by Lucy Gillen
ning, she recognised-it now.
Despite the sunshine and the warm, golden look of the countryside seen from the hill, she felt a disturbing sense of sadness that would not be dismissed. Her relationship with Chris had been determined yesterday, but Toby was quite another matter. Walking back with him through the wood yesterday she had realised with increasing dismay that nothing would ever be the same with Toby either.
Sooner or later the lighthearted flirting he teased her with was going to prove too hurtful to bear and she would be forced to do something about it. She could leave Trent House, of course, and find another post, but no other position would have nearly so much to offer.
Despite her brusque manner and, at times, short temper, she had grown quite fond of Lady Carmichael in the three months she had been with her, and she was certain that the affection was reciprocated, but the hardest part of all would be leaving Tole". Walking down that warm, sunlit hillside towards the sparkle and glint of the river below, she readily admitted to being in love with him, but he realisation brought her little joy.
To her dismay she felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes when she thought about him, and shook her head, impatient with her own vulnerability. Toby was unattainable, she had known that from the beginning, and she was foolish to let it hurt so ·much. Perhaps leaving was the only answer, for otherwise she would be faced with such a mammoth
task of pretending that she doubted if she was capable of it.
The wood along the river bank meant the chance of meeting Chris, she realised suddenly, and at the moment she was simply not able to cope with what could be a difficult confrontation. Almost without thinking she veered across suddenly and headed down the south side of the hill towards the darkness of the pine wood.
Its gloomy chill was somehow keeping with her present mood and she shivered as she walked among the close standing trunks, her steps deadened on the softness of pine needles. She put her hands to cover the tops of her arms and wished she had worn a coat, for her skin crawled with the coldness of the air, but she would not turn back.
A bird flew from a bush some yards away, its shrill cries of protest making her lift her head in alarm, for she was too far away to have disturbed it herself. Shaking her head to deny any cause for such nervousness, she walked on, only to stop again after -a few steps when she heard a soft rustling sound behind her and slightly to her left.
It was possible that someone else was walking in the wood, of course, h it people passing in cars usually ventured no more than a few yards from the road, and the thought of it being Chris made her hesitate in her anxiety. His sudden appearance in front of he:, stepping from the shadow of the pine trees, brought an audible gasp from her and she stared at him for a moment with wide. wary eyes.
His grey eyes had a deep, dark look in the res-
tricted daylight admitted by the trees, and Isa stepped back instinctively, one hand to her throat in a defensive gesture that suggested alarm. She tried hard to keep her voice level and matter-of-fact, but it was not easy.
"Hello, Chris!"
He said nothing for so long that she began to wonder if he had decided not to speak to her at all, then he tilted back his head and looked at her from below half-closed lids, a cool, unfriendly look that dismissed any hope of his being any more reasonable this morning. A tight, closed look that would not forgive.
"Good morning, Isabella," he said, declining to use his more usual abbreviation of her name.
Isa glanced at him warily from below her lashes. Her heart was beating urgently hard at her side, although she had no real idea why his sudden appearance should make her so tremblingly nervous. Even after her dramatic flight from his cottage yesterday she was still prepared to be friends, or she had hoped it would be possible until now. Now she could see that Chris was interested only in something much more permanent and possessive than friendship and the way she felt about Toby precluded any hope of her changing her mind on that score.
"I—I hadn't expected to see you," she said. "Not here, this side of the grounds." The meeting could prove even more embarrassing than she had feared, and Isa found herself with the desire to run, thy-where, as long as it was away from there and way
from Chris and that cold, unfriendly gaze.
"Obviously!" he remarked acidly, and his mouth curled derisively at her embarrassment. "Just as I'd hoped to avoid seeing you!" he added maliciously. "It seems we've both failed!"
"Oh, Chris, please don't be so—so angry!" The plea was instinctive, and she had no other thought in mind but to banish that dark, unrelenting look that gave his handsome features such an unattractive hardness, but he looked at her with a sudden gleam in his eyes, as if he completely misread her intention.
"What's wrong, Isabella?" he asked harshly. "Isn't he interested in the hired help and you think I'll still be willing to marry you if you can get around me? Haven't you made the impression you hoped on Mr. Carmichael?"
"Chris!"
She stared at him, finding it hard to believe that he could be so harsh and unfeeling, or so maliciously spiteful, and she shook her head at the hurt it caused. He took a step nearer and, had it not been for the way her legs were trembling, she would have retreated before him, as it was she simply stared at him in disbelief. Hatred was a new experience for her, and it gave her a cold sense of helplessness to realise that any love he might have felt for her was now completely overwhelmed by the same bitter dislike and contempt he felt for Toby.
"I could have told you," he went on in a chill, quiet voice. "Toby Carmichael has only one thing
in mind, and you wouldn't stand for that at all, would you, Isabella? You want marriage and all the trimmings, but not with me—I wasn't what you had in mind at .all, was I?" His eyes glittered brightly with malice in the cool shadows of the trees and Isa shivered as she fought with a rising sense of panic. "Were you really fool enough," he jeered, "to suppose he'd treat you any different from the rest?"
"The way you meant to treat Faith Merton," Isa said, desperately seeking relief from her own hurt by inflicting some in turn, and Chris stared at her for a moment, his grey eyes dark and angry, a flush darkening his good-looking features.
"Oh yes, of course," he said very softly at last. "He would tell you that !"
"Isn't it true?" Isa asked, and a shuddering intake of breath made her voice shake uncontrollably.
Chris narrowed his eyes, making the admission defiantly, as if he refused to have a conscience about it, no matter what other people thought. "Yes, it's true he said harshly. "I asked Faith Merton to come and live with me, and if Carmichael hadn't interfered she would have come !"
"A girl of seventeen?" Isa found it hard to swallow, even on his own admission, and she looked at him with more regret than condemnation. "Didn't her parents object?"
"Of course they objected," Chris admitted impatiently. "That's what gave him his excuse to interfere!"
"Someone had to," Isa suggested quietly, her own
problems briefly overshadowed by the ghost of an episode that must have made Chris hate his antagonist even more bitterly.
"You think he should have a monopoly on promiscuity?" he demanded harshly. "As for the girl being no more than seventeen, she was no more naive than you are, and you'd go to him willingly enough if he'd have you!"
"Not—not go to him," Isa denied, finding it hard to control her voice. "As you said, Chris, I only want marriage and all the trimmings, and no matter what you think, "I'm not fool enough to think I can ever have them with Toby."
"I would have married you," Chris reminded her, still in the same chilling voice, "but that wasn't good enough for you, was it? You have to have the great lover himself "
"Chris—please don't !"
She put her hands to her ears and looked at him with wide appealing eyes, but to Chris it was a moment of vengeance and he meant to extract the last vestige of satisfaction from it. "So you really are in love with him, " In some twisted way it seemed to give him satisf
action to see it so plainly evident in her eyes. "Well, I'm glad," he said harshly. "Now you know how it feels!"
She could bear no more—and especially not from Chris whom she had looked upon as someone who loved her and would not hurt her. She looked at him for a moment, tears bright and shining in her eyes, then turned suddenly and ran.
Her legs felt oddly weak and she could hear noth-
ing as she went, for the heartbeat that drummed loudly in her ears and she did not yet see the similarity to yesterday, when she had fled from the cottage. This time, however, Chris was not following; he did not even call after her and she knew he would still be standing there, angry and resentful and not caring any more whether she ran away or not.
The carpet of pine needles made her retreat soundless but for the gasping sound of her breathing and the occasional crackle of dry branches as they broke before her headlong flight. She had no idea of the direction she was going, anxious only to put as much distance between herself and Chris as possible.
Several times she almost tripped and fell, but always recovered herself and ran on. There was no real path through the closely standing trees and she had nothing to guide her, nothing to tell her which way she was running, so that she simply fled blindly until a sudden swerve sent her pushing through a cluster of low-growing elder.
Without pause she pushed her way through and it was only when the ground seemed to open up beneath her that she realised where she was. The chill water of the hidden pool engulfed her almost at once and she screamed out in panic as she went in deeper, her mind whirling with visions of that long grey shape with sharp teeth. Pike or not, the creature had frightened her, and the thought of being in the water with it again was the last straw.
The slimy weed wrapped itself around her arms
and legs and even smeared itself across her face as she gasped for breath, while her legs kicked out frantically as she tried to regain the safety of the bank. It was bitterly cold, even colder than she remembered it from her last ducking, and her teeth were chattering as she hauled herself from the enveloping weed and on to the bank.
Coughing and spluttering, shivering with cold, she hauled herself out and collapsed in a wet and weeping heap just as someone emerged from the trees behind her. "Isabella!" The voice was anxious and for a brief second she thought it might be a contrite Chris come to her aid, but there was no mistaking the owner of that voice, nor the strong hands that suddenly lifted her and held her close, until the warmth of his body calmed her shivering.
He was on his knees beside her, heedless of the soaking wet state of her, or the clinging weed, that smelled as foul as ever it had and smeared the virgin whiteness of his shirt as he held her. One large hand pressed her tearful face to his chest and he rested his face on the damp, bedraggled chaos of her hair. "Isabella, ssh! It's all right, it's all right, you're not hurt! It's all right, little one, don't cry!"
The words whispered against her ear as he bent his head closer, his breath warm on her neck, his lips brushing the soft, damp skin gently, and for several moments Isa made no attempt to move but kept her eyes closed and let the tears run from between closed lids. It was ironic that she should be held in his arms so soon after admitting that she knew he would never feel anything in the least
serious for her, but she could not bring herself to break away yet, the strength of his arms was too comforting.
"Isabella?"
He held her at arm's length, looking down at her with a small half-smile on his face and a soft dark glow in his eyes that warmed her even more than his physical presence. "What happened?" he asked quietly, and Isa shook her head. Her instinct was to lay her head back on his chest and try to explain as best she could without looking at him, but he held her quite firmly with his hands on her arms and after a moment he got to his feet and gently helped her to hers.
She was stiff and cold and the weed clung to her like slimy lengths of tattered ribbon, but he seemed oblivious of it all and held her still by her arms as he looked down at her. "Tell me," he persuaded gently, "did you meet Chris Burrows?"
Isa glanced up swiftly, her lips parted, her eyes searching his face for some clue as to his knowledge.. "How—how do you know I've seen Chris?" she asked, and he smiled, shaking his head.
"I saw you both coming this way," he told her. "That's why I followed you, in case anything—happened."
"Nothing happened," Isa assured him, her heart fluttering wildly when she thought of him following along behind her because he feared something would happen between her and Chris if they met.
"Good!" He bent his head briefly and brushed his lips lightly across her forehead. "I'm glad I
don't have to punch him on the jaw—I wasn't really looking forward to it !"
"You—you'd have—" Isa shook her head when words failed her, her eyes huge and unbelieving, and Toby laughed.
"The best place for you is in a hot bath," he told her, and before she realised his intention he had lifted 'her into his arms and was carrying her back through the crowding elder at the edge of the pool. "I hope you're not allergic to horses," he said, "because I've no other form of transport available."
"Toby, I can—"
"Shut up and sit still," Toby told her, hoisting her up on to the saddle of his waiting horse. "You can do all the talking you want to do after you've had a bath—at the moment you aren't fit for the company of man or beast, with all that stinking weed on you!"
She said no more, but sat clinging tightly to the saddle while he led the mare back up the hill to the house. There was plenty of time for her to say what she had to say, and this was not the moment to break the news to him that she had decided to leave his employ.
Isa felt much better and she surveyed herself in the dressing-table mirror with a certain amount of satisfaction. There were no signs of her experience left on her person, and the only evidence that all was not well was in the shadowy darkness of her eyes as she looked at her reflection. Now was the time to tell Toby that she must leave, but she must
.
not let him know her real reason, of course. Another job, perhaps, although he was bound to want to know where and with whom, and to wonder why she did not ask for a reference.
She sighed, deeply, and looked at her reflection again, brushing back the dark hair from her face and wondering if Lady Carmichael would comment on the almost black colour of her violet eyes and the faint shadows beneath them. It was not going to be esay, but nor would staying on at Trent House be easy, especially now that Toby was showing signs of treating her more like a lover. Without a feeling as deep and lasting as her own, she couldn't let it go on.
There was no one at all in the sitting-room when she looked in, and she frowned, briefly puzzled, then went along to the kitchen. No matter what catastrophes occurred, or what personal traumas she suffered, the dinner still had to be cooked and it was still her job to do it.
With her mind only half on what she was doing Isa turned on the oven and set about preparing a cold sweet, and she was in the middle of whipping cream when the kitchen door opened and Toby came in. For a moment she paused in her task and looked across at him warily, then, with her eyes hastily downcast, she went back to it.
"Feeling better?"
He asked the question softly and came to stand only about a foot away so that she could feel the warmth of him as she whirred the beater round and round in the cream, her arm occasionally brushing
against him The words she had to say seemed to stick in her throat and she was appalled to find herself more inclined to cry than to quietly inform him that she would-be leaving his employ.
"Yes, yes, thank you." She licked her lips and wished she could have brushed a hand across her eyes to remove the haze that hid her view of what she was doing.
"Can't you leave that for just a minute?" he asked, and Isa shook her head. "Why not?" Two large and insistent hands reached over and took the beater from her unresisting fingers, laying it down on the table and disregarding-the m
ess it made or the brief, softly spoken objection she made. "Now look at me," Toby commanded.
"Toby, I have to make the—"
"You have to listen to me, little Isabella," he said softly, and turned her to face him, taking her hands in his, his thumbs moving with caressing persuasion on her wrists.
"No, Toby!" There was a hint of panic in her voice and she knew it, but she had to say what she must say now, before things got out of control again. Once Toby kissed her, as he obviously intended to do, she would find it much harder, perhaps even impossible, to tell him she was going and that she did not want to have an affair with him. She took advantage of his momentary surprise to have her say, although it was much more garbled and hasty than she had meant it to be.
"I'm leaving, I want to give you my notice. I know I have to work for some time yet, to work out a
notice or something, but I want to go, Toby, and—and I'm giving you notice now!"
"You're doing what?" He looked at her with bright, glittering eyes for a second and she was horribly unsure whether he was angry or amused, or just simply stunned by the announcement.
"I'm—I'm leaving—you, Trent House, I have to go!"
For a moment he said nothing, then he reached out a hand and just lightly touched her cheek with his fingertips causing the inevitable chaos to her senses. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you have to go, Isa? Is it anything to do with Chris Burrows?"
"No, oh no, there's nothing now with Chris—there never was really."
"Then why, sweetheart?" -
The endearment, spoken so softly in that deep, quiet voice, did incredible things to her heartbeat and she put a hand to her throat in a gesture that was vaguely defensive. "Please don't—please don't call me things like that," she said in a small, whispery voice. "I'd much rather you didn't, Toby!"