He frowned. 'Miss Edgar's coming about eleven. We'll take the horses out then, so you'd better get the tack ready. But, first, I'm coming with you to see your father.'
'Why must you go near the cottage, Quentin?' she asked him bitterly.
'I've already told you.'
Suddenly she rounded on him fiercely, driven to desperation. 'Your father let us stay there because—because he said he owed John something. I think your father might have done something criminal and my father knew what it was. John is ill. If you go and disturb him you never know what he might do. Your father was greatly respected, Quentin. Surely you wouldn't want to risk ruining his good name, now that he's gone?'
Quentin's face darkened thunderously as he gripped her arm. 'Something tells me you aren't telling me the whole truth, Gina. You maybe don't know it, or maybe you're just trying to look after your own interests. Whatever it is I intend finding out.'
Miserably Gina trailed after him on the way to the cottage, praying she hadn't made things worse. If she had failed, she could only hope that John might do better, that he might be able to persuade Quentin to let them stay. If not—her mind boggled, refusing to go beyond this point.
John was up when they arrived and she saw at once that he was worse than usual. He looked grey and shrunken as he sat in a chair by the empty grate, and to her dismay his voice was slurred.
'Ah!' he glanced up as they walked in. 'Mr Hurst, I presume.' Neither man made any attempt to shake hands.
'We haven't met for a long time.' Quentin appeared to be making an effort to speak cordially. 'I didn't realise the cottage was in such a bad state. I'm afraid you'll have to move.'
For the first time in a long time, Gina recognised some expression in her father's eyes. He seemed oddly shocked, yet he managed to say smoothly, 'I'm sure you'll allow us to stay. Your father would have wished it.'
'I've been led to believe you knew something criminal about my father?' Quentin countered, giving Gina a hard look.
'Oh, no,' John Foster smiled thinly, while Gina prayed in vain. 'If you've been told that then your informant is wrong. Andrew believed I once saved his life, but it was nothing another man couldn't have done. It happened to be my job, I was there, and there was nothing remotely criminal about it,'
'And you're quite prepared to consider the debt no longer exists?' Quentin didn't, to Gina's relief, press to know details, and John didn't elaborate.
Listlessly he nodded. 'I never considered it existed. All the same, I don't want to leave this cottage.'
'I'm afraid you'll have to,' Quentin repeated, even more adamantly. 'Although I won't put you out until I've at least tried to find you alternative accommodation, and I'd appreciate it if you'd make some effort towards finding something yourself.'
John sighed querulously, turning cold, bloodshot eyes on Gina. 'Doesn't my daughter work hard enough for you? If you've any complaints I'll have a word with her, if you like.'
The silence in the ugly little room was brittle. Gina sensed Quentin's sudden fury, although she was puzzled to know what caused it. Perhaps, like her father, he had doubts regarding her work?
'I'll try to do better,' she promised eagerly, touching his arm.
Impatiently Quentin brushed her arm away. 'That has nothing to do with it,' he snapped grimly. Preparing to leave, he turned at the door. 'I'll be in touch, Foster. You can count on that.'
John Foster didn't reply. To Gina his face was grey and pathetic, and she hated Quentin's harsh inflexibility. John was down—anyone with eyes could see, and Quentin was taking a cynical delight in seeing him bereft of defences. Well, John still had some—he had her, she would never let him down!
'Don't worry,' she went to him, awkwardly patting his shaking hand, for he disliked being touched, 'I'll think of something.'
When she and Quentin returned again to the stables, he said he was going to get some breakfast. Since leaving the cottage Gina hadn't spoken. There seemed nothing left to say and she wasn't going to plead with him in the mood he was in, but apparently he believed she was sulking.
'I won't change my mind, Gina,' he informed her bitingly, 'so you'd better get used to the idea of moving on.'
'Yes,' she replied obediently, trying to still the hunger pangs she felt when he spoke of breakfast.
'What the hell's the matter with you?' he exclaimed in disgust, taking away her last bit of dignity. 'Your stomach's rumbling worse than Hector's. Haven't you eaten yet?'
'I'm—I'm going to,' she muttered, looking away from him.
In the momentary silence that followed, he observed her narrowly. 'You'd better come with me,' he said abruptly. 'It might be quicker for you than going all the way back home.'
Hastily she refused, thinking nervously of Mrs Worth, Quentin's cook-housekeeper, who ruled supreme in her kitchen. And Matthews, who would never tolerate her in his beautiful dining-room…
Her refusal, however, was just as quickly dismissed. Grasping her thin arm impatiently, Quentin dragged her along with him. 'Do you always have to argue?' he demanded curtly. 'You'll do as I say.'
He entered the back way, pausing in the kitchen, while Mrs Worth ran a disdainful glance over Gina's shabby clothes and the two maids raised dainty, fastidious eyebrows.
'Can you find Gina something to eat, Mrs Worth?' he asked easily. 'The corner of the kitchen table will do. You don't have to put yourself out.'
Thus saying he left her, leaving Gina incredulous that her imagination had carried her as far as his dining or breakfast room. What a little fool she had been!
Cook and the two maids, whom she knew vaguely as Jean and Myra, were still staring at her as if she were something the cat had brought in. Matthews entered majestically, staring too, making it four against one. No one made any move to offer Gina anything to eat.
'I'm sorry,' she felt her face burning with humiliation, 'Quentin misunderstood me. I've already had my breakfast.'
She couldn't escape quickly enough, but no attempt was made to stop her. In fact, she fancied she heard their sighs of relief. Swiftly she ran back to the stables, tears streaming down her face, unable to prevent them. She buried her wet face against the neck of the little mare she was fond of. 'I could never have stayed there, Leonie, they all hate me.'
'Who does?' a light voice asked gruffly.
Startled, she turned. It was Richard. 'Oh, Richard!' her defences down for once, she collapsed against him, as he gently drew her away from the horse. 'I'm sorry,' she tried to smile as she made an effort to pull herself together, 'I was just feeling sorry for myself.'
He didn't let her go. His kindly face was anxious and his arm tightened protectively. 'You're too thin, Gina. Don't you ever eat anything?'
What was there about her this morning, she wondered, that both he and Quentin should suspect she was starving? 'Of course I eat.'
'Not going in for this silly slimming business, are you?'
Thinking of the empty shelves in the cottage larder, she gave a hollow laugh, shaking her head. 'Of course not.'
'I tell you what,' Richard's face lightened, 'come and have breakfast with me at the Old Castle,' he named a luxury hotel a few miles away. 'I could do with something myself and I hate eating alone.'
It was a balm to her bruised spirits that there was someone who wasn't ashamed to be seen with her, and she was really sorry she couldn't accept. 'Miss Edgar is coming, you see, and Quentin likes everything especially nice for her.'
'Damn Quentin,' he said, or something that sounded very like it, but there was a shadow on Gina's expressive face which prevented him from arguing. 'Look here,' he brushed her hair back so he could see her better, 'I have a flask in the car, which I seldom have time for. Why not share it with me?'
Gina wanted to refuse again, but she hadn't the willpower and she was hungry. 'All right,' this time her smile wasn't forced. 'Thank you, Richard, I'd like that.'
'Then sit yourself down on those bales while I fetch it,' Richard grin
ned back.
CHAPTER THREE
FEELING better already, Gina waited, sitting like a small cat on the burnished bales of golden straw, letting the warm yellow sunshine, which stole in through the open window, wash over her. Richard brought a flask of coffee and a large packet of sandwiches, which his doting mother had packed for his lunch. She didn't notice he ate practically nothing while she scoffed almost the lot.
She ate greedily, revelling in the unexpected luxury of chicken and ham, and was nearly finished when Quentin strode in. To her astonishment his eyes went black when he saw her sitting with Richard, in the middle of what appeared to be a cosy feast.
'Making a pig of yourself, this morning, Gina?' he snapped, ignoring Richard. 'You have breakfast in my kitchen and another here. Didn't Mrs Worth give you enough?'
'I—I didn't have anything in your kitchen,' she stammered, not having been going to tell him.
'Why not?'
'I—I didn't feel I was welcome.' She hadn't meant to tell him that, either, for she feared Mrs Worth's reprisals.
'Wouldn't it be nearer the truth to say you saw Richard coming and couldn't wait to see him?'
Richard jumped to his feet, as angry now as Quentin. 'I'd like to think you were right,' he addressed Quentin curtly, 'but that's beside the point. I won't have you using that tone with Gina!'
'Won't you?' Quentin asked silkily.
'No, and I won't stand here and hear her insulted!'
Quentin's eyes were diamond-hard. 'Then we must do something about it, mustn't we?' A hidden threat in his voice, he turned abruptly and left them.
They both stood staring as he disappeared, Gina frankly bewildered, Richard slightly puzzled as his anger faded.
'Don't take too much notice of him.' Gina tried to be soothing, while her heart jerked roughly. 'I don't think he's in a very good mood this morning.'
'Neither am I—now!' Richard rejoined grimly, taking a last look at Hector before gathering up his empty flask and leaving.
Gina had the horses groomed and waiting by the time Quentin reappeared with the ravishing Miss Edgar. Hector, left on his own, was very conscious of what he was missing and Gina felt sorry for him. Quentin spoke to him gently, and Gina, recalling how he had been earlier, marvelled. He had been brutal with her and John and offended Richard, yet here he was, talking to Hector, as though no wrong word had ever crossed his lips all morning!
It must be because of Miss Edgar, she supposed unhappily, secretly envious of Blanche's elegance. What must it be like to own clothes like those Blanche Edgar wore?
Quentin might have been thinking the same thing, as he helped her with the last two horses after seeing Blanche safely mounted. 'Couldn't you have smartened yourself up a bit?' he demanded coldly.
Gina sighed, feeling suddenly fed up by what she considered his continual references to her less than immaculate appearance. Clothes were only clothes, after all. 'Don't worry,' she retorted, unusually tart, 'I'll keep well behind.'
'You'd better.'
Angrily, Gina stepped back too quickly, bumping right up against Quentin's horse. They were just about to leave the stables and Quentin's other big horse, a light bay with a blaze on his face was highly strung. He reared, jerking back, practically throwing Gina into Quentin's arms.
Quentin's language was not too refined as he pulled Gina clear of the flying hooves. 'How many more times do I have to save your life before I get rid of you?'
The horse calmed down, but Quentin's breathing didn't, and as Gina stared up at him his face began to waver before her dazed eyes. She could feel her heart, the beat of his quickening, his mouth coming nearer, his eyes no less dazed of a sudden than her own. Her mind spun dizzily and from his parting lips came a sound like a half groan. Then Blanche was calling, in her rather high-pitched voice, and with a smothered oath Gina was free. Free, but curiously disembodied, as Quentin lifted her, flinging her almost savagely into her saddle.
The ride that morning seemed, to Gina, interminable. Quentin went in front and all she saw was his broad back. He rode with Blanche and was flatteringly attentive. He even paused once, when Blanche leaned flirtatiously towards him, to kiss her, being sure, Gina was sure, that she was looking. Blanche was in her early thirties, younger than Quentin and beautiful. Beside her Gina felt gauche, and she knew Blanche dismissed her as colourless and uninteresting. If ever she spoke to Gina she used extremely condescending tones and seldom waited for Gina's reply.
Watching her with Quentin, Gina sighed. There was no denying they made a handsome couple and she had heard that Quentin was looking for a wife. Someone who could help him socially. Blanche Edgar would be ideal, Gina admitted bleakly, and she wondered what made him hesitate. It was quite obvious that Blanche would be more than willing to accept him!
They had been riding for about an hour when they met a neighbour who invited them for sherry. Gina was left outside the large old manor house to keep an eye on the horses, although Felix Duke protested.
'Wouldn't Gina care to come in as well? She's more than welcome.'
'Gina has a job to do,' Quentin said suavely.
'I'll bring you something out, then,' Felix smiled at her warmly.
Quentin's eyes narrowed, but he raised no further objections as he helped Blanche dismount and they followed Felix inside.
Felix did bring Gina a sherry, a few minutes later. He was a very presentable young man who, like Quentin and Richard, lived with his mother. His parents were divorced and this property had come to him through his grandfather, but he farmed it well. Somehow Gina had bumped into him a lot lately, when she was out with the horses.
'Thanks,' she whispered, smiling at him, feeling unconsciously wicked, as she sensed that for some reason, Quentin didn't approve. As Felix lingered, she warned, 'Hadn't you better go back to your company?'
'I expect they're quite content with each other,' Felix grinned. 'Anyway, Mother's there.'
She and Felix talked horses and it was pleasant just standing in the summer sunshine with the sherry going slightly to her head. Quentin didn't stay long, no longer than fifteen minutes, and when he came out he wasn't looking particularly cheerful.
Afterwards they returned to the stables and Gina didn't see Quentin again that day. She wasn't surprised at this, but she was surprised when the stranger who arrived next morning informed her that he was the new vet, and had come to see the sick horse.
'Is Richard Hedley ill?' she enquired. It might be Richard's day off, but she thought he would have told her.
The new man looked slightly uncomfortable. 'I've no idea, but I shouldn't think so. I'm not with his practice, I'm afraid. Seemingly, Mr Hurst fancied a change. It's not unheard of,' he added, appearing mildly amused at her growing indignation.
The new vet was competent enough, Gina was willing to concede, but she felt furious, and when Quentin turned up, later that evening, she tackled him. 'Why did you get rid of Richard?'
'Gina,' he exclaimed, with deceptive mildness, 'it's surely none of your business who comes to doctor my horses. And they are my horses, don't forget! I won't be dictated to by a little nobody like you.'
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment before opening them wide. 'I never try to dictate to you, but Richard is my friend and I—I feel I have the right to know.'
'Have you? I doubt it,' Quentin snapped.
While she had known he could be ruthless, she had never been so fully conscious of it before. 'Was it because he—he gave me something to eat?'
'I offered you breakfast myself yesterday, didn't I?'
'That—that was different.'
'I wish you'd lose your adolescent habit of stuttering and stammering! It certainly was different. I offered you a perfectly respectable meal at my kitchen table.'
'While Richard offered to share his, to sit with me.'
'In the straw.' Quentin's laughter was far from pleasant and his eyes glittered harshly.
Gina was incensed. 'He�
��he offered to take me to the Old Castle. So get that!'
'You're impertinent!'
Suddenly, in the face of such icy disapproval, Gina's courage failed her and she backed away from the coldness of his eyes. How could she explain to Quentin that he was the only man who mattered, but he would never give her friendship, let alone love! Richard was her friend and she would miss him, for she had few friends, but this was something Quentin couldn't be expected to understand.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her eyes filling with difficult tears. 'I know you have every right to choose your own vet, and I'll be able to see Richard whenever I want to…'
Quentin viewed her tears grimly. 'He means a lot to you?'
Gina hesitated. 'He's always been kind to me and he's good with Hector, and I shouldn't like his partners to think he hasn't been doing his job properly, as they may do when they discover you aren't satisfied with him.'
'I didn't give a reason, either good or bad, so I don't think you have anything to fear. People have been known to change their vets before, you know. As for seeing him outside,' Quentin went on coldly, 'that's up to you. What you do when you leave here is your own business.'
Immediately diverted from the subject of Richard, Gina struggled with an ache in her throat. 'So you still want me to leave?'
'Both you and your father,' he confirmed darkly. 'I have to go abroad this week, but I've already set the wheels in motion.'
Whatever did he mean? Her small face whitened, looking oddly pathetic. 'Whereabouts abroad are you going?' she asked wistfully, having never been farther than the nearest town, where she had been to school.
'Sydney,' he said briefly, staring at her, as if he wished to see her more clearly in the dim confines of the stable.
How lovely, she thought, to have had the right clothes, the right background, so that she might have gone with him. If she had belonged to the same social class as himself, he might not have disliked her so much. He might even have wanted to kiss her again. Tightly she closed her eyes to shut out the memory of the grassy bank by the lake. She was sure she could never bear to go there again.
The Loving Slave Page 4