She heard the slam of a car door, and a glance through her window showed her it was Ross. She grinned and ran down stairs. Whatever his motives for asking her out—or rather telling her he intended to take her out—she would be more than a match for him. She went to open the front door, only to find that he had gone round to the kitchen door and let himself in.
‘Ah, you’re ready,’ he said in an approving voice, looking her up and down. ‘And very nice, too.’
‘I can do without the compliments, thank you,’ she told him in a casual voice, picking up a hooded anorak in case it rained again.
He gave her an amused glance. ‘So you don’t like compliments? You surprise me. Most women do.’
‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ she answered belligerently.
He folded his arms and eyed her speculatively. ‘I wonder. Why, I don’t know, but you seem to go out of your way to be—’ He broke off tantalisingly.
‘To be what?’ she challenged.
‘Prickly, awkward, snooty, belligerent—’
‘Then why do you want to take me out to lunch—if I’m all you say I am? Would you like me to name all your particular faults, too?’
He grinned. ‘Let’s do it over lunch. Or perhaps we could agree to a—temporary truce. I was thinking—would you care to take a trip over to the Isle of Wight? We can either take the car across or just find our way around on foot. What do you say?’
‘All right. What about swimming costumes just in case—’
‘I haven’t any.’
‘That’s all right. You can borrow some of my father’s. I’ll pop upstairs and get them—and something for myself.’
She ran back upstairs and in less than a few minutes she had collected a pair of her father’s swimming trunks, a bikini for herself and a couple of towels, putting all into a brightly coloured duffel bag. Feeling unaccountably lighthearted, she skipped down the stairs again, glad that the sun was shining. She even managed a smile at the man waiting for her in the kitchen.
‘Hm, that’s better,’ he commented, then added: ‘You look quite pretty when you smile.’
She gave him a barbed look, her only defence against a sense of disappointment.
‘And when I don’t?’ she demanded.
His lips curved in an amused smile. ‘Come on, let’s go. You said you didn’t like compliments.’
Wondering what on earth he meant by that, Ruth allowed him to lock the door and pocket the key as though he owned the place. Which, strictly speaking, he did, in a way, her conscience told her. But his back-handed compliment still rankled.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t be so condescending,’ she told him as he put the car into gear and moved off.
‘In what way was I condescending?’ he asked with a faint lifting of his dark brows.
‘You know perfectly well. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.’
His lips twitched as though he were trying not to smile, and this infuriated her. At a traffic light he turned to look at her, his eyes flicking over her face.
‘We agreed on a truce—remember?’
‘Well then, don’t make provocative remarks,’ she told him.
‘Or pay you compliments?’
She rounded on him. ‘Oh, really! You are the most—infuriating man I’ve ever met!’
He made no reply but this, but calmly went on driving a though she hadn’t spoken, and she wanted to hit him, to make him angry, even to make him shout at her.
She forced herself to calm down. She must be mad. Why should she, why should anyone want to do verbal battle all the time? It was ridiculous. She tried in vain to puzzle it out and so stopped trying.
As she sat in silence Ross gave her a swift, enquiring glance. ‘All right now, are you?’
‘Certainly I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’ she almost snapped.
‘O.K., O.K., sorry I asked,’ he said smoothly.
He seemed determined to goad her while keeping calm himself. Well, two can play that game, she determined, and waited her chance to say something guaranteed to prick his air of puffed up condescension and amusement. ‘Where are we going for lunch?’ she asked brightly.
He couldn’t resist another snipe. ‘Ah, that’s better. There’s a place in Brockenhurst.’
‘There are quite a few,’ she informed him, taking an odd delight in doing so.
‘I’m aware of that,’ he answered. ‘What I meant was, there’s one particular place—the best, I’m told.’
‘Balmer Lawn?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, it’s certainly the most expensive. And is that where we’re going?’
‘Naturally.’
Naturally. Only the best was good enough for this man. Ruth had only been in a couple of times and its hushed atmosphere scared her half to death.
But Ross Hamilton ushered her through its portals as to the manner born. They sat in the opulent lounge and sipped an aperitif and studied the leather-bound menu brought to them by a properly aloof waiter. A little conscience-stricken that she was here to lunch with Ross Hamilton after declining to go with Gareth, Ruth was not really sorry he had chosen this particular hotel. Their prices were way above what Gareth could have afforded on his salary, so that she was hardly likely to run into him.
The lunch was out of this world. The service was excellent, the food delicious. Having only herself to cook for, Ruth had been very inclined to live on snacks. She realised that she had barely eaten a decent meal since her father died, the only exceptions being the few times she had had a meal at the home of Jill and Hugh.
She swallowed the last mouthful of delicious dessert and sipped the remains of the cool white wine, smiling across the table at her companion.
‘That was a wonderful meal. Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Hamilton.’
A glimmering of a smile relaxed his usually dour features. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. But couldn’t you bring yourself to call me Ross? Er—just to show your gratitude?’ he added.
‘Ross. Thank you.’
Saying his name gave her a peculiar feeling—one of panic, almost. She didn’t know why. She felt safer being at odds with him, somehow. She didn’t want to soften towards him. She was beginning to understand his having a reputation with women. He had some strange magnetism and she fought against being drawn towards him.
‘Shall we have our coffee in the lounge?’ he asked, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s more comfortable there.’
‘Yes, of course.’
She left off fingering the stem of her wine glass and pushed back her chair.
‘What—part of the Island do you want to visit?’ she asked him as she poured the coffee a few minutes later.
‘I’m in your hands,’ he announced. ‘I’ve never been there before. I imagine you have—living so near.’
Ruth couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t asked Linda to take him, and indeed why he hadn’t asked Linda out to lunch. Was she playing some fast and loose game between Gareth and Ross? Gareth said she had been away. Perhaps Ross didn’t know she was back.
Ruth came out of her thoughts. ‘There’s a place not far from Yarmouth, that’s where the ferry goes. It’s called Alum Bay. The cliffs and sands are all different colours. In fact, there are said to be twenty. Green, grey, red, varying shades of sand going to white and yellow—’
‘Sounds fantastic. And can you get there without a car?’
‘Oh, yes, there are frequent buses. There are connections from Yarmouth to all the major places such as Cowes, Newport, Shanklin and Sandown.’
They drove the short distance to Lymington, where Ross parked the car, and made their way to the harbour.
Ross sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Ah! Lovely sea air. There’s nothing like it.’
She glanced at his face, the rugged lines relaxed, his eyes gazing out at the sea. She knew a sudden sense of happiness; she wanted to laugh, to take his hand, to be close to him. It was nonsense. She tried to suppress he
r feelings, but they grew until she felt possessed. She couldn’t understand it. She was afraid of it.
Unaware of the tumult within her, Ross gazed out across the sparkling, sun kissed water where the distant coast of the Isle of Wight showed through a golden haze. Hundreds of boats danced on the surface nearby where they were standing, gulls wheeled overhead and all around were parents with their children, young lovers, middle-aged couples—people of all ages intent on a Sunday trip across the water.
Ross turned to Ruth and smiled, his eyes crinkling with pleasure for the first time since she had known him. Diving in at the deep end, Ruth smiled back at him. His smile broadened and he put his arm across her shoulders for all the world as though they, too, were lovers.
She took a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes in a moment of ridiculous happiness, savouring his nearness, the feel of his strong arm. Why she should be making such a thing of it, she didn’t know, but there was something about this man. He was the kind one either loved or hated, but surely one. that few women would be indifferent to.
A sudden sharp toot from the ferry’s horn startled everyone a few minutes after they had all boarded, and the vessel moved slowly out through the narrow sea-lane. Ross had found a place at the rail near the bow, and he stood, still with his arms about her as they moved ever nearer to the Island. Out at sea proper there was a cool breeze, and Ruth was glad of her anorak. Even Ross buttoned up his tweed jacket over his cream-coloured polo-necked sweater. But as they drew nearer to the shelter of the Island’s harbour, the wind moderated again, and they stepped ashore in pleasant sunshine.
Close by the harbour they caught a bus for Alum Bay, climbing to the top deck so that they could see everything. It was only a ten-minute ride, but very enjoyable. Sunshine and shadows chased each other across the meadows and the fields of green com, and along the winding switchback of a road they past through tiny villages, the gardens bright with spring flowers. Ruth had never felt so at peace, so contented. She would never have dreamed she could feel this way in the company of Ross Hamilton.
At the top of the cliffs leading down to the beach there was a hotel and a restaurant, a bar and gift shops. They stood and admired some of the many really unique souvenirs made out of the colourful sand—beautiful swans in multi-coloured stripes, vases of every conceivable shape and size, bowls, ashtrays and other domestic articles.
‘Maybe we can buy a memento of our visit on the way back,’ suggested Ross, and Ruth happily agreed.
There were two ways of descending the steep cliffs, by a series of wooden steps or by chair lift. They elected to walk down and perhaps use the chair lift for the upwards return. They began the winding descent, stopping every now and then to look at the wonderful view, and about half way down they could see the Needles, standing out at the tip of the island.
‘Curious, aren’t they?’ murmured Ross. ‘I suppose they are rather like needles.’
‘Yes. But there was one particular rock—thinner than the rest. It was called ‘Lot’s Wife’. That one was about a hundred and twenty feet high, and it did look just like a needle, so I’ve read. But now there’s only the stump. The ‘needle’ crashed into the sea way back in about the middle of the eighteenth century.’
‘Interesting. But they look pretty treacherous, too. Wasn’t there a ship which came to grief somewhere around the end of the war?’
‘Yes. My father told me about it. 1947, I think it was.’
They continued down and were soon on the beach with its shimmering, multi-coloured sands. Ross gazed up at the sheer cliffs with their sharp serrations and said he had never seen anything like it in his life.
‘We should have brought some little bags with us to take samples,’ he said.
‘Ruth laughed. ‘Well, if you’re interested, you can buy it “dry-sifted” from up top. Pick where you like in little tubes.’
He looked at her laughing face, and her heart missed a beat. Then suddenly he drew her towards him and kissed her. It was the most devastating experience, and her whole body responded in a way entirely new to her. When he let her go she felt herself trembling visibly.
‘That’s for looking so pretty,’ he said. He took her hand and looked towards the sea where one or two children were playing with buckets and spades. ‘Do you think it’s warm enough for a swim?’
‘We—we can try it,’ she answered breathlessly.
He glanced around for somewhere to change. ‘You go into the crevice,’ he said, pointing to a cleft in the rocks, ‘and I’ll stand with my back to you and keep a look out. Then you can do the same for me.’
Making a tent out of one of the large towels with a safety pin, Ruth turned to face the cliffs and manoeuvred her clothes off and into her bikini. She took out the other towel and the trunks she had brought for Ross, and rolling up her clothes in her slacks, put them in the duffel bag. Still keeping the towel clutched around herself for some reason, she turned.
‘O.K. Now it’s your turn,’ she told him.
He smiled as he saw the way she was holding on to her towel.
‘What’s the matter? Got a fit of modesty?’
‘No, keeping warm,’ she retorted.
Not for anything would she admit to a feeling of shyness which had possessed her.
In a very short space of time he was ready and had put his clothes in the duffel bag along with hers.
‘Come on, away with that towel. A modern young woman like you pretending to be shy!’ He unfastened the pin and removed the protective towel and ran his eyes appreciatively over her figure. ‘Very, very nice. I’ve often wondered what you look like under those jeans and the sloppy sweaters you wear.’
‘Like any other woman,’ she retorted, hoping her cheeks were not as pink as they felt. Why should she feel this way with him? After all, it was not as though she were naked.
He smiled and rolled up her towel, stuffing it in the duffel bag.
‘Can you swim?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Can you?’
He raised his eyebrows as if surprised at the question. Just like a man, she thought to herself. And certainly just Ross Hamilton. Question his ability in any way? How could she? How could anyone?
‘I’ll race you to the water line,’ she said, and set off without waiting to see whether he agreed or not.
At first she thought he had ignored her suggestion, then she heard the soft pad of his footsteps, and his legs being a great deal longer than hers, he caught her up just as she reached the water. He grabbed her around the waist almost before he had stopped running, and the weight of his body caused her to stumble. They fell together into the water, and as the first shock of what seemed like ice-cold water hit her warm body Ruth gasped and let out a tiny squeal. Ross let out a ‘Wow!’, then laughed and began to splash the sea water over her.
‘It’s better this way. Gets you acclimatised much more quickly.’
‘I’ll say!’ she gasped as her skin tingled all over.
She began to splash him, too, and for a few minutes they laughed and splashed away like a couple of children. His body was firm and smooth and without blemish. Ruth found she had to resist strongly a desire to touch him, to run her fingers up his arms and across the hard width of his shoulders. The tide was coming in, and all at once they were almost engulfed by a sizeable wave. Ross got to his feet and pulled her up with him until they were knee-deep, with another breaker coming towards them. They met it up to their waists, then Ross struck out to meet the third.
For a few minutes Ruth watched him as his powerful shoulders moved rhythmically in the crawl. She might have known he would be good. She struck out a little away from him, thrusting upwards to meet the next wave, and now she was not aware of the coldness of the sea, only of the exhilaration of swimming. But she grew tired long before he did and retreated to the water’s edge to rest, sitting on the wet sand and letting the water flow over her from each wave.
She watched Ross as he continued to swim, and marvelled that they were h
aving this day out together. A few weeks ago she would not have thought it could happen. She reflected on the business of her moving out of the Head Forester’s house and Ross moving in, and almost wished she had taken him up on his suggestion—whether put seriously or not—that they should share the house. But it was wishful thinking, and even the fact that she was even remotely considering the idea came as a surprise to her. She had not had a narrow upbringing, but she had had a moral one, and most of the people in the New Forest area would frown on such an arrangement. She felt reasonably sure he had only been joking when he had suggested marriage. In any case, when she married, she wanted to marry for love. Love. She contemplated on the word. Had she ever really been in love? she asked herself. Had she ever loved a man enough to want to be with him, day in, day out for the rest of her life?
She was on the point of deciding that she had not when she became aware that Ross was approaching.
‘Had enough?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘For the time being, anyway.’
‘Your first swim this year?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, I think enough is enough. I also think a cup of tea would be a good idea.’ He put out his hand to her. ‘Come on. It isn’t all that warm.’
She agreed. She was already beginning to feel goose pimples along her arms. Hand in hand once again they walked back to where they had left the duffel bag. Ross extracted her towel, and to her surprise began to rub her down. Starting with her arms and shoulders he rubbed vigorously, but not too roughly. His administrations gave her a strange sensation, a tingling up and down her spine. It was when he bent to wield the towel up and down her legs that she told him tremulously:
Man of the Trees Page 9