Penny was sleeping peacefully and the room was warm and cosy, thanks to Mrs Anderson popping in from time to time during the course of the afternoon, but there was still the linen from Penny's bed and the rest of the washing that she'd done that morning to be ironed before she could go to bed. Kirsty picked up the iron and nearly dropped it again; the sores on her right hand had turned to blisters and the heat from the iron cut into them like a knife. Covering the worst ones with strips of sticking plaster, Kirsty put a glove on her hand and by this means managed to do the ironing, but she was heartily thankful when she had finished and could go to bed. Penny had to be given the antibiotics every four hours, so she carefully set the alarm and dragged herself out of sleep to administer the dose and reset the alarm, but this time she slept only fitfully, almost as if she was waiting subconsciously for the alarm to ring again.
Unfortunately the next day was Mrs Anderson's day at the Oxfam shop and the one after that her Meals on Wheels day, so Kirsty had to cope without her help, looking after Penny and rushing out to work on the hedge whenever the younger girl fell asleep and could be left for a while, so that the days became a nightmare jumble of hedge and cottage, and the nights of housework, ironing, and broken, unrestful periods of sleep that left her feeling like a zombie in the morning.
But the hedge was slowly but surely being conquered. There had been one tricky part where it grew close to the house and the thatch came down so low that the brambles had started to bridge the gap and Kirsty had had to pull them out carefully one by one, but every day saw her nearing the neatly clipped-back hedge that marked the point where her land adjoined Gyles Grantham's. But on Friday morning her hand was so sore that she could hardly hold the secateurs properly; she dropped them and lost them in the thickness of the hedge. She wasted some time trying to find them before giving up and getting the pair that Penny had been using, being careful to tie them on to her wrist with a piece of string this time. These lasted for a few hours but then fell to pieces in her hands.
Kirsty gazed at them in consternation, hardly believing it. Darn! Now she would have to drive into town and buy another pair. By the time she got back it was raining hard and Penny called to her fretfully as soon as she got in. As patiently as she could, Kirsty saw to her needs, looking anxiously out at the weather and praying for it to stop raining; if she didn't get back out there soon she wouldn't be able to finish the beastly hedge in time. She realised that there wasn't a lot left to do, perhaps about twenty yards, which she could probably afford to pay to have done, but somehow it had become more than just a task to be finished by a certain time, it had turned into something personal between her and Gyles Grantham. She almost felt as if she was attacking him when she attacked the hateful hedge. She had sworn to him that it would be finished by Saturday and it was now a point of honour with her that it should be done by the time he got back from his dairy show, so that when he drove up the lane on his way home he would see for himself that she had beaten him.
Impatiently she stood at the window, drumming her fingers on the sill as she looked out at the grey skies. Then she made up her mind; a drop of rain wouldn't hurt her and she couldn't afford to waste any more time. Covering the sores on her hand with the last of the plasters, Kirsty forced the gardening glove over her swollen fingers and went back outside, a yellow rain hat pulled over her hair. Three hours later she was still standing on the step-ladder in the pouring rain, a flashlight balanced on the top step so that she could see what she was doing, when a car came round the corner, its headlights cutting paths of light through
the darkness. It pulled up sharply just a few yards away and then the horn blared peremptorily, demanding a passageway. Slowly Kirsty began to descend the ladder, a wave of frustration almost overcoming her fatigue, because she knew instinctively who was in the car and knew that she wouldn't now have the satisfaction of finishing in time for a complete victory.
Reaching up, she took down the flashlight and closed the ladder, standing well into the side so that he could drive by, but suddenly the car door opened and Gyles Grantham crossed briskly towards her. Plucking the flashlight from her hand he shone it into her face, making her turn her head aside in protest.
‘I thought so! he said, his voice sounding angry. 'What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night?'
Resentment at his tone made Kirsty reply sharply, 'I should have thought that was obvious to the lowest intelligence ! If you're going by, would you please hurry up. I want to get on with my work.' '
'You don't seriously intend to carry on in the dark?" he asked in exasperated disbelief.
Kirsty tried to look at him, but he was still shining the flashlight into her face and she couldn't see.
'Yes, I do. Your ultimatum was that the job had to be finished by tomorrow, remember? And would you please take that flashlight away from my eyes?'
The light was lowered, at once and Kirsty could see him now. He was wearing a military type trenchcoat that somehow seemed to make him more autocratic, the rain falling unheeded on his bare head. His eyes looked down at her balefully as he said, 'Why you? Why do they always leave you to do all the work?'
'That's none of your business,' Kirsty retorted. 'Now, do you want to get by or not?"
He muttered something savage under his breath and then shoved the flashlight back into her hand and strode back to his car, but to her astonishment instead of driving on up the lane, he reversed back the way he'd come and turned into the road out of her sight. Kirsty was left standing there feeling rather foolish, but within two minutes he strode briskly back and had taken the ladder from her, tucking it easily under one arm.
'Hey, give that back! You've no right to…" She tried to make a grab for the ladder but was encumbered by the flashlight, then she found her arm had been seized in a firm grip and she was being pulled, none too gently, towards the house. 'Let me go!' She struggled fiercely, but it was no use, his hand held her as securely as a vice and she was dragged along behind him, almost running as he strode along. 'Just what do you think you're doing?' she yelled at him furiously.
They had reached the back of the house before he bothered to answer her. He paused to prop the ladder up against the wall and then he yanked her roughly round to face him. 'All right, I'll tell you what I'm going to do, he said forcefully. I'm making it my business to find out just why that bunch of idle hippies has left a girl to do all their dirty work. It wouldn't surprise me if they were all drunk out of their minds most of the time, or else high on drugs.'
He pulled her towards the door, but Kirsty hung back. It isn't like that at all. Please, you've got it all wrong. There's just the two of us, that's all there's ever been. It was only.
But he interrupted her brusquely. 'Do you really expect me to believe that?' His eyes glittered down at her angrily.
Kirsty stared up at him. He had pulled her dose
against him, his fingers biting into her arm. Slowly, tiredly, she said, 'No, I don't suppose I do.'
'Quite.'
Going into the kitchen, he closed the door behind them. For a moment he looked round, his eyebrows raised in' disgust at the shabbiness of the room, then he went into the hall, still pulling her along. He took one look at the state of the sitting-room with its piles of rubble, said, 'Good Lord!' and shut the door again.
Wow are you satisfied?' she demanded.
'No, I'm not. There are still the upstairs rooms and I saw a light in one of them as we came in.'
'Don't you dare go upstairs!' Kirsty exclaimed hotly.
'Why? Frightened I might find out the sleeping arrangements?' he taunted.
'If you go upstairs I'll… I'll——'
The grip on her arm tightened. 'You'll what?'
Kirsty bit her lip and looked away, unable to bear the mocking derision in his eyes, knowing that there was nothing she could do, even to scream for help would be useless and would only scare Penny, which was just what she was trying to prevent. He laughed and led her up the stairs.
"First he looked into the room on the left of the landing, snapping on the light to let his eyes wander over the furniture they'd stored there. A quick glance into the bathroom and then he approached the door of the other bedroom. He must have felt some tension ki Kirsty because he looked briefly at her before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Penny lay fast asleep, her hair tousled on the pillow, and Kirsty gave a sigh of relief that she wouldn't be frightened by a man charging into her room. Wrenching her arm from Gyles Grantham's suddenly slack grasp, she waited until he had come out of the room and shut the door be-hind him, then she turned abruptly and preceded him down the stairs and into the kitchen.
She found that she was still carrying the saw and the flashlight and put them down on the table before turning to face him. Trembling with emotion, she said, 'You've seen what you came to see, now get out of my house!' '
'Look, Miss Naylor, I…'
'No, you look! What right do you think you have to come here and—and rampage through my house? Just because you own near enough everything round here it doesn't mean that you can walk in where and when you choose. I told you there were only the two of us, but even if there had been a crowd it wouldn't have been any of your business; we have the right to lead whatever kind of life we want, without interference from you or anyone else,' she finished furiously, leaning forward with her hands flat on the table to emphasise her words.
"There were others here, I saw them.'
'All you saw were some friends who came down that first weekend to help us move in. They went back to London the next day.'
'And the following weekend? There were more men here again then.'
Kirsty stared at him in loathing. 'My God, you really do like spying on people, don't you? They were electricians. They came down to rewire the house for us.' She straightened up, not waiting for him to answer. 'Now get out of here. Go on, get out!' she almost shouted when he hesitated.
For a moment longer he looked at her, tight-lipped. Their eyes met, Kirsty's hot with fury, while his were frowning in baffled exasperation. Then he gave a small, frustrated shrug and went to walk past her, but he stopped suddenly his glance fixed on the table. Kirsty followed his eyes and saw a large smudge of blood where her right hand had rested.
'You're hurt. Here, let me see.'
He went to take hold of her hand, but Kirsty quickly put it behind her. 'It's nothing. I'm waiting for you to go.'
'Not until I've seen for myself. Let me look at it.'
'No!' Briefly she defied him, trying to pull away as he caught hold of her arm, but then her hand knocked against the table and it hurt so much that she gave a cry of pain and he was able to seize her wrist.
'You stubborn little fool! Now hold still while I take this glove off.'
He started to ease the .bloodstained glove over her fingers and she had to quickly turn her head away so that he wouldn't see the tears of pain that came to her eyes. She wouldn't let the beastly man see her cry, she wouldn't!
'I'm going to have to cut it off. Do you have any scissors?'
'In—in that box on the table.' She tried to keep her voice steady, but he looked at her sharply. Reaching up, he .pulled the rain hat from her head so that her hair cascaded down about her shoulders and her eyes were no longer shadowed. His eyes rested on her face as if he was seeing it for the first time, running over her features one by one and coming back to her eyes, set wide under level brows and misty now with pain. Then abruptly he turned and reached for the scissors.
He took one look at her hand after he had cut off the glove and exclaimed, 'What on earth have you done to it?' Without waiting for an answer, he went over to the sink and filled the electric kettle. 'Is this all your medicine kit?' he asked, indicating the box.
Kirsty nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Putting some antiseptic into a basin of water, he began to swab her hand with cottonwool, his hands gentle. 'You haven't answered my, question he reminded her without looking up. 'How did your hand get into this state?'
'The secateurs made blisters. I kept putting plasters on them, but they must have come off today when the glove got wet.'
Pausing in what he was doing, Gyles Grantham raised his head to look at her. His voice tight, he said, 'Are you telling me that you two girls cut all that hedge by yourselves?'
'No; I did it by myself,' she answered on a note of defiance.
'But your sister? Surely she helped?'
Kirsty shook her head. 'She's ill. The roof leaked in the storm and she caught a chill when she got wet.'
He frowned, his eyes searching her face. 'You did all that alone?'
'Yes.'
'Couldn't any of your friends have helped you?'
'Simon did come down, but we spent the whole weekend lining the roof with plastic sheeting.'
'Simon?'
'My boy___' She stopped, then finished sarcastically,
'One of my hippy friends. And you've changed your tune, haven't you? One minute you're bursting in here trying to drive them out, the next you're asking why they're not here, helping us.'
To her surprise his mouth twisted into a wry grin. 'Touché!' Looking down at her hand, clean now and with the sores exposed, he added, 'And if I needed anything to convince me that I was wrong, I have only to
�
look at your hand to realise just how mistaken I've been.’
He looked at her earnestly as he spoke, but after a quick glance at him Kirsty flushed and turned her head away, her hand starting to shake in his. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing further and concentrated on deftly bandaging her hand.
When he had finished he started to dear the things away, but Kirsty said hastily, 'There's no need to do that, I can manage.’
'It's no trouble. Where do you keep your coffee?'
Automatically she answered, "There's a jar in the cupboard,' then added sharply, 'Look, I can make my own coffee, thanks. I'm grateful to you for doing a Dr Kildare act on my hand, but I'm sure you want to get home, so please don't let me keep you.'
Setting two mugs on the table, he raised his eyebrows quizzically. 'Now anyone who was at all sensitive might infer from that that you didn't want me to stay and have coffee with you.'
'And they would be right. Why don't you wait until you're invited?'
Again that twisted smile. 'If I'd done that I would never have found out the truth about you, would I?'
Kirsty had no answer for that one and she stayed silent while he finished making the coffee. He raised an eyebrow. 'Do you think we might sit down?'
'Why bother to ask? You seem always to do what you want, anyway."
She struggled to take off her raincoat, but the thick PVC material was difficult to unbutton with her left hand.
protest he was close beside her and unbuttoning the coat to slip it off her shoulders. He had taken off his own trenchcoat to reveal a suede jacket over a cream polo-necked sweater. He seemed very lean ad powerful as he stood so dose and Kirsty realised that he was very fit, his body hard and muscular, but it was his complete self-assurance, his sheer masculinen dominance, that made her turn quickly aside and take a chair well away from him on the other side of the table. If he noticed he gave no sign, merely hanging her coat on the back of the door and seating himself casually opposite her, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.
For a few minutes they drank in silence and then the Squire asked, 'Is you sister very ill?'
'No, she's over the worst.'
He looked at her thoughtfully. 'Why didn't you put me right about your friends before? Why let me go on believing they were hippies?'
Kirsty shrugged. "You wouldn't have believed me if I had. You didn't believe me tonight until you'd seen for yourself. And anyway,' she hesitated for a moment, but then thought, oh, what the hell. 'You made me so mad that I didn't care what you thought of us. In my book anyone who could try and drive us out the way you did just isn't worth caring about. It was mean and
underhand and rotten. So now, Mr Grantham, you know exactly what I think of you.'
She glared at him defiantly, but to her surprise he didn't rise to the bait and get angry at her rudeness as she expected him to. Instead he set down his empty mug and stood up.
'Oh, I already knew that, you did happen to mention it in passing once or twice before.'
Kirsty, too, came to her feet. 'So why don't you just go away and leave us alone, which is all we wanted in the first place?'
Picking up his coat, he put it on, tying the belt in a casual knot instead of buckling it. 'Don't worry, I'm leaving. But I'm afraid I'm not going to promise to leave you alone; whether you like it or not you're going to need help if you're going to get this place on its feet.'
Kirsty looked at him balefully. 'You're the last person I'd ever turn to for help. I'd rather go under!'
His eyes narrowed and for a moment he looked angry, but whatever retort he had been going to make he bit back, saying merely, 'You're tired out. Go to bed, child, and take care of that hand.' And then he was gone, the door shut quietly behind him, leaving Kirsty with a jumble of mixed emotions that she was too exhausted to try and analyse.
CHAPTER FOUR
The alarm went off as usual the next morning and Kirsty quickly reached out to turn it off before it woke Penny, then she snuggled back under the covers for another five minutes and promptly fell asleep again. So it was late before she had taken care of Penny's needs and was able to think about the hedge. The thought of having to spend the whole day trying to get it finished made her feel terribly dispirited, especially now that she was no longer driven by the urge to be done before Gyles Grantham came back. Still, there was no help for it. Forcing her hand into a new glove, she retrieved the step-ladder from where he had left it the night before and carried it through the garden.
Sally Wentworth - Garden of Thorns Page 6