by Penny Jordan
'Would that be so impossible?' Lindsay seethed, hurt beyond caution by his cruel taunts. 'Am I so undesirable, Lucas?'
'Are you asking me that as a stepbrother or as a man, Lindsay?'
She couldn't bear to look at him in case he saw how she felt in her eyes, but he obviously misunderstood her silence because he laughed harshly and mocked. 'Hating me as you do Lindsay, I'm surprised you didn't simply leave me to my fate. Who knows my fever might have proved fatal and then you'd have no problems would you?'
Gritting her teeth Lindsay responded curdy, 'Obviously I'm not as callous as you are Lucas. Here's your breakfast.' She thrust the tray towards him, and saw him pull a wry face over the juice and coffee she had brought him.
'Nothing to eat? What are you trying to do? Starve me?'
'Have you ever tried to feed a semi-conscious man?' Lindsay responded. 'If you want something to eat, I'll go and make it for you—after I've got a room ready for your guest. When is he expected by the way?'
'Lunch time, and yes I would like something to eat, but I'll get up for it. Lying here in bed with you glowering at me like that gives me the most insecure feeling ... I don't understand why . . . probably something to do with the fact that every time I turn my back on you I'm half expecting you to stab a knife in it.'
The bitter mockery in his eyes as he studied her made her want to cry. Why . . . why was he like this with her. All right he couldn't, didn't love her as she loved him ... he was hurting over Gwendolin as well, but once they had been good friends and companions; once he had treated her Willi affection.
'Give it up, Lindsay,' he drawled tightly, 'Playing the ministering angel won't make me change my mind.'
'The temptation to slam down the tray and tell him she was leaving was overwhelming, but Lindsay knew she could not do it. She wanted to that was why . . . she knew that by doing so all she was doing was laying up more pain and hurt for herself, but she was like an addict hooked on a drug which she knew was destroying her, powerless to free herself from her addiction. But instead of telling him she was leaving all she could manage was a tightly angry, 'Lucas I don't need your consent to marry Jeremy, and don't forget I
can always appeal to my father's solicitor if I think you're being unreasonable.'
She didn't wait for his response, half running out of his room and slamming the door behind her. At the top of the stairs, she paused to breathe deeply and steady herself. She was crazy to let him get to her like this. By rights by now she should be on her way back to London. She tried to imagine his reaction if she were to walk back into his room and calmly announce that last night they had been on the verge of becoming lovers. He wouldn't believe her of course. Smothering a bitter laugh she went into the kitchen. If they were to have a guest, she had better check there was enough food in the house to feed him.
She need not have worried. Mrs James was an admirable housekeeper. Both the cupboards and the freezer were well stocked, and Lindsay knew from past experience that the shop in the village could be relied upon to deliver at short notice if she rang them up with an order.
She had just finished preparing a light breakfast for Lucas—scrambled eggs on toast which she remembered had always been one of his favourites, when Doctor Simmonds arrived. They went upstairs together, and found Lucas on the point of getting up.
'Oh no, you don't,' Doctor Simmonds told him jovially. 'You're a long way from leaving that boa yet my boy.'
Lindsay repressed a grin at hearing Lucas thus addressed, but she hadn't been quite quick enough to hide it from him, and he retaliated by saying softly, 'I think you'd better leave, Lindsay, before I prove Doctor Simmonds wrong by getting out of
this bed. I sleep in the raw and I don't want to offend any maidenly sensibilities.'
To Lindsay's relief Doctor Simmonds laughed. 'You won't get away with it that way, Lucas,' he told his patient, 'and as for shocking Lindsay,' he shook his head, calmly pushing a thermometer into Lucas' mouth before he could protest, 'After spending the last couple of days listening to your ravings, and sponging you down every two hours, I suspect she's probably shock proof, isn't that right Lindsay?'
She managed a brief shrug, too stunned by the expression in Lucas' eyes as he stared at her to do anything more. Doctor Simmonds removed the thermometer, and Lucas quickly masked his eyes with the heavy thickness of his lashes. When he raised them again, the hot, bitter anger that had been in his eyes was gone, his expression coolly bland.
'I regret to say I can't remember a thing about it. I hope I didn't give you too much trouble.' His eyes said that he hoped he had, but Lindsay ignored them. Her heart was thudding in terrible agitation.
'Doctor Simmonds said you probably wouldn't remember much about what happened while you were delirious,' she said briefly, not daring to look at Lucas, in case he saw the fear in her eyes.
'That's right,' the doctor agreed. 'I warned her not to take loo much notice of any brief periods of lucidity you might have, but the fever's broken properly now.'
'And I can get up?' Lucas enquired with assumed meekness.
'Not until this afternoon at the earliest.' Doctor
Simmonds turned to Lindsay. 'Don't bother to see me out my dear, I can find my own way. I dare say you're going to have your hands full for the next few days. He won't make an easy patient.'
Lindsay would have followed him to the now closed door, but Lucas stopped her by grabbing hold of her wrist. The bruises he had inflicted the previous night were painful, her skin discoloured. When she flinched away from him he frowned down at them, and Lindsay could see him almost measuring the betraying marks with his fingers.
'I see I did give you some trouble,' he said quietly at last. Too quietly Lindsay thought praying that he wasn't going to remember what had happened.
'Not much,' she lied quickly. 'Apart from confusing me with Gwen once or twice.' There, that should throw him off the track if he was in danger of remembering. Let him think if he did that she had believed he was confusing her with his ex-wife.
'Really? How very odd of me.' He was frowning at her, studying her almost as though he could see into her brain and read the truth there, Lindsay reflected. Her wrist still lay encircled by his fingers but she dared not pull away; she dared not do anything other than simply stand there willing her breathing to slow and her heart to stop jumping so painfully.
'Was that how you got these?' He raised her wrist indicating her bruises.
Lindsay managed a casual shrug.
'Tell me more about these periods of lucidity,' Lucas drawled, 'I'm beginning to get very curious about them?'
Lindsay's heart thumped. She felt as though she were on the brink of a very deep chasm. One false movement . . . one careless word and she would be plunging down into it.
'Oh they were nothing,' she lied trying to laugh it off.
'Nothing?' Lucas studied her bruises with a faintly brooding air. 'You call these nothing?'
'You didn't know what you were doing,' Lindsay told him. 'Like I said you ... you confused me with Gwen . . . You didn't want me to leave.'
He had been studying her wrist almost dispassionately, but as she said these last words, his head came up, his eyes fastening on hers. His silent, intense scrutiny was unnerving, and Lindsay felt herself starting to tremble, as much from that as from the sensation of his fingers curled round her wrist.
'Are you trying to tell me that I wanted you to stay here with me because I thought you were my wife?'
Why was she feeling so nervous? There was nothing untoward in that.
Taking a deep breath Lindsay said shakily, 'Yes, I You ... were very feverish.' The 'phone rang shrilly, releasing Lindsay from the tension gripping her. Lucas released her wrist to pick up the receiver, and taking a shaky breath Lindsay retreated towards the door. She would have left him if Lucas hadn't frowned and shaken his head indicating that he wanted her to stay. His conversation was brief and faintly terse and listening to it. Lindsay realised that he was talking to h
is secretary.
'Yes. I've just realised about that, but it's all right. Lindsay is going to stay on here and act as my hostess. We'd already arranged for a car to pick him up at the airport hadn't we, and I've got most of the papers I'll need here. I brought them home this weekend to study. No . . . don't worry about it, if there are any problems I'll be in touch.'
When he replaced the receiver, he was frowning slightly. 'I need some papers from downstairs, could you bring them up for me please, Lindsay.'
It was obvious that he was no longer interested in talking about his illness and with a sigh of relief Lindsay nodded her head, listening to him while he explained what he wanted.
It was just after three o'clock when she heard a car pulling up outside, and subduing a nervous feathering in her stomach she hurried to the front door, guessing that it would be their American visitor.
He was nothing like she had visualised, being short and plump, rather like a jolly little Father Christmas, with his white hair and ruddy complexion, surely far too good-natured and roly- poly to be a hardened entrepreneur, which was what Lucas had assured her he was.
He greeted her warmly, paying off his taxi and staring round admiringly. 'Say this is a mighty fine place you've got here Mrs Armitage, he commented, turning to admire the view.
Mrs Armitage. Lindsay gulped. Obviously he didn't know about Lucas' divorce and had mistaken her for Gwen. Not wanting to embarrass him by correcting him in front of the taxi driver she made a mental note to tell Lucas about his mistake, turning to lead the way into the house,
She had been out into the garden to cut some fresh flowers and they made a bold splash of colour in the hall. He stopped to admire them, beaming at Lindsay. 'My late wife, God bless her, used to love freshly cut flowers. Us men tend not to bother with those feminine touches when we live alone.'
'I'll show you up to your room,' Lindsay offered. 'You must be tired after such a long flight.'
'You're right, although I do cross the Atlantic pretty frequently. Lucas .. .'
'I'm afraid he's in bed at the moment,' Lindsay explained forestalling his question. 'Nothing serious, just a bout of a recurring fever he suffers from. Something he picked up in Africa when he was a boy. Fortunately he's over the worst now and he'll be getting up for dinner this evening.' She smiled ruefully as she stopped by the guest suite door.
'I guess he won't make the easiest of patients,' Don Carter agreed with a hearty laugh. 'But you should have let me know. I could have postponed my visit.'
'Say, this is a real fine room,' he exclaimed as Lindsay ushered him into the guest suite.'
Gwen's interior decorators had done well with this suite, retaining its traditional atmosphere. The bedroom and its adjoining sitting room overlooked gardens, and Lindsay had put flowers in here plus a selection of magazines and a tin of biscuits she had found downstairs in the cupboard.
Please come downstairs whenever you feel ready' Lindsay invited. 'We won't be having dinner until eight, but I thought you might care
for a snack before then. I'll just go and tell Lucas that you've arrived,' she added, turning back to the door, and heading for Lucas' room.
However, when she opened the door, he was fast asleep, and rather than disturb him, Lindsay walked out again. Despite his protestations that he was fully recovered, she knew that he was still far from well. It would do him good to sleep. She had had to ring his secretary after lunch to ask her to send some more papers over, and they had had a long chat.
It was her opinion that Lucas was overworking. That she thought very highly of him had been obvious to Lindsay. She had been full of praise for the innovations and improvements he had instituted, and she had also told Lindsay how hard Lucas had worked building up new contacts, and getting new business for the company.
'A lot of our old customers have suffered during the recession,' she had explained, 'and so, of course, we've lost a lot of business which we had during your father's time, but Lucas has worked miracles.'
It was just gone five o'clock when Don reappeared. He and Lindsay had tea together in the sitting room which had always been Sheila's and when he praised the scones with lavish enthusiasm she found it even harder to imagine him as the shrewd hard-headed businessman Lucas had assured her that he was.
At six o'clock she excused herself, explaining that Mrs James was away, and that she was responsible for preparing dinner.
'If it's as good as your scones, I know it's going to be something to look forward to,' he flattered her, adding, 'if you don't mind then I think I'll take a walk down to the village and back.'
At seven o'clock having assured herself that everything was under control in the kitchen Lindsay went upstairs to get changed. Outside Lucas' room she hesitated, colouring up and hating herself for doing so when the door opened inwards unexpectedly and Lucas came out.
'You shouldn't be out of bed,' she told him, trying to recover her equilibrium.
'So how do you intend to keep me there—by joining me?'
Lindsay looked away, her heart jumping up in her throat like a spawning salmon trying to get upriver.
'Dinner will be ready at eight,' she told him stiffly. 'I'm just going to get changed.'
'Lindsay . . .'
She paused and turned to look at him. Just for a moment his expression seemed to soften, and she saw the tiredness at the back of his eyes. Her body ached with her longing to go up to him and soothe the worried lines off his forehead, and she had to curl her fingers into her palm to stop herself from touching him.
'Thanks very much for what you're doing.' It was the first time he had spoken to her as though she were a normal human being in as long as she could remember—casual words of thanks no more, but they brought a lump to her throat.
To cover herself she shrugged and said brittly, 'Don't mention it—just enter it on my credit side of the books when you're doing the final budget.'
'In other words change my mind about sanctioning your marriage . . .'
'You can't sanction my marriage Lucas,' she gritted back at him. 'You don't have that right.'
'I can't forbid the banns—no,' he agreed, 'but refusing to hand over your inheritance is tantamount to the same thing, isn't it Lindsay? Isn 't it?' He was grasping her shoulders, shaking her almost, his eyes a dark bitter grey as they held hers.
'Why . . . why are you doing this?' She was close to tears, but she didn't want him to see it.
'Why the hell do you think? You're a big girl now,' he reminded her tiredly, 'work it out for yourself.'
She wasn't entirely sure what he meant only that for some reason he was bitterly opposed to her marrying Jeremy; just as he was curtly cynical about everything she did . . . everything she was . ..
'What would happen if you ever fell in love with a man who didn't match up to your father's requirements Lindsay?'
A week ago she would have stated quite calmly that that was impossible, but now she knew the truth. Impelled by a sudden surge of rebellion she tensed beneath his hands and flung back her head so that she could look directly into his eyes. 'If I loved him and he loved me in the same way, then I'd say to hell with my inheritance,' she told him softly.
'And yet given all the passion you just put into that statement, you aren't in love with Jeremy, are you Lindsay?'
'What gives you the right to say that?' She was angry now, defensively angry in case his question led him to the truth. 'You don't know how I feel about him.'
'Like hell I don't,' he told her acidly. His hand slid from her shoulder, to her chin imprisoning it so that she could not look away. His cool scrutiny almost mesmerised her as she stared into the darkness of his eyes.
'I haven't forgotten what happened last night Lindsay, and neither have you, even if you would prefer to pretend that you have.'
It was like a blow above her heart, almost totally destroying her. She could feel the blood draining out of her face taking her strength and self control with it. 'You . . . you can remember. You. . . .'
'Of course I can remember,' he mocked her, What red blooded man could forget a response like yours, Lindsay.'
You thought I was Gwen ...' she was babbling now, desperate to protect herself from him. 'I couldn't move away, you were holding me .. .
'What are you trying to do Lindsay? Convince me that we were both playing a game of make- believe? That you thought I was your precious Jeremy?' He smiled with cruel savagery. 'Don't lie to me Lindsay, you knew exactly who I was, and what I was doing . . . and you didn't want me to stop either did you . . . Did you?' He released her chin to shake her again. The blood roared back through her veins and for a moment she thought she Was going to faint.
'Lucas. . .I've got to leave here.' She was barely aware of saying the words, until his hands moved from her shoulders to her waist.
'Oh no you don't,' he denied harshly, 'You're staying here. You're not going to leave me in the lurch now Lindsay . .
'You can't make me stay here . . .'
'No, but your conscience can,' he retorted softly. 'If I don't get this contract, I'll have to put a third of the factory on short time. Is that what you want Lindsay. To be solely responsible for cutting the wages of three hundred men? Not that money, or rather the lack of it ever bothered you. You've got your London apartment and your allowance ... all the lovers and attention you need. Is that what's bugging you now. Physical frustration?'
'No!' She tore herself from his grasp and fled down the landing to her own room. There was no lock on the door, but she knew instinctively that he wouldn't follow her. It seemed an aeon before her pulses had stopped jangling, soothed by the cold water she was running over her wrists. Her face felt hot and flushed, her body prickling with embarrassment and anger.