Man of the Trees

by Hilary Preston

  When Saturday came Ruth found herself feeling one or two thrills of excitement at the thought of possibly seeing Ross Hamilton. He was bound, somehow, to have something to say to her. Looking through her wardrobe, she shifted the red dress along the rail in distaste. She didn’t think she’d ever wear that again. In fact just about everything she possessed seemed too young for her. It was high time, she thought, that she either bought or made herself some new clothes.

  In the end she chose a plain, midnight blue skirt which she had thought a little dull but which her father had liked because of the way the skirt hung, and topped it with a fine white sweater with a polo neck and long sleeves. Her hair she washed and let it hang loose. Would her appearance be sober enough for Mr. Hamilton? she wondered, then pulled herself up sharply. She was not dressing for Ross Hamilton. The fact that he had said white suited her had no bearing on anything at all, certainly not on her choice of the white sweater. The blue skirt swirled around her ankles beautifully, and the white looked well with it. If he thought she always wore gaudy, gypsy-type clothes, then he was mistaken!

  Jill and Hugh, along with Gareth, had arrived at the Club early and had saved a seat for Ruth. With the added attraction of the country Western group it looked as though the place was going to be crowded even more than usual. It was still quite early and already there were few empty places.

  But looking all around, Ruth could see no sign of Ross. She gave herself a mental shake. What was all this? She was positively hankering after the man. And why? So that she could cross swords with him? It was ridiculous. In any case, the man was insufferable. She positively disliked him.

  ‘You’re looking very demure tonight,’ Gareth said when she joined them.

  ‘Do you approve?’ she asked him lightly.

  ‘Darling, I love you in anything. To me, you always look beautiful,’ he said extravagantly.

  Jill laughed. ‘Did you hear that, Hugh?’ she demanded of her husband. ‘Why don’t you ever say those kind of things to me?’

  ‘If I did you’d think I was drunk or after something,’ he answered.

  Somehow, tonight, Ruth found the usual banter between Jill and Hugh somewhat banal, and she began to wish she had not come. Gareth asked her to dance, and normally she enjoyed dancing with him, but nothing seemed right.

  ‘Hey, Ruthie, come on, loosen up there,’ Gareth said at last when she stiffened as he tried to dance cheek to cheek in an old-fashioned waltz. ‘What’s the matter with you these days?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter. Why should there be?’

  But she knew she was feeling restless and out of sorts, without knowing why.

  Then suddenly she felt her whole system lighten as she caught sight of Ross Hamilton in the doorway, and tonight he did not have Linda with him.

  ‘Well, that’ll please the girls,’ remarked Jill when they all returned to their table at the end of the dance number and it was seen that Ross Hamilton was alone.

  Ruth sniffed. ‘Well, he needn’t come and ask me to dance, because I want nothing to do with him.’

  Jill laughed shortly. ‘There’ll be plenty who do. But I wonder what’s happened to Linda? I thought it was wedding bells for those two.’

  ‘You’re always hearing wedding bells,’ her husband teased her.

  ‘I wasn’t the only one,’ Jill retorted. ‘He’s been seeing her pretty exclusively. But maybe she’s just broken a leg or something.’

  ‘Wishful thinking?’ queried Hugh, ‘or are you hopeful of a more permanent rift?’

  Ruth was only half listening. She was watching Ross as he stood in the doorway looking around the room. For some peculiar reason she wanted to go up to him and put her arm in his, walk down the room with him as though she had a right to. It was ridiculous. She struggled to rid herself of the desire, of the mental picture of doing just that. Where was her pride, her dislike of him?

  ‘Perhaps they’ve had a lovers’ tiff,’ suggested Gareth sarcastically. ‘What do you think, Ruth?’

  At this she rounded on him swiftly. ‘I think we should all mind our own business about his private life!’

  This was received with very surprised looks from the other three.

  ‘Well, well, and what’s got into you?’ asked Jill huffily.

  ‘The girl’s right,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Maybe, but—’

  Gareth simply looked at her. Ruth coloured, wishing she had not been so sharp and wondering, as Jill had queried, what had got into her. The music started again, and Ruth watched Ross as he walked in that loose-limbed way of his down the room.

  It seemed to her that he was heading straight towards her. She watched his progress, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs in a most absurd fashion. But he wasn’t coming to her, after all. He stopped at a table just before he reached the one where Ruth was sitting, and the girl Ruth recognised as his secretary rose to her feet.

  Gareth’s hand touched her arm. ‘Dance, Ruthie?’

  She stood up, and all her former anger against Ross Hamilton was resurrected. She could have strangled him!

  To Ruth’s utter chagrin Ross Hamilton did not once ask her to dance throughout the whole evening. Even Jill noticed the fact, with whom he had danced twice.

  ‘Well, it looks as though you’re not going to get the chance to refuse him,’ she couldn’t resist saying when the band began to play the customary last waltz.

  It was Gareth who came to Ruth’s rescue. ‘He knew better while I’m around.’

  ‘Maybe, but last time—’ Jill began.

  She winced suddenly, and Ruth guessed Hugh had kicked her under the table.

  ‘Don’t look so murderous,’ Gareth whispered in her ear as they danced. ‘It’s not important I wouldn’t have let him dance with you.’

  Almost at boiling point inside, Ruth bit back a retort. The sooner this evening was over the better.

  Gareth waited to make sure that Ruth’s car would start all right, grumbling that she should have let him pick her up so that he could have driven her home. But she drew little satisfaction from his concern, only gratitude. She thanked him and said goodnight, her mind still occupied with a feeling of having been deliberately slighted by Ross Hamilton, and a general fury in her heart against him.

  She was driving along one of the lonely Forest roads when she became aware that the engine was not responding to her touch on the accelerator. She uttered a mild swear word as the car came to a gradual stop, then the engine cut out altogether. She switched off, then after a second or two turned the key again. Fortunately, the engine started and she put the car into gear and moved slowly forward. But again there was no response when she tried to accelerate. She looked at the petrol gauge. The level was pretty low, but there should be enough petrol to get her home. She sighed. The only thing it could be was the petrol pump, and that she could do nothing about at the moment. The only thing she could do was walk the rest of the way home—a matter of four miles.

  She locked up the car and set off, not altogether resignedly. Fuming against Ross Hamilton, a wasted evening and finally this disastrous ending, all helped her to make a good pace. To add to everything it began to rain.

  This is all I need!’ she muttered angrily to herself, railing against poor harmless, innocent Gareth for persuading her to come out this evening.

  The rain poured down and she had no headcovering, only her velvet jacket. She could take off her jacket, she supposed, and cover her head and shoulders. The lower part of her skirt was already wet, anyway.

  She did this, and it was then she heard a car coming, its beams cutting shafts of brilliant light along the roadway and the trees on either side. It was past midnight. Should she signal for a lift? It could be someone local, on the other hand it could be some lecherous male who in return for a lift would want to make violent love. And that would be the last straw. She would rather continue walking. She could hardly get more soaked than she was already.

  However, the car drove past her, then
stopped without her making any signal at all. She walked towards it. If it was someone she knew—

  The window on the driver’s side was wound down and a man’s voice from inside said briefly: ‘Get in.’

  She peered closer. It was Ross Hamilton. This certainly was the last straw!

  ‘No, thanks, I’d rather walk.’

  She pulled her white velvet coat more closely around her head and marched on. In a flash he was out of the car and had caught up with her.

  ‘Get into the car, you little fool. You’re soaked already. You’ll be absolutely drenched before you get home.’

  ‘I don’t care. Leave me alone!’

  ‘Of all the stupid, obstinate—’ he began.

  She stopped and rounded on him, but before she could say anything he picked her up and carried her as though she was a child to the passenger side of his car. Dumping her down, but still keeping a tight hold on her, he opened the door.

  ‘Now get in, otherwise I swear I’ll render you senseless in a way you’re not already. Go on—’ he said, as she hesitated, trying to say something sufficiently scathing to him.

  Truth to tell, she had been rendered temporarily speechless by his incredible suggestion that if she didn’t he would have no compunction about knocking her unconscious. He had her trapped. She couldn’t move, and even if she yelled her head off there was no one within miles to hear her. Chalking up another mental score against him, she got into the car and he shut the door on her.

  ‘And don’t try to get out while I go round to the other side,’ he warned. ‘We shall only repeat the process, but this time it’ll be the worse for you.’

  Ruth put out her hand to the car door with that very intention, but before she could find out how this particular door handle worked, he was in the driving seat, his fingers on the ignition key.

  She turned her full fury on him. ‘I suppose you think you’re clever!’ she stormed. ‘Getting the better of someone less physically strong than you are yourself.’

  ‘It should not have been necessary,’ he answered in a totally unrepentant voice. ‘It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been so stupid.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me stupid!’ she almost shouted.

  ‘Yes—when you stop behaving that way.’ He glanced down at her skirt. ‘That thing must be wet through. Pull it from under you. And don’t worry,’ he added scornfully, ‘I won’t look at what you’ve got on underneath. There’s a rug in the back anyway.’

  His outrageous statements left her speechless for a moment. ‘Do you speak to every woman like this?’ she demanded.

  ‘Only those who ask for it,’ he answered. “Now get that wet skirt from under you, unless, of course, you want to catch pneumonia.’

  She fumed and would have refused to do as he said, but she was becoming more and more aware of the wetness of her skirt and sitting on it was most uncomfortable. With one eye on him in case his attention should leave the road, she hitched up the wet garment.

  He glanced at her efforts. ‘It would probably be as well if you took it off altogether.’

  He stopped the car and Ruth held her breath, wondering what on earth this extraordinary man was going to do next. But all he did was reach out for a rug on the back seat and drop it in her lap. ‘There, cover yourself with that while you’re disrobing, if you’re so modest.’

  ‘Thanks very much, I’m sure,’ she retorted as the car moved forward again.

  She unfolded the rug, and as best she could covered herself with it while she hitched around and took off her wet skirt. She thought to herself, wryly, that it was a good thing she was wearing a skirt and not a dress. But on second thoughts this man seemed entirely uninterested in her as a woman. What would it take, she wondered fiendishly, to make him aware of her? She would dearly like to try and rouse him, then tell him to go to that place of reputedly burning inferno.

  He drew up outside her house, and she wondered what was going to happen next. She soon found out.

  ‘Give me your key—and your bag and that wet skirt,’ he commanded.

  ‘I can manage perfectly well, thanks,’ she told him defiantly. She wasn’t taking orders from any man, least of all this one.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll need both hands to keep that rug round you while you run to the front door.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t mind me seeing what you’re trying to hide.’

  She fumed as she dropped her key into his hand and handed him her evening bag. He picked up her wet skirt and her coat.

  ‘Give me a few minutes to open the door,’ he told her, ‘then you can run straight in.’

  Ruth said a grudging ‘thank you’, but doubted whether he heard her. She gathered the rug around her waist and waited until she saw the front door open then ran up the path.

  Rather to her consternation, he slammed the door after her with the obvious intention of remaining in the house rather than just saying goodnight and leaving her.

  ‘Go upstairs and get the rest of your things off and dry your hair a little,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and make you a drink.’ Clutching the rug around her waist, she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her short. ‘Go on—do as you’re told for once in your life.’

  She stormed upstairs. Who did he think he was, ordering her about in this way? She would tell him she was not one of his forest workers or his office staff. But on the landing she paused and called down to him.

  ‘Well, make a drink for yourself at the same time, of course.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ he called back.

  It was the least she could do, she thought, as she peeled off her sweater. In any case, he had probably intended making one for himself whether she had asked him or not. This man was capable of anything.

  She towelled her hair and was tempted, in a mischievous fashion, to wear the white bathrobe she had been wearing that Sunday morning when he had come to see over the house, but thought better of it. It might be tempting providence, and as yet, Ross Hamilton was still something of an unknown quantity, though she felt she was rapidly getting to know him. Besides, he might think she was throwing herself at him. Better wear something discreet, she decided, and wore a housecoat which buttoned all the way down to her ankles.

  He called up to her that the drinks were ready, and after giving her hair a swift brushing she went downstairs. When she entered the living room her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the way he had made himself at home. He had set the fire burning and was seated comfortably in an armchair, but what really startled her was the fact that he had not only taken off his jacket, but his tie—looking for all the world as though he did not intend leaving. He eyed her up and down before rising in a leisurely fashion from his chair.

  ‘All right now, are you?’ he asked in a curiously vibrant voice.

  ‘Yes—yes, thank you.’

  ‘Good. Where do you usually sit?’

  Two steaming beakers of hot liquid stood on a tray on the low table. One was of hot chocolate, the other looked like black coffee.

  ‘I—sit on the hearthrug as often as not,’ she told him uncertainly. He was rapidly throwing her off balance, and she did not like it one bit. She felt so unsure of herself, so unsure of him, so vulnerable.

  He threw down some cushions for her. ‘There you are, then. And lean against this,’ he added, bringing the other chair forward for her.

  Ruth had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was a sense of intimate cosiness which she longed for but did not trust. Resolutely, she turned her attention to the two drinks as he subsided into his chair.

  ‘I presume yours is the black coffee?’ she asked as the aroma reached her nostrils.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How did you know I’d want the chocolate?’

  ‘Simple. It was there on the shelf and the tin was half empty, so I concluded that it was your usual bedtime drink.’

  She thought he was too clever by half, and gathere
d her defences around her. She was beginning to feel weepy for some stupid reason and wished he would go. He had no right to make himself at home in this fashion without being invited.

  Then she remembered that, in reality, this was where he should be living. She ought, by now, have found herself somewhere else to live. She began to feel the interloper. Ross looked so at home she was tempted to ask him if he’d like his slippers.

  ‘I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find a house yet,’ she offered.

  He looked at her blankly for a moment. ‘A house?’ he echoed.

  ‘Yes. I’m sure you’re wanting to move in here.’

  At this, one side of his mouth quirked into an amused smile. ‘Seems a pity to turn you out, and I must say it’s a darned sight more homely than my present place, excellent though it is.’

  She couldn’t quite follow his reasoning. ‘The trouble is,’ she went on, ‘I need a room for my work, and most places seem either too small or too big.’

  He gave her a speculative look across the length of the hearth rug. ‘Why bother to move out at all? I haven’t any furniture yet, and these chairs seem comfortable enough. There’s room enough for the two of us.’

  She looked at him in puzzled amazement. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘You and me—sharing this place. I could come as your lodger, or vice-versa. I could do with a housekeeper, or—’

  She put down her beaker with a bang. ‘Or what?’ she demanded with cold anger.

  ‘Or—marriage?’ he queried, a speculative look in his eyes and a smile of amusement on his face.

  Ruth took a deep breath. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’

  ‘No?’

  With measured deliberation Ross put his beaker down on the table. Not liking the look on his face, Ruth got to her feet swiftly. But he, too, was on his feet in an instant and before she could even guess at his intention had suddenly snatched her to him. She drew a startled breath before his lips were full on hers, long and hard. She struggled against him, but his arms came about her like iron bands and she could not escape. She then ceased struggling and waited for him to let her go. But he didn’t. His lips became more possessive. She had never been kissed like this before, even by Gareth. Her heart began to beat erratically, she felt as though she were floating on air and had a strong desire to put her arms around his neck and return his kiss. With an effort she restrained herself, then suddenly she brought up her fists and pushed against him with all her might. The suddenness gave her the advantage and he released her.