'Gina?' The familiar impatience was in his voice as he rasped. 'Why do you keep closing your eyes while I'm talking to you?'
She certainly couldn't keep them closed when he spoke to her like that! With a start she opened them wide. He sounded exactly like her old form teacher at school. Rather than answering Quentin directly, she mentioned this with a faint smile.
'So you're lumping me with Anne Westcott now, are you? In her age group, I presume?'
'Age group?'
'She can't be a day under fifty.'
'Oh, no, Quentin,' Gina's green eyes became emerald pools of surprise, 'I never think of you as being that old, and I'd no idea you knew Miss Westcott?'
'I had the—er—pleasure of sitting on a committee with her once.'
Gina grinned, and Quentin Hurst's strong features relaxed. Suddenly they were laughing together warmly, in harmony, and it didn't seem wholly because of Miss Westcott. Quentin's white teeth glinted and the lines around his eyes creased. Then just as suddenly they stopped laughing and stared at each other again. Gina's breath caught as Quentin took a step forward.
It was then that Miss Edgar walked in and took Quentin away. She didn't need to persuade him, he seemed glad to go. As if the laughter he had shared with Gina had been a complete mistake, he turned as he went out and snapped coldly, 'Don't forget what I told you. Be ready to leave any time.'
Gina was up early to watch him depart for Australia. She concealed herself behind some thick trees on the drive opposite the house, where he couldn't see her. As he came through the front door, tall and elegant in his dark suit, she saw him pause to speak to Matthews, who was following. Her eyes were fixed on him intensely as he lowered himself into his car and switched the ignition. With a brief salute to Matthews he was off, passing within a few yards of Gina, without realising she was there.
Gina spent the rest of the day as she usually did, with the horses. They were to feed and exercise and groom, and she had a special diet to prepare for Hector, and even a hot bran mash took time. That evening, after leaving the stables spotless, she went home, and an hour later her father was taken seriously ill. An ambulance was called, on Mrs Hurst's orders, after Gina ran back to the big house for help, and he was taken immediately to hospital. Gina went with him and, because she was quite alone and so young, they allowed her to stay with him. Most of the time she had to spend in the waiting room, but John Foster never regained consciousness. She was grateful, though, that she was there when he died, and, after a Sister had led her away, one of the doctors, who had fought for John's life, spoke to her.
'I'm sorry, my dear, there was so little we could do.'
'I should have known he was ill,' she whispered, completely numb with shock. 'He didn't seem to be talking properly, but I—I thought it was because he was drinking too much.' She had felt forced to tell the doctor about John's drinking habits when he was admitted, but she suspected they had already guessed.
The doctor looked at her anxiously. 'You mustn't blame yourself, you know. Your father's health was so bad he was fortunate to have lived as long as he did.'
They were very kind, but after a while Gina pulled herself together and returned to Briarly. There seemed nothing else she could do. She had lost John, but as he had been more like a stranger than a father, apart from a sense of shock and loss she felt little actual grief. That she wasn't overwhelmed with grief because he was gone seemed to hurt, irrationally, more than anything else. It must be a tragedy that a father and daughter could share the same roof and yet be so far apart. John had appeared to live continually in the past, and, in doing so, had got no joy from the present and even less when contemplating the future.
It surprised her that there was so little trace of him about the cottage, but he had been a man with tidy habits and few possessions. There were only his books, dull medical tomes, they seemed to Gina, which he had kept hidden in an old chest, as though frightened anyone would see them. Gina had wondered about these books until she had discovered her father's profession. Even now she found it difficult to believe he had been a surgeon—so difficult, that although her father was gone, she didn't mention it to anyone.
The funeral took place later in the week and she was the only mourner. Surprisingly, Mrs Worth came with her. Gina, fearing Mrs Hurst had ordered her to, said awkwardly that it wasn't necessary, but Mrs Worth insisted. Gina was humbly glad of her company. It rained all the time and she felt terrible, and was conscious of being near to fainting before it was all over.
At the cottage, to which no one tried to prevent her returning, she made herself some tea. She had found some money when, remembering Quentin's orders, she had begun clearing out John's room. There were only a few pounds, but enough to buy some food. It seemed ironic that now she could afford some food she didn't seem able to eat anything. Pushing her plate to one side, she stumbled to her feet, after putting a few lumps of sugar in her pocket for the horses.
A week after the funeral Mrs Hurst called her in. Gina had never had much to do with Quentin's mother. It might be true to say she scarcely knew her but, on the rare occasions when their paths had crossed, Mrs Hurst had always smiled. To Gina she was a vague but kindly figure, not at all like her arrogant son!
Now she faced her in the drawing-room, where she felt decidedly out of place. Nor was she sure that Quentin would have approved. Matthews certainly didn't. He stared down his long nose at her when she arrived, straight from the stables, looking untidier than usual with her face smudged and her hair all over the place, in spite of her hurried efforts to tidy it up.
'Do come in, dear, and sit down.' Mrs Hurst didn't notice Gina's appearance—she was more concerned with what she had to say.
After waiting for Gina to sit down, and after asking how she was getting on, she hesitated. 'I believe you know my son is abroad?' When Gina nodded and came out with a rather indistinct yes, she continued, 'He rang from Australia two days ago, and asked how you were managing with the horses, and naturally I mentioned your father's death. I'm afraid,' again Mrs Hurst hesitated, this time even more anxiously, 'I'm afraid my son left strict instructions that you aren't to go on living at the cottage by yourself. Nor does he wish you to do any more work at the stables.'
Gina's first reaction was to clench her small hands into fists and stare down at the thick green carpet. The room was elegant, luxuriously furnished, and she wondered if Mrs Hurst had any idea what a struggle life could be. Glancing at her now, at the beautifully coiffured head and expensive dress, Gina thought not.
Then immediately she was ashamed of such thoughts. The Hursts had worked for everything they had, and even if they hadn't it was wrong of her to be envious. Mrs Hurst, along with her elegance, was kind, which was more, Gina decided bitterly, than could be said of Quentin!
Weakly shaken, she burst out illogically, 'I couldn't leave straight away. Quentin must know I need time to find something else to do. He doesn't seem to understand!'
Mrs Hurst frowned. 'I believe he said something about another groom coming this week. Apparently it was arranged before he left.'
So that was what he meant when he had talked of setting the wheels in motion? 'But what about me?' Gina cried, her face white. If she had had time to think about it, some kind of warning, her pride would have forbidden her to appeal to Mrs Hurst like this, but her strangled cry had escaped before she could prevent it. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered huskily, 'I shouldn't be worrying you about it.'
Mrs Hurst frowned a trifle uneasily at Gina's distressed young face. 'I don't really mind, dear. As a matter of fact, I've been giving you and your problems some thought. Otherwise I might have told you what Quentin said sooner.'
As Gina fidgeted nervously, Mrs Hurst cleared her throat delicately. 'I'm afraid I don't know you as well as perhaps I ought to, especially as you've lived here such a long time. My husband did tell me, of course, that he had met your father years ago, but unfortunately I've never been strong enough to interest myself gr
eatly in too many things. I've always had to conserve my energy, you see. You do seem a bright young girl, though, and I wondered if you would care to come and work for me.'
'For you?' Gina's mind, full of anguish at the thought of having to leave Briarly, and her beloved horses, was shocked afresh—if in a different way. 'How could I come and work for you?' she stammered. 'Quentin wouldn't allow it. He wants me to go.'
'He would be thinking of you in connection with the stables.' Mrs Hurst's voice was suddenly brisker. 'I don't suppose he's thought of anything else. For myself, I could do with someone, a sort of personal maid, if you like. A girl who would be prepared to help me with my wardrobe and dressing, and things like that. Someone I could ring for during the night when I'm not feeling well, or through the day to run errands for me. Fetch and carry, that sort of thing. All the things I could have asked a daughter to do, but unfortunately I never had one. I only have a son, and Quentin,' she finished, with a loud, rather self-pitying sigh, 'never has much time for me.'
'Mother!'
It would have been difficult to have discovered who was the most startled, Mrs Hurst or Gina, as they swung round simultaneously to find Quentin standing in the doorway behind them. Neither of them had heard the door open, and Gina thought that to say he looked furious would have been putting it mildly! His face was hard and there were deep lines of disapproval around his sensuous mouth. Gina was struck dumb with an immediate sense of shock, but while his eyes glittered over her darkly, she found it impossible to look away.
He looked strained, as if he had travelled a long way and gone a long time without sleep. His dark hair was ruffled and it seemed he must have discarded his jacket and driven from London without it. And while this might have been cooler for him, she could see patches of sweat over his broad shoulders, as if he had driven both himself and his car hard.
Mrs Hurst, after Quentin's defamatory exclamation, was the first to break the tense silence—which she clearly failed to understand. 'Why, Quentin!' she exclaimed, with a belated smile, 'this is a surprise! Do come in, you're causing a draught. I didn't expect to see you back so soon, but you don't have to look so angry, surely? I was just talking to Gina.'
'So I heard!' Coldly he interrupted his mother's hasty flow of words, his own weighted.
Gina, glancing uneasily from one to the other, remained silent.
'You've had a good journey?' Mrs Hurst ventured uncertainly. 'You must have managed quite a lot in a very short time?'
'Yes.' Quentin's reply was extremely non-committal. Gina felt rather sorry for his mother.
'Well then,' Mrs Hurst went on brightly, 'perhaps Gina and I should go to the library and continue the little discussion we were having there? Unless you're going straight upstairs?'
He nodded briefly. 'After you've explained what you were talking about when I came in.'
Mrs Hurst stopped smiling and drew a slightly peevish breath. Clearly she wasn't pleased at being dictated to in front of Gina. 'If you insist,' she murmured stiffly.
'I do.'
'Oh, very well!' She paused petulantly for a frowning moment then began. 'Gina and I feel we could help each other. I've asked her to come and work for me as my personal maid. Of course I realise she will have to be trained, but I'm sure she'll soon learn. She's young and intelligent and her voice is nice. It certainly doesn't grate, like that of some I could mention!' She gave a quick glance past Quentin through the door as if suspecting the constantly chattering Myra might be listening.
'My God!' Quentin stepped inside the room, quickly closing the door behind him. Obviously he had something to say and was going to make sure no one overheard. Gina suspected the direction of his mother's glance had warned him someone might, if he stayed where he was. As he came nearer she shrank back, as the full force of his anger became apparent. 'Mother,' he exclaimed, with deceptive softness, 'I don't know what crazy idea you have in mind, but Gina is certainly not coming to work here!'
'Why—why ever not?' Mrs Hurst seemed astounded.
'Because I say so!'
'But why not?' Mrs Hurst persisted. 'She could at least stay until she finds something else.'
'She's going to find something else, very quickly,' he assured his mother grimly, his eyes dwelling on Gina so coldly she shivered. 'I'll see to it myself'
'But not here?' This time it was Gina who spoke, with the odd feeling that she must try to defend herself. Yet before his contempt she felt utterly miserable, her voice only defiant because she thought she had nothing to lose.
'I'll tell you why you can't stay here!' Reprovingly, Quentin lashed out at her, as if glad of the chance to attack her directly. 'I don't think you would know how to conduct yourself in a house. You've grown too used to living in a hovel, even though I'm ashamed to admit it belongs to me. As for being my mother's personal maid— if she really feels in need of such a thing—I doubt if you would know how to go about this either. You don't even know how to look after yourself! From what I've seen of you, you rarely even look clean.'
'But I am! I am clean,' Gina cried, mortally wounded, as his cold insults descended on her innocent head. With anguished eyes she gazed at him. 'You know I am!' She hadn't meant to remind him of the lake and hoped, suddenly uneasy, that he wouldn't connect it. His brain, however, was razor-sharp and, as she watched despairingly, a dull flush crept over the hard line of his jaw.
His glance flickered, before returning to ice. 'I still maintain you are ill fitted for the kind of work my mother has in mind.' With studied insolence, his brows rose cynically. 'Why don't you go and take a look at yourself? Your hair's a mess, your face is as grubby as usual. As for your hands, the less said about them the better! And don't say I haven't mentioned it before—and for all the notice you've taken I might as well have saved my breath.'
As if to ward off such an onslaught, Gina clasped taut arms across her breast. Her eyes went bright, the green turning to emerald, as she blinked back the tears which threatened to fall. 'It's often difficult to keep clean in the stables,' she whispered. 'I've tried to do better since—' she faltered, then made herself go on, determined that Quentin shouldn't think she was trying to make him feel sorry for her, 'since my father, died, but there still seems such a lot to do.'
For a moment Quentin's face paled grimly and his eyes shadowed, with what she thought was concern, but she realised she was mistaken when his voice came as curt as ever.
'I'm sorry about your father, Gina, but it alters nothing. I know what would happen if I let you stay here. You'd be running around the house making a perfect nuisance of yourself, quite incapable of helping anyone. You may think I'm hard, but you'll be grateful in the long run.'
Hastily, Mrs Hurst intervened, having given up trying to decide what was making Quentin so disgruntled. She was well aware he could be very decisive and highhanded when something didn't suit him, but usually he was fairly tolerant with his employees at Briarly. His London office was another thing, but that didn't concern her. She was concerned now, as she saw her wonderful dream of owning a willing little slave fast disappearing.
'Darling,' she murmured wistfully, 'I do think you're being too hard on the child. You've just said, yourself, she's never had a chance, living in that dreadful cottage with a father who just didn't care. Once she was working for me, after a few weeks, anyway, if her father was able to come back he probably wouldn't be able to recognise her.'
Her eyes seeming stretched to capacity, Gina stared at Mrs Hurst, feeling suffocated by a peculiar sensation. On one hand she was hit by Mrs Hurst's rather careless if well-meant references to her father, and on the other by Quentin's mounting animosity. She felt she had to escape. Turning too quickly, she made to rush past him when, suddenly, the room began swinging around her, whirling upside down and she with it. There was the same awful sensation which she had felt when she had been drowning in the lake, just before Quentin had rescued her. Now a similar feeling enveloped her overwhelmingly, and, as she fell into in
ky darkness, terrified, she called his name.
When she came to she was in bed, with Myra, the dark-haired, voluble little housemaid, bending over her.
'I thought you were waking up!' she exclaimed.
'Why—why am I here?' Gina was dazed, only able to realise she was in a strange bedroom. She waited until her eyes cleared, to make sure she wasn't dreaming, but Myra's face stayed, so did the bedroom. Confused, she gazed around. The room was beautiful, but she didn't recognise anything. 'I shouldn't be here,' she whispered anxiously.
'Stop worrying!' Myra advised, but stared at her curiously. 'Mr Quentin carried you here himself, so if I were you I wouldn't argue. Said something about you coming to work for his mother and having to be near her, but I hope I never see him looking like that again. Like murder, he looked, I can tell you, and sent us all away. Wouldn't let one of us touch you!'
'For fear you got the plague,' Gina muttered bitterly.
'What's that?' Myra's brown eyes sharpened.
'Oh, nothing.' Wondering why she felt so weak, Gina struggled to sit up. Then, seeing she had nothing on, she immediately pulled the sheet up over her bare shoulders, in an attempt to cover herself. 'What time is it?' she asked, colouring helplessly.
'Nine o'clock in the morning,' Myra informed her coolly. 'You've slept a long time, but Mr Quentin wouldn't let us wake you.'
'Nine o'clock in the morning!' Gina felt a shock of disbelief go right through her. 'It can't be?'
'There's the clock!' Myra waved a hand at it indifferently. 'You don't have to believe me.'
Gina did. There was no reason for Myra to lie to her. 'Where are my clothes?' she asked blankly. 'I'd better get up.'
'On the floor,' Myra answered obligingly. 'You must have left them there last night and I haven't picked them up. That's one of the first things you'll have to learn if you're coming to work here, to be tidy. None of us are going to run after you—and it will pay you to remember.'
The Loving Slave Page 5