly, after a pause.
'I rather doubt that, but in any case don't brood about it, Rowan. All's well, after all. I didn't succeed in my fell design, and that's something we should perhaps both be grateful for.'
'Oh, yes,' she said ironically, the image of Antonia coming into her mind. 'In other words, saner counsels prevailed with you as well.'
'You could say that.' His voice was laconic. 'Although I haven't time now to discuss the finer points of my moral dilemma. We'll save it for my return.'
'No, thank you.' Her voice shook a little. 'There's nothing to discuss. I'm under no illusions as to why you behaved as you did. In some ways, I suppose I invited it. My-juvenile crush was a little obvious. But you cured that completely, which I imagine was the purpose of the exercise.'
She paused, waiting for some kind of reaction-perhaps protest, perhaps anger, but there was only silence, so she continued, 'I-I suppose I should be grateful. Not many girls my age get a lesson in lovemaking from an expert, even if it did go rather further than you intended. But it taught me something else as well-to stay in my own league from now on.' She attempted a nervous laugh. 'I don't know if you know quite how overwhelming you can be when you want. I-I was terrified!'
'Then you hid it very well,' it was Carne's turn to be' ironic. 'Fear was about the last emotion I thought I'd disturbed in you. Even I can learn, it seems. But one thing we can agree -it did go further than I intended. I
meant to kiss you goodnight, that's all.'
'A paternal gesture that went astray?'
'You know better than that,' he said rather wearily. 'If you want the truth, I wanted to comfort you, and I also thought you wanted to be kissed. Was I so wrong?'
'No,' she said. 'You were quite right. I did-and now I don't any more. I'm not indulging in any more girlish fantasies about you, Carne, they're altogether too dangerous. I may not come very high in your regard, but I think I deserve better than to be seduced because you're bored or frustrated.'
Her voice faltered and died away. When she dared look at him, she took an involuntary step backwards, catching her foot against a loose pebble and stumbling. At once, his arm came out to catch her and stop her falling. She wrenched herself free. '.
'Don't touch me!'
'An instinctive reaction,' he bit back at per. 'It won't happen again. My frustrations might get the better of me, and I might give you the hiding your late father signally failed to do.'
'You can't deny it,' Rowan said defiantly. 'It's all part of this weird game of cat and mouse you're playing with Antonia. You can't make love to her, and you thought you'd punish her through me. Well, it didn't work. But from now on I wish you'd confine your attentions' to her and leave me out of it.'
Carne was very pale under his tan, and the silver eyes were blazing. The scar beside his mouth seemed to throb as he spoke.
'Thank you for your masterly summing up of the situation. From now on I promise you neither you nor Antonia will have anything to complain of. And now I'd better get you back to work.'
He turned away and walked back to the car, and Rowan trailed after him. She felt as if she wanted to die. Carne was already in the driving seat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel when she presented herself hesitantly at the side of the car.
'If you'd rather I walked . . .' she began, and he turned on her mercilessly.
'I'd rather you got out of my life altogether, Rowan, but we can't have everything we want. Now get in the car, and I'll drive you to Grace's.'
'I want to be out of your life.' Her voice hardly rose above a whisper. 'You don't know how much I want it. But you don't have to worry. Just as soon as I can, I'll be gone. I don't care what I have to do to achieve that.'
'Then that's fine with me.' Almost before she had closed her door, he set the car in motion, reversing in a flurry of gravel, and driving back the way they had come with scant regard for safety or speed limits.
He stopped outside the pottery, and turned to her, his eyes like frozen winter, his face set grimly. 'Assuming that you'll still be here for the next week or so, perhaps you'll keep an eye on Sybilla. A daily telephone call will do. You don't have to put yourself out.'
'I shan't be,' she said tightly. 'I like Sybilla.'
'And she likes you.' His face didn't change; if anything it hardened slightly. 'Even she can be fallible, it seems.'
Long after the car had gone, Rowan stood staring sightlessly at the empty street. She thought despairingly, 'What have 1 done? Oh God, what have I done?'
Rowan felt physically and emotionally exhausted as she returned to the house that evening. The shop had been full when she returned, and there had been a constant influx of customers all afternoon, which had been a relief in many ways, because they had prevented her from brooding, and had also stopped Grace from asking what would have been awkward questions. But Grace had been too busy to do more than comment in a puzzled away that Rowan's lunch break hadn't seemed to have done her a great deal of good.
Somewhat to her surprise, the kitchen door was locked, and she had to fumble in her bag for her key. The house was full of silence as she let herself in, and as she glanced round, she saw a piece of paper secured by a jug of flowers in the centre of the kitchen table.
She groaned inwardly, even before she read it, knowing what it would contain. ‘Expect me when you see me, Antonia.' Well, that was short and sharp and to the point, Rowan thought, filling the kettle, and spooning instant coffee into a beaker. But how nice it would be for once when she came in tired to find a meal waiting for her, or even a friendly voice to enquire about her day.
She sat down with her coffee, and ran weary fingers round the nape of her neck. She had hoped to be able to persuade Antonia to drive her to Heatonbank so she could visit Sybilla, but she would have to be content with a phone call, it seemed. She wondered without much interest where Antonia had gone. Not out for yet another meal, because she had already eaten, as the dirty dishes stacked carelessly in the sink bore mute witness. Rowan sighed, wrinkling her nose at the thought. Relations between Antonia and herself had never been relaxed or easy, but when they were living in London, they had done better than this. But perhaps that was because Antonia had had no alternative, Rowan thought cynically. Here at Raven's Crag, poised to take over as the future mistress of the house, she did not have to try any more with a stepdaughter she had never particularly cared for anyway.
Besides, I came here for her convenience, so I can hardly complain now, Rowan told herself bitterly.
She supposed she ought to make herself a meal, but tiredness and emotionalism from the day's events had robbed her of her appetite, although the warm coffee was comforting. And presently she would make a start on Sybilla's flat-after she had phoned the nursing home.
Sister, when she spoke to her, was reassuring. Sybilla, it seemed, had enjoyed a good day and needed nothing. She had been moved into a room with another elderly lady who also had a penchant for crossword puzzles, and chess and bridge problems and they were getting on like a house on fire, so Rowan was not to worry, Sister added firmly, and Rowan smiled rather wanly as she replaced the receiver.
She enjoyed tidying-the flat, dusting the ornaments and treasures, and restoring order. The atmosphere was like a soothing hand, and almost imperceptibly she began to feel better, as if Sybilla's bracing personality was in the room with her. She stripped the bed, and took the soiled linen with her when she left to wash in the automatic machine in the laundry room.
'What on earth are you doing?'
Antonia's voice halted her as she was locking Sybilla's door.
Rowan swung round, her arms full of sheets. 'Sybilla asked me to look after the flat for her,' she answered awkwardly.
Antonia gave a short laugh. 'Rather a waste of time, isn't it?' she observed critically.
'On the contrary,' Rowan was horrified. 'Sybilla's much better today. She . . .'
'Spare me the details,' Antonia invited languidly. 'Her state of health really doesn't interest me that much except that it solves one rather serious problem.'
'I don't understand,' said Rowan, frowning.
Antonia smiled. 'Darling, you really are very naive! Sybilla collapsed, right? Which probably means she's going to be virtually a cripple for the rest of her life. If she was younger, and her heart was all right, she could probably have something done about her hip-as it is--' she shrugged negligently, 'one can only say that she's in the best place. And I for one am not sorry.'
'But she'll be coming home,' Rowan protested uneasily. 'Will she?' Antonia's brows rose. 'Not as far as I'm concerned, my dear. I carrie here to keep house for Carne, not to nurse a sick old woman. Why, she'll probably end up in a wheelchair. Carne has discharged his obligations to her very honourably, but there must come a time when even he must see that enough is enough. This house is totally unsuitable for an invalid.'
Rowan said sharply, 'Carne wouldn't do that.' Antonia laughed. 'I think I know him better than you do, sweetie. Carne likes people who are strong and whole-beautiful people. He won't have much time for cripples, physical or emotional.' She smiled, and Rowan felt as if someone had clawed her skin, leaving long malignant weals on the flesh. 'And I think he'll do as I want,' she added casually. 'If there hadn't been this trip to London, we'd probably have reached an understanding. As it is, when he comes back I shall get him to paint me. He never would in the past.' Her smile widened. 'It's going to be a beautiful
summer.' She paused, then added gently. 'So be a busy little girl, sweetie. Go and visit Sybilla, and clean her flat, and slave away behind the scenes, and see where it gets you. You and Sybilla are both going to be losers, I'm afraid.'
'I don't understand why you're being like this.' Rowan felt unutterably weary. 'Neither of us is any threat to you.'
'No,' Antonia agreed. 'And I intend to keep it that way.' She turned and walked back towards the hall and the spiral stairs. She was wearing one of her expensive Italian knit suits, and her hair in a coil on top of her head, and Rowan wondered where she had been, looking so deliberately soignee. Then she shrugged slightly. It was none of her business and Antonia obviously hadn't the slightest intention of making it so, and the best thing she could do was load these sheets into the machine.
It was a little disconcerting when she returned home the following night to find the pattern had been repeated, however, and this time Rowan fretted, because she needed Antonia to drive her to Heatonbank. She didn't get paid at the pottery until the following day, so a taxi was out of the question. If Antonia came home at the same time as the previous evening, she would have time for a hasty visit, she thought, but of course Antonia did not return home. Rowan had been in bed for over an hour when she heard the car engine.
Before she left for work the following morning, she went up to her room and tackled her.
'Are you going to be out again this evening?'
Antonia gave her an irritable look. 'Yes, as it happens, what difference does it make?'
'Every difference.' Rowan tried to sound reasonable. 'I have no transport, and I need to visit the nursing home. Sybilla will be needing clean nightdresses-a change of library books.'