by Nicola West
Linzi turned back and stared at him. His eyes were cold and implacable. Was he saying that if she did leave he would sue her and Anna? Surely not! But, looking into those cold blue eyes, she wasn't so sure. The last five years seemed to have hardened him. And since she must, at least in part, have caused that hardening, there was no reason to suppose he would have any compunction in taking any steps he liked.
'You wouldn't do that,' she said slowly, her fingers still massaging her wrists. 'Not even to get back at me ... Anna's never done a thing to harm you—why should she suffer?'
'No?' The eyebrow quirked again. 'She didn't exactly bend over backwards to help me when you took off five years ago, did she? Took you in—made a fuss of you— turned you into a top model. Without her, you might have seen sense, come back after you'd cooled down and saved a hell of a lot of trouble. Not that you'd have any idea what trouble you caused me—or care if you did. No, all you cared about was your spoilt, silly self.'
'That's not fair!' The tightly battened down emotions of five years threatened to break through as Linzi stared at him through a haze of tears. 'I wasn't ready for marriage—I realised that. And I knew you'd never listen if I told you how I felt. You'd already refused to let me go to college, or even away to work. You kept me on such a tight rein I hardly knew there was a world outside, let alone what it was like. I had to get away—and I had to do it secretly, because I knew you'd never let me go!'
'You're just rationalising!' His mouth was hard and angry, his eyes almost the colour of slate, their brilliance gone. 'Marriage was the only answer for us, and you knew it. After old Margery died and we were on our own, how else could we have gone on in the same house? And you were too young to be let loose ‑'
'I was, was I?' Linzi held up her hand so that he couldn't fail to see the thin gold wristwatch she wore, symbol of her success. 'But I managed to make my way, didn't I? This didn't come from being the failure you obviously expected me to be. Nor did my clothes, or my car, or my flat. Don't you think those just might prove you wrong, Mr Almighty?'
She panted into silence while his eyes assessed her coolly. The silence stretched out; Linzi's discomfort increased as he scrutinised her, his glance taking in every detail of her linen slacks, silk shirt and Italian shoes, the gold chain which encircled her neck, the leather belt that emphasised the slimness of her waist. Her heart thumped uncomfortably as his eyes left her body and met hers, holding them in an inscrutable stare that had a flush mounting in her cheeks. Speak, she wanted to say. Say something. But he still held the silence until, at last, he spoke in carefully measured tones, directly answering her last question.
'I wouldn't know,' he said, and the insult was unmistakable. 'After all, I don't know who bought them for you, do I—or under what circumstances.'
Linzi caught her breath. The implication was too plain for her to miss. Almost before she was aware of it, her hand had swung up and slapped Jason's cheek with a sharp crack that surely even Hugh must have heard. Immediately, aghast at what she'd done and terrified of his reaction, she took a step backwards, her golden eyes dark with apprehension. But Jason didn't move. He stood rigid, his muscles tense with the restraint he was all too clearly imposing, while the finger-marks blazed first white then red across his face.
'All right,' he said at last, and his voice was ragged. 'We'll forget you did that, shall we? At least for the time being. . . . But I've warned you once, Linzi. Next time you're going to be good and sorry, and don't you forget it.'
'Next time?' she repeated, her own voice shaking but still determined to hold her own against this tyrant. 'There won't be a next time, Jason. Didn't you understand what I said? I don't have to stay here—I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I've made my own way in the world—reached the top of my profession, and without help from you or any other man.' She glanced again at the thin gold watch. 'Anything you see me wearing I bought myself—out of my own earnings. So you needn't forget I slapped your face. Jason. In fact, I'd rather you remembered it—-just to remind you that I'm not the little Linzi you used to patronise. And as soon as you let me pass—and you'll have to move some time—I'll be down those stairs and into my car and away from you. And now I know where you are, nothing will get me back!'
She saw Jason's eyes widen as she spoke and knew with a stab of triumph that he was indeed seeing a new Linzi— not the little sister, eager to fetch and carry for him, but the woman she had become, confident and independent. And then the expression faded and the dark eyes narrowed to menace and, despite herself, she knew a pang of fear.
'And I made it clear to you,' he said slowly, his voice a low growl, 'that if you do that I'll be on to my lawyers before you've got as far as Crickhowell, instituting proceedings against you and Anna for breach of contract! I mean that, Linzi. And don't think it will all pass off unnoticed either. With a top modelling agent, one of her best models and Jason Carver involved, the story will make the front pages and gossip columns for months to come! And how will the up-and-coming banker like that, hey?'
'Richard!' Linzi's voice was a whisper. 'You know about Richard? And you—you'd drag him into it too?'
He uttered a short bark of scornful laughter. 'Of course I know about him! Your engagement didn't go unnoticed by the Press, you must know that. And I don't imagine this little bit of scandal would do his career a power of good, do you?'
Linzi turned away and stared out of the window. With every fibre of her body, every ounce of emotion, she longed to get away. To put as many miles as possible between her and Jason Carver; to push him once and for all right out of her life and her mind. But she knew that in this he had beaten her. It wouldn't be just Linzi Berwick who suffered if he carried out his threats, as she had not the slightest doubt he would do. Anna and Richard—the two people who' meant most to her—their whole careers could be ruined. Jason was well aware of that; and he was having no compunction in using it to blackmail her into remaining here. With a tiny, hopeless shrug of her shoulders, she gave in.
'You seem to hold all the cards,' she said at last. 'All right, I'll sit for you. But we keep it strictly business. Nothing personal.'
'No?' One eyebrow went up in a quirk that was so familiar it twisted Linzi's heart. 'Not after all we've been to each other? Oh, I think that's being a little unrealistic, don't you?' Sinuously, almost imperceptibly, he had come closer and was now standing almost against her, so that when Linzi took a quick, involuntary breath, the points of her breasts brushed against his chest. She had to tilt her head to look up at him and as she did so she felt his hands on her arms again, gently this time but with an inherent firmness that told her his grip could tighten at her slightest move to escape.
'Nothing personal?' he murmured, his voice so low that she could feel its vibrations through her own body. 'Not even a kiss to say hello after such a long, long time apart...?'
Linzi's lips parted in silent protest, but before she could speak they had been claimed by the hard mouth that had only moments before curled in scorn. Panic leapt within her as she struggled in his arms, but their iron grip tightened around her and she felt herself crushed against his rock-like body. Taking no resistance as denial, his lips forced her own further apart, making a devastating exploration as she gasped for breath. One arm still holding her firmly against him, he let his other hand begin a journey over her slender waist and full curves. She felt his fingers fasten over her breast and knew that she could struggle no longer. Her senses were whirling as she let her own hands creep up round his neck, her fingers playing in the tumbled hair. Her lips moved with his as a wild flame of delight and desire ignited her body and she moved against him, whimpering at the intense longing that invaded and threatened to overwhelm her.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, his lips left hers and he drew away a little, still holding her, and looked down into her face. Linzi gazed up at him, breathing quickly, her eyes huge in her pale face. For a moment, the softness that had swept through her body was still there; then she
saw the expression on his face and froze.
'Nothing personal, eh?' he mocked. 'That was just about the most personal kiss I've ever enjoyed—or is it your normal greeting to old friends? Maybe it is—you've been a long while away, and it seems you've found time to grow up.'
Linzi felt her face flame and twisted away from him. Her heart was thundering against her ribs again, but this time from anger. How dared he kiss her like that—waking up all sorts of unsuspected feelings—and then mock! And he knew just what he'd done to her, too, she mused bitterly. Knew exactly what response his lips and hands had called from her. Knew just how much he had aroused her.
'Don't do that again, or I will leave!' she spat at him. 'I don't think my contract covers that kind of co-operation. Any more of it, and I'm off!'
'Dear me,' he said silkily, 'we are the little wildcat, aren't we? Well, have it your own way, spitfire. I hereby promise I shan't touch you again—not unless you want me to, that is.' And he put out a finger and traced a delicate path from Linzi's cheek, down the slender neck and into the open collar of her shirt, keeping his eyes on hers as he did so. Linzi made a superhuman effort and kept quite still, trying to ignore the shivers that ran down her spine at his touch. She waited until he had removed his hand, then stepped away and said coolly:
'That'll be fine. We'll keep to that, shall we? Now, didn't Hugh say something about tea? It must be stewing by now, and I really would like some.'
Jason's eyebrows shot up at her coolness, then a touch of amusement quirked his lips as he said easily. 'Oh, Hugh won't let it stew. He'll make it as he hears us come downstairs. Would you like to follow me? Or do you want to wash your hands first?'
'Thank you, I'll wash,' Linzi said dismissively, and knew a tiny feeling of triumph as he turned and went out of the door. Almost as if she'd won that round, she thought exultantly; and then remembered that no one ever won in a battle with Jason Carver. . . .
Hugh had not yet brought her luggage upstairs—being tactful, no doubt, Linzi thought, and was grateful that he hadn't walked in on that scene with Jason—so she simply washed in the small but luxurious bathroom, and tidied her hair, brushing it to bring the chestnut gleam back after Jason's rough handling. Her pale blue shirt and matching slacks still looked neat, showing off her slim but curving figure to perfection, and she felt quite satisfied with herself as she looked in the mirror before turning to run downstairs.
Nevertheless, it wasn't that easy. The past half an hour or so had been a severe shock to Linzi. To find Jason Carver here, to realise that he was the mysterious 'artist', had awakened all kinds of unwanted memories and emotions, The two years between her father's death, only a few months after her mother's fatal car accident, and her eighteenth birthday, hadn't been easy ones. Left in Jason's care, she had at first been delighted; to have her idol to herself had seemed almost sufficient compensation for having lost both parents so young and so quickly. But Jason himself had soon dispelled any ideas she might have had about leaving school and living with him at the Cornish studio. He had insisted that she remain at school for a further two years, whereas Linzi had always intended to leave at the earliest possible moment. He had been more autocratic than any parent during the holidays, making her work at her holiday tasks and keeping a strict supervision of her leisure activities. Linzi, to her fury, had found herself always the one in any group who had to be home earliest; the one who was forced to leave the all-night parties before they'd properly begun, the one who had to ring home and report where she was if plans were changed, the one who had to take boys home to be approved before being allowed to make dates.
It was after one furious weekend of rebellion, when she had had a stand-up row with Jason and slammed out of the house to walk all night on the beach, that he finally suggested marriage.
Margery, the elderly housekeeper, had just died after a short illness. Linzi had been aware that Jason had been concerned about their situation, alone in the house, although it hadn't worried her. Her own adulation of him had disappeared since he had become so dictatorial, and her first reaction to his proposal was that he just wanted a cheap housekeeper. But he'd soon convinced her that that wasn't the case. No wife, he had told her with a rueful grin, had ever yet proved to be cheaper than a housekeeper!
'I've been thinking about this for quite a while,' he had told her as they looked out from the cottage window at the sand-dunes. 'We get along pretty well most of the time, we know each other through and through, and I know your parents would have been pleased. Look, I realise things haven't been easy for you, losing them both like that.' His face had twisted suddenly with pain. 'I loved them too, you know. They were mother and father to me as well. I miss 'em like hell, so I know just how you feel.'
It was that that had won Linzi's heart. Until that moment she had never seen the pain and grief that Jason had been bearing alone; too wrapped up in her own loss, she hadn't realised it had been his too. All her teenage love for him flooded back as she stared at the rugged face, its lines softened now by memories. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the rough cheek, traced a line down the strongly-jutting jaw. Jason was essentially a lonely person, she told herself, solitary as he worked all day in his studio with the harsh materials that were his trade. Perhaps he needed her. Just as she, restless and unhappy, needed him.
'All right, Jason,' she whispered, lifting her face for his kiss, 'I'll marry you.'
And he had kissed her, she remembered now, still poised on the top step of the stairs. But it hadn't been a kiss like the one he had given her not half an hour ago, the one that had brought a tingle to her spine, an urgent desire to her flesh. It had been tender, gentle, almost brotherly.
And it had left her strangely dissatisfied.
But all that would have to be forgotten now. If she were to get through this assignment—and pray heaven it wouldn't last too long—with any kind of dignity at all, the events of five years ago must never be allowed to surface, the emotions they awoke never be brought out into the open. To cope at all, she and Jason must remain on a cool, professional level; friendly because that was the only way to do it, but no more than that. For a heart-sinking moment she wondered if she would be able to go through with it; then she thought of Anna and Richard and knew that she must, ‑'
And before she could change her mind, she -was on her way down.
The door on the right, Hugh had said. Taking a deep breath, Linzi opened the door and went in.
The first thing that met her eye was the view through the large sliding patio window, open now to the fresh warmth of the September evening, and looking up the same valley that she had seen from her bedroom. Outside was a terrace, with a table on which tea was set; as she crossed quickly to see the view more clearly, she realised that Jason was lying back in a garden chair near the table, and from his feet rose the golden-brown bulk of a large Alsatian dog.
'Don't worry, he won't attack,' came Jason's amused voice as Linzi hesitated; 'He'd like to shake hands, though. Then he'll know you're an accepted member of the household.'
And that's a joke, Linzi thought ruefully as she took the huge paw the dog offered her, feeling the roughness of his pads and the stiff hairs. The dog regarded her from dark brown eyes, then returned to his master and lay down again, still keeping his gaze fixed on her.
'All right, Bracken, it's a friend,' Jason told him. 'Come and have some tea, Linzi. It's all here—bara brith, Welsh cakes, scones and honey. Hugh's welcome for you.'
'It's very nice of him to go to so much trouble.' Linzi poured herself a cup of tea. 'Does he do all the cooking?'
'No, I have a go myself occasionally. But Hugh looks after things generally, though we do have a village woman for cleaning. Most of my time goes on my work, of course.' He glinted a look at her. 'I find it rather difficult to believe that you didn't at least suspect who the anonymous "artist" was, you know. You must have had at least half an idea.'
'I didn't! Not in the least!' Linzi retorted indignantly, then c
aught herself wondering if that were entirely true. Why else should Jason have impinged on her thoughts so much in the past few days, when she had thought her memories successfully buried? Was it some form of telepathy—that because he was arranging for her to come here, he came closer to her mind? Impatiently, she shrugged the idea aside. What nonsense—she'd been more aware of him simply because she was considering marriage, after having sworn that she never would again.
'I suppose I might have suspected if you'd used the word sculptor rather than artist,' she admitted thoughtfully. 'Presumably that's why you did it!' Indignation simmered again. 'I still think it was very underhand ‑'
'I've explained that.' His voice was abrupt. 'I knew you wouldn't come if you knew it was me, and I wanted you. Not for any—personal—reason, don't worry. But because for the commission I've got, you're exactly right. I'll show you why later.'
Linzi stared at him, fascinated. 'But how did you know I would be right? I might have changed—I might be completely different—'
'My dear child,' he said scathingly, 'do you think I didn't know exactly what you were like? Do you think I haven't known exactly where you were and what you were doing during the past five. years? There was still that promise I made your father, you know. I've known just when you were in London, when you were in Paris or Rome. I knew when you went to New York and how well you did there. I knew when you stopped spelling your name Lindsey and called yourself Linzi. There's never been a day when I haven't either known where you were likely to be, or couldn't have found out.'
Linzi stared at him, feeling her body turn cold. All those years she'd been trying to forget him, and he'd known her every movement! Oh, not the details, she realised that—it was just the broad outline of her life that he referred to. But even so, she couldn't escape a feeling of being trapped—hunted. Like a dog, let off the lead but knowing that it could be called to heel at any moment.