If he had, as she had put it ended everything between them, he would have had nothing for which to blame himself except his earlier impetuosity which had landed him in this mess. And of course, in time, he would have forgotten the whole incident.
But the suggestion or offer, whichever it was, had come from her. And if he accepted it, he knew perfectly well that he would never be able to forget that she was willing to let him have his freedom. Suppose, despite her protest, that meant she was glad of an excuse to get rid of him?
It was a humiliating thought. That a little nobody to whom he had paid the supreme compliment of asking to be his wife should be perfectly content to send him packing! It was intolerable!
But it couldn't be true! Right from their first meeting, he had know that she had been attracted to him. Indeed, her inability to hide her feelings from him had been one of her charms. Such innocent frankness was a marvellous change from the calculating worldliness of other girls he'd met—Evadne among them.
Of course she loved him—but he had to know for certain—and there was only one way to find out. He caught her roughly in his arms and held her close, his lips crashed against hers in a long passionate kiss. And hers responded.
At last he held her from him just sufficiently to look down into her flushed, tremulous face.
'Do you know, young woman, you just about scared the life out of me?' he said, more shaken that he would have believed possible. 'I thought, for one ghastly moment, that you were glad of an excuse to jilt me!'
'Oh, Mark!' her eyes were reproachful. 'How could you possibly think that!'
'You seemed willing enough to let me go!' he reminded her. 'What else could I think?'
Lisa's eyes fell from his.
'Just that—I love you so much that I would never want to stand in your light or make you unhappy,' she said steadfastly, but she held her breath because, after all, suppose he did want to be rid of her?
But she need not have worried. With a little wordless exclamation he drew her close again, this time tenderly and with something like awe in his expression.
'You really mean that!' he marvelled. 'What have I done to deserve you, Lisa?'
She melted into his arms and he did not hear her murmured answer, but it didn't matter. He had all the assurance he needed. She might not always appreciate the exigencies of the game that he and Simon Cosgrave played, but she would never do anything against his wishes. He was sure of that. At least, he was if only he could persuade the old man to change his way of looking at things a bit. After all, what was at least tolerated in the business world from a man of Simon's standing just wouldn't go down in the country. So if Simon wanted to pose as a countryman, he'd have to alter his ways. But that would take time, and for the moment there were other, pleasanter, more important things to discuss. .
'Do you know what the date is?' he asked, and saw from the lovely wave of colour that surged up in Lisa's cheeks that she knew to what he was referring. 'Yes that's it,' he said caressingly. 'Another week and our probationary three months will be up! So—' he lifted her slim hand and kissed her brown fingers, 'what's it to be? Diamonds? Emeralds? Rubies? Which would you like?'
'Oh—!' Lisa shook her head shyly. 'I don't really mind—it's you giving it to me that matters!'
Mark laughed.
'My precious unworldly darling!' he said softly. 'But surely you have some preference?'
Lisa frowned in an effort of concentration.
'Mark, I truly don't know,' she said at length. 'You see, I know so little about precious stones—and anyhow, I'd very much rather you chose. Then I'd know for sure that it will be what you want me to have. Please?'
Mark might have wished that she had not been quite so ready to confess her lack of knowledge of the things that money could buy. But on the whole, he was pleased. It was flattering to know that the girl he had chosen to be his wife simply didn't realize that there could be a mercenary side to marriage. Yes, that was certainly something, for, in his experience, a good many of them took the opposite view!
Just another week and she would be wearing Mark's ring for everyone to see!
It was really no time at all—and yet, to Lisa, the days seemed endless, filled with trivial events with absolutely nothing happening to make one stand out from another. For, to her surprise, during this week of all weeks, Mark didn't ring her up as he usually did practically every evening. Common sense told her that there was some perfectly good explanation for the omission, but though she tried to reassure herself that bad news always travels fastest, she grew increasingly restless and anxious.
And yet there was a perfectly simple way in which to set her mind at rest—that she should ring Mark up. But though she was at a loss to explain why, she couldn't bring herself to do so. Absurd, but there it was.
Nor did she feel she could possibly ask Mr Cosgrave, who was not in town this week, if there was anything wrong.
So she set her teeth and kept her head high—and everyone who loved her knew that she wasn't happy and that her nerves were stretched to breaking point-though they did their best not to let her see their concern.
She spent a lot of time out walking, deliberately tiring herself out so that she might hope to sleep well at night —only the hope was not realized and the shadows under her eyes deepened.
It was not until Thursday that anything happened of any note.
She was out on one of her walking jaunts when Tom stopped his car beside her.
'Hallo, Lisa!' he greeted her cheerfully. 'Dedicated to walking—or would you like a run to Arundel?'
'Oh—' she considered for a moment. 'Yes, all right —only I'll have to let Mother know.'
'Oh, that's all right,' Tom said carelessly. 'I told her that if I did happen to see you, I'd ask you to come —I don't really like driving alone if I can avoid it.'
Accepting the explanation at its face value, Lisa got in beside him, but once they were on their way, a question did occur to her.
'Tom, is this a professional visit?'
'It is,' he told her briefly.
'But isn't it rather far afield?' she suggested. 'Surely there must be a vet nearer at hand than you?'
'Oh, possibly,' he still spoke in that careless way, but now, to Lisa, it seemed rather overdone. However, he went on: 'But actually, the call I've got to make isn't as far off as Arundel and the owner of the dog concerned used to live at Addingly and would rather have someone who knows the dog's history—a fact which may be of use to me in the near future.'
A sudden change in his manner, a note of something very much like grimness in his voice, made Lisa look at him sharply.
'But I don't understand—you couldn't possibly run your present practice and another one miles away, could you?'
'No, I couldn't,' Tom agreed. 'But then, you see, it may become advisable for me to leave Addingly!'
'Leave Addingly!' Lisa echoed in amazement. 'But it's a first-class practice—'
'It is at present,' Tom agreed, and this time there was no mistaking his grimness. 'But whether it will be in the future—well, that's very doubtful!'
'But I don't understand—' Lisa said in a bewildered way. 'Why on earth—?'
Tom drew a deep breath.
'So you don't know anything about it,' he said with evident relief. 'Well, that's something, at any rate!'
'But about what?' Lisa urged. 'Oh, Tom, do for goodness' sake tell me!'
'All right, here it comes! Another vet is setting up— or being set up in Addingly. And rumour—no, something a little stronger than that—has it that his backer is Simon Cosgrave. Now do you understand?'
CHAPTER 8
Lisa stared speechless at the grim, rugged profile beside her. Then she shook her head.
'No, I can't believe it,' she told him.
'Why not? You heard Cosgrave say that I was going to regret what he was pleased to call my insolence for the rest of my life, didn't you?'
'Yes,' Lisa admitted uneasily. 'But honestly, Tom,
I can't credit that anyone would go to such lengths! And look at the expense it would mean!'
Tom shrugged.
'What you mean is that you can't imagine yourself going to such lengths because, for one thing, you're a nice person, and for another, you couldn't afford to. But Cosgrave is a wealthy man, and really, Lisa, you can't say he's nice, can you?'
'No,' she was forced to acknowledge, and then, after a pause: 'Tom, where did you get hold of this story?'
'Celia. And yes, she got it from her aunt which, as I know, you've already decided immediately casts some doubts on its veracity.'
'Well, it does, doesn't it?' Lisa said with a little grimace. 'Mrs Blewett is a frightful gossip, and we've all suffered from her tongue and her imagination at one time or another.'
'True enough,' Tom agreed. 'And if there was nothing more to it than that, I'd more than likely have discredited it. But as it happens, there's some circumstantial confirmation that it isn't so easy to shrug off.
To begin with, there is a new vet coming to Addingly by name, Robin Enderby. And if you'll take the trouble to walk along the Bardley Road for about three-quarters of a mile to the house old Mr Cunningham used to live in, you'll see his name-plate up on the gatepost with a typed note stuck on saying that he will be in residence in a week's time.'
'That only proves that a vet is coming, not that Mr Cosgrave has anything to do with it,' Lisa pointed out quickly.
'Oh quite,' Tom agreed. 'But taken in conjunction with—Lisa, have you heard anybody suggest that perhaps I'm not very good at my job?'
'Good heavens, no, Tom!' Lisa denied emphatically. 'Why, what an absurd idea!'
'No, I don't suppose anyone would say it to you,' Tom replied. 'But several times since the Chicot episode, I've had people whose animals I've been attending question my decisions. And one—the owner of a dog so fat that his undercarriage almost touches the floor—got so annoyed with me when I told her that all that ailed the poor brute was overfeeding that she went even further than that. She said that until now she hadn't been able to credit it, but now it was perfectly clear to her that I wasn't competent to care for animals either because I was indifferent to their suffering, or because I didn't know enough to make a competent diagnosis.'
'What!' Lisa exclaimed. 'But why? I mean, who put such an idea into her head?'
'Who indeed?' Tom said grimly. 'Naturally, that was what I wanted to know, and in the end I got it—or most of it. Apparently the story is going round that Chicot wouldn't have died if I'd had a bit more knowledge and had made more of an effort to save him. Oh, and also that my insistence that he died of heat exhaustion was simply an attempt to shift the blame from my shoulders.'
'But that's absolute nonsense!' Lisa said indignantly. 'No one who had so much as put their head inside that car could have doubted the truth of what you said. And as for doing more, you couldn't have done! And I know what I'm talking about, for I did put my head into the car after you'd lifted Chicot out, and I helped you with him.'
'So you did,' Tom said slowly. 'That's very fortunate for me, Lisa! Because, if it should become necessary for me to consider an action for slander—always presuming that I can discover the source of these stories —then you'll be an invaluable witness on my behalf!'
Lisa caught her breath and Tom gave her a quick, questioning glance.
'You would give the necessary evidence, wouldn't you, Lisa?' he asked.
Lisa moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. What was she going to say to that?
On the one hand, Tom was being most unfairly treated and common decency demanded that she should come to his rescue if needs be. And yet how could she forget what Mark had said—that already he had almost lost his job because of the part she had played in making Chicot's plight public knowledge? What on earth would happen if she were to stand up in court and give evidence that would make it clear how stupid this obloquy of Tom was?
'Well,' Tom asked drily.
Lisa squared her shoulders.
'If it comes to that, and if my evidence would help, then yes, I'd give it,' she said steadily. 'But I do hope it won't come to that—' her voice shook a little. 'I suppose—there isn't anyone else—any other way?'
'As a matter of fact, there is,' Tom told her. 'I called in the local R.S.P.C.A. man—and he made a very thorough examination. There was no doubt in his mind as to the cause of Chicot's death, and that will be made clear by him when the case against Cosgrave comes up in a few weeks' time. So don't worry, Lisa. It's at least a hundred to one that you won't be called then or later.'
'Then why did you ask me?' Lisa asked indignantly. 'Surely you must have realized—'
'That I was putting you on a spot?' Tom finished as Lisa left her sentence unfinished. 'Oh yes, I knew that all right.'
'Then why?' Lisa demanded. 'You've got to tell me, Tom!' as he hesitated.
'Just—I wanted to know what you'd say,' he explained.
'You mean—just curiosity?' even more indignantly.
'No, not that. At least, I mean, not idle curiosity. I—I wanted to know if you are still the Lisa I've always known—or whether the poison is beginning to work already!'
There was a moment's silence. Then Lisa said icily:
'Will you please stop—at once? I don't want to go any further with you!'
'Oh, rot!' Tom put his foot down hard on the accelerator and the needle of the speedometer seemed almost to jump up. 'If I put you down how on earth would you get home? Don't you realize we've done over twenty miles?'
'We're on the bus route,' Lisa reminded him. 'And even if we weren't, I'd rather walk than be cooped up with you here! So will you stop—or shall I get out while we're going?'
'For heaven's sake, you little fool—' Tom shouted as Lisa's hand went out to the door handle. 'You'll kill yourself!'
'Then stop!' she ordered curtly.
His lips pressed in a thin, tight line, Tom braked so hard that only the safety straps prevented her from hitting the windscreen. He sat motionless as she got out and for a moment Lisa hesitated.
'Tom, you must be wrong!' she said, unconscious of the pleading note in her voice. 'I mean—that Mr Cosgrave is at the bottom of all that you've told me!'
Without looking at her, Tom shrugged his shoulders.
'I can quite see that you'd like me to be, but I don't for a minute think I am. However, you don't have to take my word for it! If you want confirmation, ask your boy-friend—that is, if you're not afraid to!'
'Of course I'm not!' Lisa began indignantly, and stopped short since it was useless to talk to the back of a rapidly moving car.
Lisa reached home to find her mother anxiously watching for her from a front window. By the time she had let herself in with her key, Mrs Bellairs was in the hall.
'Oh, my dear, so Tom didn't pick you up!' she exclaimed. 'I'm so thankful.'
'As a matter of fact, he did,' Lisa replied. 'But never mind that. There's something wrong, isn't there, Mother? what is it?'
'Not exactly wrong, dear, particularly now that you're back,' Mrs Bellairs explained carefully. 'It's just that Mark rang up from the Manor—and he was rather put out that you weren't in—'
'But I'd no idea that he was likely—' Lisa began to excuse herself, and stopped short. 'Did he leave a message?'
'Oh yes, dear. He asked that if you came in within the next hour, he'd like you to ring him up.'
'How long ago was that?' Lisa asked, already walking in the direction of her father's study where the telephone was.
'Not half an hour ago,' Mrs Bellairs replied, and sighed as Lisa vanished into the study and closed the door firmly behind her. Of course it was only natural that young people should want their conversations to be private, and yet she couldn't help feeling that the shutting of that door meant something more than that. It was as if Lisa was shutting herself off from her family— as if Mark was a sort of barrier between them.
The telephone bell at the Manor only rang a couple of times be
fore Mark answered it, so he must have been waiting near for her call to come through.
'Mark, it's Lisa,' she said anxiously when he answered. 'Is there something wrong?'
'No, certainly not,' he said with what she could not help feeling was somewhat unnecessary emphasis, 'Simply, I've had to make a sudden change in my plans. I'll explain to you when I see you. I'm starting for London Airport in half an hour and I'll drop in on you for a few minutes on my way.'
'Yes, all right,' Lisa agreed. 'But Mark—'
'Sorry, Lisa, I can't stop now,' Mark said crisply, 'I'm waiting for a distance call to come through and I must keep the line clear!'
And he rang off. Slowly Lisa cradled the instrument, thinking as she did so, how difficult it appeared to be for men to realize that there were times when women just might have something important to say. First of all Tom had driven off, leaving her in mid-sentence, and now Mark had done exactly the same thing. What was more, he hadn't answered her call so promptly because he'd been waiting anxiously for it. It was this other distant call that accounted for his promptness!
She went slowly upstairs, took off her coat and changed her shoes and then went over to the dressing table. The face that she saw in the mirror was not a reassuring sight. Her hair was tousled—well, that could easily be remedied. And so could her make-up. But those woebegone eyes and the forlorn, drooping mouth— they were things that only Mark could cure—if he wanted to, that was. Actually, he hadn't sounded as if he was interested in anything except business—
Suddenly ashamed of her thoughts, she took herself to task energetically.
'You're being very stupid,' she told her reflection firmly. 'You know perfectly well that whatever one may want to do, there are times when one just can't because one has to fit in with other people's arrangements. And I expect that's what's happened now and why Mark sounded so abrupt. It was his business self talking, but when he gets here, he'll be different—' Her heart beat a little quicker at the thought of the dear, gay, smiling Mark she loved. 'So stop looking like a moulting crow and smile!' she ordered herself severely. 'Mark will be just as disappointed as you are and—' she glanced down at her bare left hand, 'I expect that's why he was upset that I wasn't in!'
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