“But you know Justin just a little bit better than you know Rosalie, don’t you? You think he’ll get the least out of the marriage!”
“I—I—” Susan stammered, and was glad when the door burst open, and in came Mrs. Freer, complaining about the many difficulties she was encountering over' planning this wedding, which must go off smoothly. Lady Freer ignored her, and said even more softly to Susan:
“Yes; I see you do! And I heartily agree with you!”
CHAPTER TEN
Two days later Susan went down to Storr, leaving Jennifer in the London flat, working on an urgent commission.
The landlord of the Red Lion was always gratified to see either her or Jennifer—preferably both of them together—and they were always very comfortable whilst staying in the inn. There was nothing very much to do there, and sometimes the bar-parlour grew a little noisy in the evenings; but Susan loved strolling on the village-green, and watching the ducks on the pond. She also liked taking longer walks, particularly now that the whole of the countryside had come alive with all the exciting hues of spring—bluebells lying in sheets of mauve in the woods, primroses clothing the banks with the pale yellow of day-old chicks. And the walk across the park to Storr Hall, and beyond it to the Dower House, was a delight in itself.
Storr Hall no longer stood somewhat harshly etched against a background of bare woods. There was a delicate tracery of green forming a lace-like pattern against the pale spring sky, and in the foreground the daffodils were marching in solid waves down to the lake. Under the sheltered south terrace the wallflowers were a blaze of colour, but Susan only glimpsed these from the distance as she cut across the park. And when she saw smoke ascending in delicate spirals from the twisted Tudor chimneys she knew that the house was occupied by someone other than the servants.
Frequently she strove to keep her eyes averted from the house, concentrating on the returning rabbits who scuttled across her path, and the odd pheasant who set up a sudden ‘qua-r-r-rk’ in the undergrowth. She knew now why she had been so filled with misgivings and doubts when she signed the lease for the Dower House, and they were not all concerned with Justin Storr. Some of them were quite poignantly concerned with his house, which had the power to make her throat feel a little tight when she looked at it and thought of him living there with his wife.
Her own family had once lived in just such a house, but for her there was never to be anything more than the admiration which such a gracious building must inevitably arouse in the breast of the quickly responsive. And, on the whole, she supposed, she was fortunate to be faced with the prospect of living inside the boundary railings. And she was certainly very fortunate indeed to have her whole future made secure for her from financial worries by the excessive thoughtfulness and kindness of Sir Adrian Storr.
She tried to make herself really aware of her good fortune by forcing herself to acknowledge the vast difference in her situation to a few months ago; and whenever her eyes turned towards Storr Hall, and that tightness gathered in her throat, she asked herself angrily to be fair and reasonable, because no single human being could have everything in life.
Rosalie Freer might discover that she had much less than she supposed a year or so from now. And as for Sir Justin ---------- !
But she refused to dwell upon Justin! That way lay a growing dissatisfaction that was unworthy in one who already had so much!
The Dower House, on the afternoon that she reached it after leaving Jennifer in London, seemed already to have undergone a complete metamorphosis. The garden was no longer a weed-choked wilderness..
It was neat and trim, and the borders had been stocked with plants. The pocket-handkerchief lawn had been given a new lease of life with the aid of the roller and some squares of fresh turf, which in time would meet and merge with the old turf, and look infinitely attractive in the calm of a summer evening.
Inside, the transformation was just as noticeable, for the panelling had been treated in such a way that it seemed to have discovered a satiny surface, and the floorboards were all absolutely safe. The new primrose bath was installed in the bathroom, and only required hosts of primrose-yellow towels, and some gleaming towel-rails, to make it a place to linger in.
Jennifer had asked Susan to choose the room she wished to become her bedroom, insisting that she had the right. But, in spite of the sunshine outside, and the skilful restorations within, Susan had no desire to linger in any of the rooms. Downstairs in the sitting-room there were two ghosts who occupied the wide window-seat, and one of them had a slightly mocking masculine voice, and she had to get away from it. She wondered whether it would always echo in her ears in that room, and whether, when she stood near the window, she would feel a pair of possessive arms drawing her close, and a hard masculine mouth close over hers.
“You are going to live here in my woods, within sight and sound of Storr, and whenever I have a free moment I will come and stand on your doorstep and beg you to invite me in!” That was what he had said, and that was what he would do if she ever came to live at the Dower House!
She hastened back across the park, feeling as if she was fleeing from some concrete menace, and the early spring evening closed in around her. She had Bruce Fairburn’s little white sealyham, Blobs, with her—she frequently borrowed him on visits to the country, largely to give him exercise, and also because he had taken quite an extraordinary fancy to her—and he raced ahead of her between the long lines of trees. His excited barks and violent scrabblings in the under-brush every time some intriguing new scent was wafted to his nostrils made her smile in a more relaxed fashion after a time, and she was taking great pleasure in the sunset light as it filtered through the trees—the sky a painted back-cloth behind the magnificently tall, straight trunks—when a couple of tempestuous shapes bore down on her. There was the rapid thunder of iron-shod feet, a warning voice shouting at her to get out of the way; and then she had barely time to snatch Blobs up into her arms and ensure that he was not trampled on before the huge shapes were past, and the iron hooves were ringing in her ears like a retreating thunderclap.
But the danger to Blobs was not entirely past, for an enormous cream-coloured Alsatian who had been following in the wake of the Diana on horse-back suddenly altered course, swerved, swung round, and came bounding back to the spot where Susan was standing protectively clasping Bruce’s pet.
From the shelter of her arms the sealyham uttered a provocative bark, and a slightly impertinent growl or two, and turning to retreat with him Susan inadvertently allowed him to escape from her arms. Once more the furry white bundle went whisking ahead of her through the trees, but this time with the Alsatian in lightning-like pursuit. She was never quite clear what happened, but she knew that she raced after them—alarmed lest Bruce’s trusty companion of a good many years should come to grief—and once more flung herself on the little dog to prevent any possible hurt as soon as it was within
reach of her clutching hands.
But the Alsatian simply hurled itself at her, and she was borne to the ground and hit it with a violent thud just as the horses came racing back, and one rider at least left his saddle so swiftly that he appeared almost literally to fly through the air.
At the same time a disdainful feminine voice called sharply:
“Down, Sultan!” And Sultan only hesitated long enough to receive a spate of words from Justin Storr, who immediately afterwards turned his attention to helping Susan to her feet.
She stood, feeling dazed and bewildered, with both his arms about her, and it seemed to her that his face was as white as Blobs’s coat as she peered up at it in the gloom of the trees.
“Are you all right, Susan?” His voice sounded strange and muffled. “That brute didn’t touch you, did he?”
She shook her head vaguely, and then remembered Blobs.
“But, Bruce’s dog! . . . Don’t let it hurt it, please!”
“Bruce’s dog is perfectly all right,” he answered, more curtly. “Sultan wouldn’t have done it
any real harm, but you interfered.”
“Always a stupid thing to do,” Rosalie said, from the back of a recently-bought chestnut that had replaced Lady Luck. “Naturally a highly-strung dog like Sultan couldn’t be expected to understand that you were merely trying to protect that ridiculous bundle of white fur! And, in any case, I expect it provoked him!”
“It did nothing of the kind,” Susan said quietly. “It was merely rather frightened, and barked a bit.”
“Little dogs are always cheeky,” Rosalie said.
“Dogs of Sultan’s size and disposition must be well disciplined before they’re released upon the world!” Justin snapped, between teeth that were obviously clenched a little. “I told you Carter didn’t want you to start handling him yet, Rosalie, but you were so insistent that he gave way! After this, however, he’ll go back to kennels!”
“That’s for me to decide, darling,” Rosalie drawled. “Don’t forget that he’s a wedding-present—from you!” She suddenly changed her tone. “And I’m quite sure Miss Willowfield can stand alone!”
Justin looked down with open anxiety into Susan’s face.
“Can you?” he asked, declining to make the experiment. “If I put you up on the front of my horse I can take you back to Storr, and Mrs. Hollyhead can make you some strong coffee, or something. You look a bit dazed to me.”
Susan shook her head firmly.
“I’m not a bit dazed. . . . And I’m going back to the Red Lion, with Blobs!”
Determinedly she extricated herself from his hold, and gathered up the sealyham.
“Then I’m coming with you!”
Rosalie spoke coldly. “If you accompany Miss Willowfield against her wish, Justin, then I shall take exception to having to return to Storr alone!”
“You can do whatever you please,” Justin returned, in a harsh, unmannerly voice, “so long as you take that devil of a dog with you, and hand him over to Carter!”
Rosalie whitened perceptibly in the deepening shadow of the trees.
“If you talk like that, Justin, dear,” she said, very softly, “it’s just possible there won’t be a wedding!” Justin ignored her, and once more possessing himself of Susan’s arm urged her gently forward.
“If you won’t let me mount you, we’ll walk,” he said.
And she found that she was impelled to walk just a little ahead of him, while his strong fingers firmly grasped her elbow, and behind them Rosalie wheeled and galloped off in a cold fury amongst the trees.
Later that night they must have made up the quarrel, for the wedding was still on when Susan handed over Blobs to its owner nearly a week later. She was out when Justin called at the inn the day after what could only be described as an incident—not an accident—involving herself, had created a certain amount of annoyance for Rosalie; and although he called again before she returned to London she sent down a message by the landlord to the effect that she was not available. And to her relief Justin did not insist on her becoming available, which was the sort of thing he might have done.
But he left a note which she found vaguely disturbing.
“You’re quite unable to take care of yourself, Susan, my silly little sweet! One day I’ll have to do it for you!”
If it had been anyone other than Justin who had entrusted the landlord with such a note she would simply have torn it up, but with Justin there was not much point in doing that. For the promise—or the threat!— contained in the note would linger on!
She was glad, therefore, to return to Town and encounter once more the soothing normality of Bruce Fairburn, for whom she had developed quite a liking by this time. He was, she was sure, so eminently reliable, and so full of discretion, that one could trust him with almost anything. Jennifer teased her about him, and said that if he wasn’t after her twenty thousand pounds he was most certainly after her, but Susan refused to believe it. She didn’t want any man to be after her just then, even if his intentions were quite uninvolved, and as clear as daylight. She wanted to be able to relax with a man like Bruce, who seemed understanding—even if he occasionally looked at her with unmistakeable admiration in his eyes—and who seemed to value her friendship.
But, although she believed him to be particularly understanding, she didn’t tell him about the incident in Storr Park, or about Rosalie’s reaction to it. And she certainly didn’t tell him about Justin’s note.
Bruce had invited her to dine with him in his flat, and because it was the first time she had dined alone with a man in his flat she was a little shy. But Bruce had an excellent manservant, and the meal he prepared and served was quite perfect in its way, and the flat itself was luxurious.
It was obvious that Bruce was very much attached to his personal comfort, and the fact that he liked haunting antique-shops was given away as soon as anyone looked at his personal possessions. And they hadn’t been acquired in antique shops only, but in various corners of the globe. He had travelled a good deal, and had an interesting tale to tell about the vase he had picked up in Singapore, and the huge ivory elephant he had first seen sitting on a shelf in a dim little room behind a dimmer little shop in Calcutta.
And the deep-toned gong that summoned them to dinner was reputed to have reverberated through the echoing corridors of King Mindin’s palace in Mandalay.
Susan was a good listener, and as they sat in deep leather chairs before a brightly burning log fire— although it was a May evening—she couldn’t help wondering once or twice whether, if she had never seen Justin’s mutinous, twisted mouth, and his dark eyes that made her think of water at the bottom of a well, this man with his meticulous style of dressing, his well-held shoulders and his sleek blond head, might not have appealed to her just a little more. . . . That is to say, she might have been rather more aware of him as a man, and not just an unusually pleasing companion.
He told her that he had a couple of theatre tickets for the following night, and more or less took it for granted that she would be ready and waiting when he called for her.
“And we can have supper at a new little place I’ve discovered,” he added.
She said rather diffidently:
“But isn’t there someone else you’d rather take in my place, Bruce? I mean,” as his eyes grew faintly quizzical, “I can’t allow you to use all your theatre tickets up on me! And you’re always taking me to lunch, or something.”
“And you’re always providing my dog with free board and lodging, and burdening yourself with him when you go down to Storr,” the quizzical look becoming much more noticeable. “Or do you take him with you as a protection against Justin should he revert to his earlier bad habit of forgetting his manners, and emulate that sinister ancestor of his?”
She felt herself colouring, but shook her head laughingly.
“Of course not! Sir Justin is now my landlord, and all that awkward business of the will is forgotten ... I hope!” She decided to get off the subject of Justin quickly. “But, you know what I mean. . . . You must have many friends to whom you would like to devote your evenings, and your free time, and I seem to use up such a lot of the latter!”
He placed the butt of the cigar he had been smoking rather delicately in an ash-tray, and leaned towards her. The rays of a standard lamp poured over his burnished head, and let her see clearly his serious eyes.
“My dear Susan, when I have free time I occupy it in a way that is entirely satisfactory to myself! ... If I devote quite a lot of it to you then it isn’t merely a compliment, but should make you understand how important you are becoming—or have become! —to those moments when I’m not actually attached to the grindstone of making money for other people!”
She felt vaguely startled.
“I—I’m flattered, of course!”
He smiled a little wryly.
“I don’t want you to be flattered. I want you to be as keen to spend your free time with me as I am to devote the whole of mine to you!” He must have felt her recoil a little, or withdraw within herself, for
, just as she had done, he smoothly changed the subject. “And, talking about making money for other people, why not let me do something for you along those lines? I don’t want to poke or pry into your affairs, but you have the whole of your future to think of, and I could make it very secure for you, my dear. Of course you will marry—that goes without saying....”
“I—I’m not at all sure of that!” Susan heard herself stammering.
He smiled at her.
“There isn’t any doubt that you will marry, and very soon—I hope!” His blue eyes seemed extra dark as they gazed at her. “But, in the meantime, you have no one at, all to advise you, and I want to advise you in any way I can. Finance is my job, and if you want financial advice, then it’s yours! You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she answered.
“Then, command me!” he told her.
“I would like to make over half of the money that was left me to Jennifer,” she said, in a little burst. “She’s a good artist, and I think if she didn’t have any money worries she would be a great one!”
He smiled whimsically.
“That,” he informed her, “is a job for a solicitor, but I can still advise you. Don’t do anything irrevocable just yet! You’re a young woman alone in the world—without any close relatives, that is—and until you are married I think you should think only of yourself.”
“But I’ve just said I may never marry. . . .”
His eyes were indulgent.
“Yes; you have just said you may never marry, but I have said I think you will marry soon. ... So shall we leave it there?” He reached across and took both her hands and held them tightly. “You are not like any other young woman I have ever met, and in some ways you remind me of a fawn on a mountainside. . . . Liable to be very badly startled if one appears at the wrong moment, or says something at the wrong moment! So shall we change the subject altogether, and talk about shoes and ships and sealing-wax?”
She gently released her hands, and sat back in her chair, still looking at him, however, across the fire-glow. She was afraid that she was beginning to get some idea of his meaning, and it disconcerted her to an amazing degree. For it was true that she might never marry ... at that moment the very thought was abhorrent to her! And so long as her every waking thought, as well as her dreams, were haunted by a pair of mocking, sinister eyes, and an audacious, mutinous, twisted mouth, what right had she to allow any other man to think ... that he stood a chance with her?
Dangerous Love Page 10