A Will to Love

by Rosina Lesley

  ‘I’m sorry that your first visit to your new home should be in such uncongenial circumstances. I have organised the staff to prepare the house as well as they could for your arrival, but you will appreciate that I cannot leave at the drop of a hat.’ The tones were Arctic, the hooded eyes expressionless in the fine drawn face, under still dark hair drawn back ballerina fashion from a high broad brow.

  ‘N … no, of course not,’ stammered Annie, getting more confused and angry by the minute. ‘I don’t expect you to, but …’

  ‘But they didn’t tell you I was a cripple?’ Marion Tallon-Smythe shot a triumphant look at her son.

  Feeling hot colour flood her face, Annie shook her head.

  ‘Well, now you know, Miss King. Perhaps you would like to go upstairs and freshen up? I ordered dinner for 7.30 – I hope you don’t mind, but as you weren’t here to do it yourself …’

  ‘N-no of course not,’ said Annie again, mentally cursing herself for being such a wimp. Was that all she was ever destined to say to this astonishing woman? Straightening her shoulders, she cleared her throat.

  ‘I would like to go to my room, if one has been prepared for me. If not, I can always stay at the Bull and Buckle in the village.’

  ‘Oh, you know the area, do you?’ Marion eyes narrowed.

  ‘No, but I took the precaution of making sure I had somewhere to stay, being a trifle unsure of my welcome here.’ Annie looked back defiantly.

  ‘But this is your home. How could you doubt that you could stay here?’ Marion bared even white teeth in what was presumably supposed to be a smile, and Annie shuddered inwardly.

  ‘Under the circumstances, Mother, quite easily.’ Murray stepped forward and placed what Annie was sure was a warning hand on his mother’s shoulder. Marion moved petulantly and swung her wheelchair away towards the fire, reaching out for a packet of cigarettes on a small table as she passed.

  ‘I’ll show you upstairs.’ Murray was still watching his mother with a frown on his face.

  ‘Thank you.’ Annie turned back in to the hall and retrieved her overnight bag, waiting for him to precede her up the stairs, which he did in silence, leading her along a corridor at the top to a door at the end, which he opened and stood aside for her to go in.

  ‘Here you are. No en-suite bathroom, I’m afraid, but there’s one two doors down the corridor. I shall be downstairs in the study if you want me.’

  ‘Is that the room we’ve just been in?’ Annie put down her bag and turned to look at him.

  ‘No, it’s the other side of the hall.’

  ‘Mr Campbell,’ Annie said sharply as he went to close the door. He stopped with his hand on the latch.

  ‘Why didn’t you try and explain the circumstances more fully when you came to see me?’

  ‘You hardly gave me a chance, did you?’

  ‘Then why didn’t the solicitors put me in full possession of the facts? I assume this is why you accused me of destroying your mother? That she needs all of Henry’s inheritance because of her – because she …’ Annie stumbled to a halt.

  ‘Because of her condition? Because she’s disabled?’ Murray smiled sardonically. ‘Miss King, we have a lot to talk about. Let’s be civilised about it. I shall organise coffee in the study after dinner and we can discuss the situation. If …’ he paused and bowed mockingly in her direction, ‘you don’t mind my organising your household?’

  Annie made an incoherent sound of fury in her throat and watched him close the door quietly behind him.

  For a long moment she stood still, staring at the door, before finally turning with an impatient exclamation to survey the room. A sloping floor had been close carpeted in moss green, in the middle of which stood a high double bed covered in a patterned chintz which matched the floor length curtains. An old chest of drawers held a ewer and basin and in the corner a full length mirror on the door of an ornately carved wardrobe reflected Annie’s angry image back at her. Sighing, she unwrapped her cape and peered at herself in the flyblown glass. Her heavy light brown hair was escaping from its plait, and her deep set hazel eyes looked huge in a pale heart shaped face that showed shadows of tiredness. She wondered if she ought to change her woven brown skirt and hand knitted jumper before dinner, but nothing had been said about changing, so she decided to settle for a wash and changing her lace up ankle boots for a pair of flat velvet moccasins. Brooding, she turned to take her washing things out of her bag.

  What an incredible situation. Nothing had prepared her for the shock of finding Marion Tallon-Smythe in a wheelchair. It put a whole new slant on why she was so incensed at losing her inheritance, but surely, Henry was not so unfeeling that he had left her without support? Even the solicitors had said she was adequately provided for - and what about her son? Surely if he came from a banking family he could help her? Or had his family cut him off for taking his mother’s part? And what was he doing here anyway? Tallon House was nothing to do with him, surely? Annie shook her head and opened the door to look for the bathroom.

  Quarter of an hour later, she made her way downstairs and surveyed the doors leading off the hall. One had a light showing through the crack, so she went and tapped lightly. It swung open under her touch and she found herself in a long dining room, an old dark oak refectory table set with three places, polished silver and glinting crystal reflecting firelight from a small Victorian fireplace. It was very quiet. Annie looked round briefly and went back to the hall.

  ‘Were you looking for me, Miss King?’ Annie whirled round at the sound of the voice at her shoulder.

  ‘Did I startle you?’ Marion’s teeth were bared once more in her wolfish smile. ‘I must apologise, my wheelchair is so silent I forget I can take people by surprise.’

  I bet you don’t, thought Annie, recovering her composure. Aloud, she said, ‘No, I was just exploring, thank you. Your son said he would be in the study.’

  ‘Ah. My son. How did you like Murray, Miss King? A stunning looking fellow, isn’t he? And extremely rich.’ The hooded eyes were watchful.

  ‘I have barely had time to form an opinion of him.’ Annie lied. ‘However, his manners left a lot to be desired when he visited my shop.’

  ‘Really?’ Marion hissed. ‘But then, the poor boy was distraught on my behalf. I really believe he would have committed …’

  ‘Murder, Mama? Surely not.’ Murray’s deep tones cut through the tense atmosphere as he strolled, as silently as the wheelchair, into the hall.

  ‘Murray!’ Marion turned awkwardly, disconcerted, Annie was sure. Her thin hands clutched the arms of her chair, her shoulders taut under her green silk shirt that was the only garment Annie could see, the rest of her being hidden under a thick beige rug.

  ‘Almost an hour until dinner, Mother. Go and have a rest. Annie and I will have a drink and get to know each other.’ He looked over at Annie under his brows while gently turning his mother’s chair towards the back of the hall. ‘Do you want me to help you?’

  ‘I can manage,’ his mother spat back at him. ‘I’m not totally helpless.’

  In the silence following her departure, Anne eyed Murray warily. He turned round and catching her gaze on him, smiled. Annie felt as if she were going down in a lift and caught her breath in shock. What was she doing? She couldn’t possibly find this man attractive – how could she?

  Speculatively, Murray moved over to her.

  ‘Having second thoughts, Annalise King?’ He stopped in front of her, his big broad body overpowering in the thick creamy sweater, his legs aggressive in the faded blue denim. The thatch of night dark hair looked dishevelled and Annie was aware of a sudden curling sensation deep inside and unwelcome heat flooding her body.

  ‘Second thoughts about what?’ she managed through a dry mouth.

  ‘Returning to claim your inheritance. What else?’ He lifted a long, well shaped hand and brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face. Annie shivered.

  ‘No.’ She cleared her husky throat. ‘Why shou
ld I be? I just want to get a few things straight, that’s all.’

  He looked at her in silence for a few seconds and then sighed, a breath of sound that whispered across her forehead and had her biting down on a trembling lip.

  ‘Come on, then. We’ll go into the study. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Have you any whisky?’ Annie followed him into another doorway and found herself in a small room equipped with a large modern desk and a computer terminal, its walls lined with books.

  ‘Have you any, you mean?’ He grinned at her, going to a small side table on which stood an array of bottles. ‘All this belongs to you, after all. And your father had a highly developed taste in whiskies. Do you like single malts?’

  ‘Er, yes. Thank you.’ Annie was more used to the blends served over a bar, but she wasn’t going to say so. He handed her a cut glass tumbler.

  ‘Anything with it?’

  ‘Water, please.’

  He poured water from a jug and took a glass for himself, perching on the edge of the desk.

  ‘Now, where shall we begin?’

  Annie stared into the amber depths of her drink before taking a tentative sip.

  ‘Could we go back to where you came bursting into my shop so high-handedly?’ she asked, determined to take control of the situation which seemed to be rapidly slipping away from her.

  ‘High-handed? Was I?’ He stood up ad walked round the desk to sit in the swivel chair. ‘I seem to remember you weren’t exactly welcoming.’

  ‘How could I be when you came in and virtually took over? You closed my shop, ordered me upstairs and started an inquisition.’ Annie sat up straight, indignant.

  ‘All I did was suggest we would be better out of the public gaze and ask about your mother.’ He swirled the liquid in his glass.

  ‘You interrogated me!’ Annie heard her voice getting higher.

  ‘You were highly antagonistic towards me, if you remember. All I was trying to do – as I said – was ascertain I had my facts right.’

  ‘And to tell me I had destroyed your mother.’ Annie flung herself back in her chair.

  Murray pushed a hand through the thick black hair, leaving a wayward lock falling across the broad brow. ‘I suppose I must apologise for that. Your attitude had been so very unhelpful, you goaded me into it.’

  ‘My attitude?’ Annie gasped in astonishment. ‘You walk into my shop calmly demanding that I tell you all sorts of intimate details, without even offering me proof of your identity, without even having the courtesy of ringing me up beforehand, and you sit there and tell me I have an attitude problem?’

  ‘Very well.’ He brought his hand down sharply on the desk, making Annie jump. ‘For the sake of peace I’ll admit I acted somewhat precipitately, but there were reasons.’ He stood up and walked away from the desk, his back to her.

  Annie waited until her breathing had returned to normal and took another sip of her whisky.

  ‘Right, then,’ she said. ‘So what were you trying to find out and why? And what were the reasons that you acted so - precipitately?’ She laid deliberately heavy emphasis on the last word and watched as he turned back to face her and after a moment came back to sit down.

  ‘As I said at the time, I was trying to make sure of my facts.’ He sighed and leaned back in the chair. ‘I had to make sure you were who we thought you were.’

  ‘Hadn’t you better start at the beginning?’ Annie asked. ‘What happened when my father died? Where was your mother living then and what exactly did she expect? And where do you come in to it?’

  ‘Let’s take it one a time, shall we?’ He raised one eyebrow at her, his eyes steely grey now, the sea under a stormy sky. Annie subsided.

  ‘My mother has been living in a ground floor apartment in my house for some years. It has been specially adapted for the wheelchair and we have incorporated all the usual features to make life easier for her.’ He paused and took a reflective mouthful of whisky. ‘However, she looked forward to her – independence, shall we say.’

  ‘But surely she couldn’t be sure that Henry would die before she did? Or was she expecting independence from another source?’

  ‘Henry was ill. You didn’t know that?’

  ‘No!’ Annie’s head shot up. ‘What with?’

  ‘Kidney disease. He had been waiting for a transplant for years and spent a good deal of his time on dialysis. He knew he would die before Marion, which must be why he arranged things as he did. He wanted to acknowledge you and your mother and knew if he left it to Marion it would never be done.’

  ‘So she thought she would inherit everything?’

  ‘No, not everything. But she expected this house, which had already been converted for Henry’s convenience, and his shares in the family business which would enable her to be independent of me.’

  ‘Of you?’ Annie was bewildered.

  Murray pushed a hand through his hair again and closed his eyes. ‘I had hoped not to have to tell you any of this just yet, but I suppose it was inevitable.’

  ‘Then don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ Annie stood up suddenly and discovered that she was shaking. ‘Just tell your mother that she can have the house - and the money. I don’t want any of it. I never did. I tried to do it through the solicitors - I don’t know why she refused, but all I want to do now is go away and forget it all. So if I might use the phone, I’ll arrange a room at the Bull …’

  He was round the desk before she could move, her wrists held in a vice like grip.

  ‘No, you might not. You’ll stay here and hear the rest of the story. Just because you find something a little unpalatable …’

  Annie tried ineffectually to pull her wrists away. ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what? You suddenly found yourself feeling compassion for my mother whom you came here prepared to fight?’

  With a final wrench Annie pulled away, feeling warm colour slide up her neck.

  ‘I thought so.’ He leaned back against the desk, arms folded across his chest. ‘We’ll postpone the rest of this discussion until after dinner, when you’ve had a chance to relax and calm down.’ He reached behind him and picked up his glass. ‘Come on. We’ll wait for her in the small sitting room. If I know her she won’t stay in her room for long.’

  ‘But I thought you said she was to have a rest?’ Annie picked up her own glass and followed him out in to the hall.

  ‘The day she does anything I suggest we’ll have three blue moons.’ Murray led the way back to the room where she had first been taken. ‘What did I tell you?’

  Marion was sitting in her wheelchair staring into the fire, a lighted cigarette between her fingers, a tall, frosted wine glass in her other hand. As they entered she looked round.

  ‘Well, well. And have you got to know one another in such a short space of time?’ she said waspishly. ‘Or didn’t you want to bother after all, Murray? A bit of a waste of time, I would have thought.’ Her eyes raked Annie from head to foot, disapproving of what she saw.

  ‘Mother!’ said Murray warningly, stepping round Annie to stand in front of his mother’s chair.

  Annie bit her lip and lifted her chin bravely. ‘As neither of you had changed for dinner, I assumed I needn’t either.’ she said, ignoring the fact that she had brought nothing to change in to – or nothing very different anyway. Murray’s eyes followed the same route as his mother’s, but more kindly, and he smiled slightly.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of her, Annie. You look charming.’

  Annie felt the now familiar blush spreading up her neck and looked down. Who was he kidding? She didn’t need his mother’s snort of amusement to know that she hardly looked as though she belonged here. Even Murray in his sweater and jeans looked more at home than she did, in her craft shop skirt and sweater and thick tights. She took a sip of her drink and discovered that her glass was empty.

  ‘Here, let me give you a refill.’ Murray came and took the glass from her, his fingers closing moment
arily around hers. Her eyes flew up to meet a suddenly arrested expression in his, then it was gone and he was moving away, leaving her nursing a hand that was tinglingly alive. She swallowed hard. Surely he wasn’t flirting with her? He who had been so arrogant and overbearing towards her? And why? She wasn’t anything like the glamorous type of women she was sure he normally mixed with, just a dowdy little artist with no make-up and untidy hair. Honestly, she must be going out of her mind.

  But all the time Murray spent talking gently to his mother about unexceptional subjects, drawing Annie into the conversation whenever he could, she found herself abnormally aware of him. The play of firelight on his hard face, the way his shoulders moved under the thick wool of the sweater, and the stretch of the denim across his thighs as he moved his legs. Eventually, the fluttering underneath her ribcage became too much for her and she stood up on unsteady legs.

  ‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I’ve got five minutes before dinner, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Murray stood up with old fashioned courtesy, eyeing her curiously. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled back brightly. ‘I’m a little too warm, that’s all. I thought I’d find something lighter.’

  He nodded. ‘You can find your way back down here?’

  ‘Yes. Won’t be a moment,’ Annie said briskly and swept out of the door.

  She regained her room and leaned back on the closed door with relief, trying to get her muddled thoughts in order. Whatever had happened to her? The most obvious thing was that the whisky had affected her on top of a long and stressful drive and the abnormal atmosphere awaiting her when she arrived. She straightened up and nodded to herself. That was it. After all, Murray was only displaying – a little late, admittedly, – good manners towards a guest and making up for his initial antagonism. She went to her canvas bag and rummaged in its depths, pulling out a chocolate brown fine knitted roll neck sweater, which she hurriedly changed into, surveying herself in the wardrobe mirror critically. Tucked into the belted waistband of her skirt, it certainly looked smarter than her thick sweater, and on a sudden impulse, she pulled the band off the end of her loose plait and shook it out, separating the silky strands with her fingers. Then she extracted the fine silver chain on which hung her precious locket from under the sweater and stood back once more to study the result. She looked different. Refusing to admit this was exactly what she wanted, and why, she quickly turned and left the room, making her way back downstairs towards whatever the rest of the evening might hold.