“How is she?” Hugh asked, as Sara entered the library and closed the door. He was standing in front of the fireplace with his hands behind his back, and she felt curiously at a disadvantage as she took a few hesitant steps into the middle of the room.
“Much better,” she said simply as he waited. “The rest in bed is helping her a lot.”
He considered this briefly. “Did the good doctor produce a magic pill, or have you succeeded where others have failed? I’ve never known Biddy to stay in bed before.”
“Perhaps a combination of both,” Sara murmured demurely. Somehow she was reluctant to tell him that Ian had been here three days running, which might have convinced Biddy that she was worse than she actually was, with the desired effect!” Apart from her rheumatism I really think she needs a rest. Apparently she hasn’t had a holiday in years, and this is a very big place to run.”
“Yes, of course.” Hugh spoke testily, seeming to lose interest, his mind on other things.
Sara stirred, ill at ease. The night breeze drifting in through the open window brought with it a myriad scents and the distant sound of the sea. Suddenly she felt weary, in a trance of tiredness and over-emotionalism. Waiting for him to speak, she stared at him closely, until it seemed that every feature of his face was impressed on her memory. Helplessly she averted her eyes.
“You didn’t bring me here to talk about Biddy,” she prompted.
“I didn’t,” he returned hardily. “But you don’t look in any particular condition to carry on any sort of discussion. What have you been doing with yourself while I’ve been away?”
For a second Sara hesitated, her eyes widening. She wasn’t aware that the overhead light shone directly on her face, enhancing every angle. She had chosen to wear a thin black jersey dress with a low rounded neckline which emphasized the whiteness of her skin and the fragility of her slender bones. Her hair was loose, falling across her shoulders in a cloud of spun silk from a centre parting.
Her voice came guarded. “I’ve been busy, I’ll admit, but nothing to make a fuss about.”
“I see.” He walked over to where she still stood in the middle of the room and drew her over to, the fire. His fingers caught around her waist, curiously without tenderness.
“Let me see just how busy you’ve been.” As they stood there he tilted her chin, his fingers retaining that same degree of hardness, while his eyes examined the faint shadows on her pale cheeks.
“Please,” she protested, agitation quickening her voice, yet unable to move.
A faint sensual hostility stirred in his face. Abruptly he shook his head. “You’re very lovely—and tempting,” he murmured, frowning.
Sara hadn’t imagined that hostility. She wrenched away from him.
“You might think me beautiful, but you don’t like me, do you?”
His eyes went black. “I don’t like the things a woman can do to a man, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s something quite different.”
“How women love to complicate the issue,” he said briefly. “Born to make trouble.”
“You can’t load us all into the one basket.” Sara tilted her head at him. “Some women have made men very happy.”
“No,” he disagreed suavely. “It’s usually the other way around. Always it’s the male who must make the effort. So far as you’re concerned, I don’t think I do like you, but as I said once before, I shall have to put up with you until we’re finished here.”
He stood only inches away from her, his eyes travelling critically down the fragile bones of her throat and shoulders. “Such vulnerability ... I suppose the death of your parents did that to you.”
Sara stood rooted to the spot, shaken, shocked, incapable of thought. How had he found out? Why was he doing this to her? Her hands moved convulsively, warding him off, trying to convey a revulsion she couldn’t find words to express.
“How did you find out?” she whispered at last. “How could you have known?” Her throat went tight, like a newly re-opened wound she felt the pain spreading.
He held her now, his grip on her upper arms almost as hurtful as the pain in her heart, forcing her head back so that she must look into his eyes. Was he entirely without mercy!
His dark eyes held hers. “You said to Ian McKenzie—my father was a doctor. Was! Spelt out in capital letters. Ian probably didn’t notice, but it aroused my curiosity.”
“So you poked around?” Distraught, Sara’s voice rose bitterly.
“Exactly.” He regarded the rawness of her feelings unemotionally.
Sara could have hit him. Not for the first time, either! The primitive strength of her anger was barely controllable. “How?” she choked furiously through clenched teeth.
“I saw your friend Jane this morning before I left. I had an appointment with James Kerr.”
“Which couldn’t concern me.”
“I intended to find out.” He added with smooth purpose, “Jane was there and I took the opportunity.” The air between them was static, charged by electricity and anger that burnt.
She said, “You thought Daddy had been struck off? That he’d done something disreputable!”
He made a sound of complete exasperation. “I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted to know what made you tick, that’s all. What lies behind that intriguing element of sensitivity. I thought perhaps a man, an unhappy love affair. Since you came you’ve impressed yourself quite indelibly on my imagination.”
Her face grew remote with an encroaching coldness. ‘‘And now that you’ve done your research and the mystery is cleared up I’m no longer of interest.
He gave a brief laugh, his eyes totally watchful on her distrait face, narrowed slightly. “I wouldn’t say that, but first we must get rid of this inner torment.” He shook her softly, his fingers gripping firmly the smooth skin of her arms. “You’ll get over it, you know. It’s a traumatic experience, but first you must strip down to rock bottom and start again. Until you face your loss squarely you couldn’t hope for any sort of tranquillity.”
Sara fought back burning hot tears. “Your philosophy astounds me, also your hardness!”
His smile was cynical but not unkind as he regarded her flushed cheeks. “Life goes on, Sara. If you want to go with it you learn to live with your sorrows, not let them take over.”
“You call grieving for lost parents unnatural?”
“The way you’re doing it, yes. As soon as I had a good look at you I knew. It stood out a mile. Something was eating you up. It showed in a thousand different ways.”
And she had thought that no one could ever guess. Cups of bitterness invariably overflowed! “I hate you for asking Jane!” Indiscriminately Sara attacked again, yet feeling totally defenceless against his harsh logic. Her eyes continued to shimmer, but no tears fell. “I told her I felt better. Now she’ll be worried.”
“She was quite happy when I left,” Hugh murmured ambiguously. “We talked.”
“I see ...” For a moment she was nonplussed. Her eyes widened. This she had not expected. Dared she ask what they had talked about? She could almost guess. Jane would do most of the talking, promoted by the odd glib question. Now this hard implacable man would possess her history, right up to date from the cradle, because to Jane she was the daughter she had never had, and never could have now, even if she married again.
Sara stirred like a sleepwalker, her blue eyes dilated, reflecting an unconscious plea for consolation.
He ground out, “What you need now is an emotional upheaval of a different kind. Something too big for you to cope with. Something which would sweep away those last remnants of self-pity you so tenaciously hold on to.”
“Such as?” Sara’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but the inflection spoke of an inner resistance. This man was used to pushing people around, probably to the limit of their physical and mental endurance, in order to attain his ends. Anything which hindered peak productivity must be removed. A secretary must be nothing more
than a robot, her mind void of any emotion that might interfere with her job. By what method this was achieved he obviously didn’t care.
He stared down at her darkly. “An emotional upheaval can usually be described as a love affair. Perhaps you should concentrate on Ian McKenzie. I don’t think he would be reluctant, not where you’re concerned. There are times when I find you quite enchanting myself.”
Of its own accord Sara’s hand shot out, but before it could reach his taunting face he caught it in his hard grip, bringing it down in front of him, hurting her as she had intended hurting him.
“I don’t understand you!” she gasped, half sobbing, her body sagging weakly as he jerked her to him.
His hand half-mooned her chin, his fingers steely as they slid behind her ear, grasping and twisting a handful of hair so that her head came back to his shoulder. She could feel in him no tenderness but a leashed anger.
His arms exploded a locked well of reserve. Sara’s mouth suddenly yearned for his kisses, a strange hunger which raced through her body, not easily denied by the wavering strength of her mind.
But the strain of the last hour was telling on her. She looked white and exhausted, and as Hugh became aware of this his expression changed subtly and his arms slackened. With a half-smothered exclamation he thrust her quickly away from him into the depth of a large armchair, while he poured her a brandy, standing over her until she drank it down.
A slight smile smoothed the deep furrow on his brow. “At least you can cope with that,” he said grimly. “It would have been more in character if you’d choked and spluttered.”
“I’m not quite so juvenile as you think.” She swallowed the drink, not because she particularly wanted it, but as an essential means of regaining the composure she had lost a few minutes ago. After a slight pause she felt able to say calmly, “Daddy’s one weakness, perhaps, was a brandy with his coffee, and sometimes Mummy and I would join him.”
“Nice for father,” Hugh added sardonically. “And now, my child, if you don’t mind pushing off, I have work to do.”
“But you said—” Startled, Sara put down her empty glass with a small clatter. She took a deep breath. “You said there were things to discuss. Business?”
His smile was ironic as he towered over her. “That was before I got sidetracked, and I intend getting rid of you before it happens again. You’ve a little colour back in your cheeks, but I don’t want you passing out on me any more tonight. Tomorrow we can discuss business to our hearts’ content.”
He held out an impersonal hand which she chose to ignore as she rose rather unsteadily to her feet. Her limbs still trembled slightly and she blamed the brandy while knowing that the real cause lay in the still uneven beating of her heart.
But it didn’t help when he turned away abruptly and reached for a cigarette. In the blue flame from his lighter he inhaled deeply before asking offhandedly, “Is Jill quite fit now, do you think?”
Sara stumbled, startled, on her way to the door. She had just been about to bid him goodnight when his query descended on her hapless head. She didn’t turn as she murmured ‘yes’, unwilling that he should see her face. For the life of her she couldn’t add anything more.
“Well, don’t look as though you’d been shot in the back,” he said impatiently. “As a matter of fact I thought I might take her to Iona tomorrow. I can mix it in with a bit of business, so it won’t be time wasted. Have you ever been there yourself? Would you like to come?”
Nervously she half turned towards him, her profile taut under the light. Jill, she felt certain, wouldn’t want to go. Not without Colin. But Hugh didn’t know that Colin was here and she’d promised not to tell.
What a mix-up! Why in heaven’s name had she agreed to keep the girl’s secret? Why hadn’t she had the sense to realize just what it would involve? “Suppose,” she suggested desperately, still not looking at him but sensing that he waited, “we leave it until the morning? You know what Jill is. She could have made other arrangements. After all, you didn’t say when you were coming home.”
And that, she decided as she took a quick shower next morning, had been the best she could do. Hurriedly she dressed. She hoped to find Jill and to warn her of Hugh’s intentions before he found her himself. If Jill didn’t want to go to Iona then she would have to wriggle out of the trip as best she could. Jill, Sara resolved, must make her own excuses. It would be bad enough if Hugh found out her own complicity without adding further to her list of crimes.
She would love to visit Iona, to see the famous cathedral and the burial ground of so many Scottish kings. Numerous tourists from all over the world went every year, but once her work here was finished Sara knew she would never return. This might be the only chance she would ever get to see the island.
Her head ached suddenly. She opened her handbag, searched inside, and brought out a bottle of aspirin, taking two, drinking from a glass of water. She wanted to go to Iona, but not alone with Hugh. Not right away, after last night. There hadn’t been enough time to marshal her thoughts or get her emotions under complete control. Not yet could she face the intimacy of an afternoon spent together, but if Jill refused to go perhaps Hugh would change his mind and decide to go another day.
Jill wasn’t in her room, and to Sara’s surprise when she went in to breakfast Jill was almost finished. She had been out riding with Hugh, she said, and had agreed to go to Iona.
Sara stopped with her cup half-way to her lips. She said, sharply despairing, “Just like that! And to think I’ve hardly been able to sleep!”
“Why not?” Jill’s babyish lips parted innocently. “As a matter of fact, darling Sara, Colin’s sister is not my cup of tea. All she wants to do all day is hike around the moors. She’s as mad about this bird-watching business as Colin, but for different reasons.”
“Such as ...?”
“Well, you know Colin has to do it to get all the photographs he needs as a check for his work. Now he’s got all he needs and could easily finish off his paintings in London, but Gwen demands an escort! I suspect he’s been secretly bitten by the bug.”
“What bug?” Jill talked in riddles, and used jargon so freely that sometimes it was difficult to keep up.
“Bird-watching!” Jill retorted irritably. “You’re not very bright this morning, are you? Well, without asking me he actually told Gwen that he wouldn’t mind going with her. Well, I’ve certainly told him that I mind!” Her small face fell sullenly. “But you don’t know Colin.”
“How could I?” Sara replied cautiously. “We’ve only met once. I thought you were in love with him?”
“I am—I am!”‘ Jill’s lists beat a tattoo upon the table. “But I’m not blind to his faults. He argues too much and he’s too stubborn! He has the same crazy idea as you about telling Hugh. It took me ages yesterday to persuade him otherwise, and now he says that if we want a chaperon we’ve got to humour her!”
Good for Colin! Sara silently applauded as she hid a smile. Jill might not find her particular brand of humour amusing. But the more Sara learnt about Colin the better she felt she liked him. With him Jill would not get all her own way. Jill had been spoilt, and if Colin refused to carry on with the spoiling, then good for him. A little opposition wouldn’t do her any harm!
“So ...?” she prompted, buttering a fresh piece of toast.
“So I’ve told Hugh that I’ll be delighted to go to Iona after lunch.” Jill’s eyebrows rose with airy indifference. “It’s all wrapped up. Katie is to look after Biddy. Colin will look after his sister, while you and I will be looked after by darling Hugh.” She leant back in her chair, stretching her arms behind her head before lighting a cigarette and remarking lightly, “I might even find out what my dear old mum’s up to in America, if I play my cards right.”
“Jill!” Really, the girl was incorrigible. Sara’s sigh carefully tempered a thrill of delight It would be wonderful to visit Iona, but not if Jill was to pester Hugh all the time. His patience was finely ba
lanced. If Jill probed, however ingeniously, he would be quickly aware of this and annoyed.
Sara, only too conscious of his black moods and his sharply destructive tongue, felt driven to intervene.
“Please, Jill,” she pleaded quietly, “why not forget about your problems, just for one afternoon?”
“O.K.,” Jill grinned repentantly as she jumped to her feet. “I’m truly sorry, Sara, and I promise to behave, if you’ll just hold the fort while I go and see Colin. He must understand that this morning he belongs to me. Gwen can have him for the remainder of the day, if she wants him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The weather was beautiful as they started out. They got away before one o’clock after an early lunch. Hugh drove the Land-Rover, with Sara and Jill sitting in the front beside him. There was still, as on that first journey, a conglomeration of things in the back, but today Sara didn’t seem to notice. Already, after a few short weeks on the island, she was losing a little of her delicate fastidiousness.
To her surprise Hugh too remembered that first day and teased her about it. “You looked quite put out,” he grinned wickedly.
“Small wonder!” Jill wryly flew to her defence. “This old truck’s always loaded with junk and oily smells. Not a place for the finicky!” She wrinkled her small nose.
Sara laughed. It was refreshing to find Jill in a good humour. “I expect the old junk comes in useful,” she remarked happily.
All the way down the deeply indented west coast Jill chatted breezily about London, while Sara sat back, content to gaze at the passing landscape which she realized that the others must have seen many times before.
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