by Jane Corrie
That such a lovely creature should perish was a tragedy, but even more tragic was the thought that the tall good-looking man by her side, shown in a later picture, and proudly pointed out by Vicky as her father, should have shared the same fate.
The only comforting thought was that they had gone together, but Vicky had been left to pick up the pieces. No wonder she had closed her mind on the doors of grief, refusing to acknowledge that such a thing could happen. Sheena looked at her dark curly head as she bent over the album lovingly fingering the pages as each one was turned, and was almost persuaded that the child should be left to her dreams, for that was all that she had left.
She shook her head bewilderedly. It was no use thinking like that. Somehow Vicky had to be helped to come to terms with the blow fate had dealt her, and the sooner the better. Her heart was heavy as she followed Vicky out of the kitchen a short while later, and through to the sectioned-off part of lawn used as a tennis court. For the life of her she couldn't see how to bring about the desired result. It was just as Pietro had said. They could only hope for the best, and try and make things easy for her.
The hour the girls spent on the tennis court proved a relaxing occupation for both of them. Sheena found herself hoping that they could carry on playing, and that Pietro would take in Clay's coffee. She wanted to postpone their meeting for as long as possible, particularly after what had been said the previous evening. The way she felt about things there were
bound to be a few home truths aired, and she didn't feel ready or brave enough to enter into battle with such a forbidding character as Clay Dayman, who had a nasty habit of coming out on top at every confrontation she had had with him
Her hopes of a reprieve were dashed by Vicky's unhelpful, 'Golly, it's almost half past ! You'd better get back to the kitchen, Sheena. Pietro will have Clay's coffee ready.'
With such a reminder, Sheena could hardly argue the point, and with lagging footsteps she followed Vicky back to the homestead.
As predicted by Vicky, Pietro had set aside a tray containing a pot of coffee, and ominously, from Sheena's point of view, two cups and saucers. Vicky's knowing nod, and casual see you later, Sheena,' did nothing to soothe Sheena's apprehension at the coming meeting with Clay.
Sheena's hands were not quite steady as she carried the tray from the kitchen to the study. When she knocked on the study door and Clay's deep voice bade her enter, she heard another voice in the background as she obeyed the summons. A wild hope that he might have company surged through her, only to be quashed dismally as she saw that he was using a dictating machine and was playing back a section of tape.
At her entry he switched off the machine and gave her a forbidding look that left her in no doubt that he was displeased with her, and nodded curtly towards an empty space on his desk indicating that
that was where she should put the tray.
Her hands were even more unsteady as she placed the tray down, but her lips were tightly pressed together. If he wanted a fight he could have one, she told herself. Anyone would think he was the injured party, she thought indignantly, and what a nerve he had! Expecting her to toe the line after what had happened the previous evening I If only she could just walk out—if only she had somewhere to go—whispered her heart desolately.
She half expected him to demand that she pour their coffee out, but to her slight surprise he did not, but tackled the task himself, glancing up at her under his dark brows as he did so. 'You can sit down,' he said autocratically. 'You're not going anywhere.'
Sheena selected a chair as far away from the desk as possible, and collecting the coffee that he held out for her, settled herself down. Her thoughts were far from serene. There had been a certain inflection in his voice that she hadn't cared for at all, a kind of warning to her to toe the line or else, and a slight shiver went through her.
Her smouldering blue eyes surveyed the dark features of Clay Dayman as she sipped her coffee slowly. She wasn't going to be browbeaten by this man. What did she know of him anyway? So he had been kind to her father—well, she had tried to repay him for that—and might still have carried out his wishes if he hadn't adopted such bulldozing tactics. That she was being used as a pawn was not a comfortable thought, not even when it was for a good cause, but
she had been willing to accept such a role for Vicky's sake. Now she wasn't too sure that this autocratic male wasn't using her for quite another purpose.
A purpose that wasn't too hard to spot—it was, in fact, crystal clear from where Sheena sat—he was tired of Cynthia and was using Sheena to clear the decks for him. Only Sheena was not going to play that particular game with him. That was entirely his business and nothing to do with her and if she got the chance she would tell him so, she thought furiously.
`I hope you've had time to reconsider your rather hasty remarks about leaving,' Clay said, in a forbidding tone. 'You did agree to stay and see things through, for Vicky's sake if nothing else,' he added coldly, making Sheena feel that she had let him down at the worst possible time.
`And I meant to do just that,' she replied, just as coldly, showing him that she was not going to let him walk all over her. 'Before last night, that was,' she went on swiftly, her anger now mounting. 'But I didn't expect to be thrown into the fray quite so early after my arrival. You might have warned me,' she accused him tartly.
`Of what?' he enquired, with a lift of his autocratic brows.
Sheena took a deep breath. Not for anything would she allow him to see that the question had thrown her, since the answer should have been obvious to anyone else but this man who made his own rules and expected her to comply with them. 'I'm referring to Miss Layton,' she said through stiff lips, her blue eyes
sending off warning sparks to him not to dodge the issue.
Her heart quailed at the answering flash of fury in his dark eyes, but she was determined to hold her ground. If it was his private business, he shouldn't have brought her into it, she told herself stoutly.
I fail to see what Cynthia has to do with our private arrangement,' he said haughtily. 'Or just what you're worried about.' He gave Sheena a long considering look. don't intend to make passionate love to you—in case that's what's worrying you.'
A bright flush stained Sheena's cheeks and her coffee cup rattled in the saucer so loudly that she had to put it down quickly to avoid spilling coffee all over the carpet.
'So it is that,' said Clay, with a trace of amusement in his dark eyes. 'Well, I promise not to step out of line.' His eyes travelled lightly yet somehow speculatively over her embarrassed features. I seem to recall giving you the same assurance earlier,' he added lightly. 'So I'm repeating it. You have no cause whatsoever to back out on those premises.'
Sheena could have hit him. He had cleverly dodged the issue and left her floundering in a sea of indecision. Whatever his intentions were regarding Cynthia Layton, it was no business of hers, and she felt that he was telling her this in no uncertain way. She also felt gauche and unwanted. She had felt bad' enough after her flight from Barter's Ridge. Doyle had wanted her but had not loved her enough to marry her, and here was this ruthless character un-
derlining her aching sense of failure.
It was as if the very idea of his becoming embroiled with her in any way other than the proposed ploy to cure Vicky was causing him a vast amount of amusement, and it hurt. It hurt more than she would have thought possible. It was more than her pride, and Sheena was bewildered by her feelings. She didn't like this dark hard-faced man, so why should she allow him to get under her skin? In a way he was right, she conceded grudgingly; what right had she to set herself up as judge and jury where his personal relationships were concerned? No right at all, she thought miserably, only she knew what it felt like to be thrown aside. Cynthia was better off without him, as she was better off without Doyle. Better to cut loose and be done with it.
`So we go ahead,' said Clay, in a voice that brooked no refusal. 'You've nothing to lose, and we've both plen
ty to gain if we reach our objective.'
Sheena remained staring at the rich pattern of the carpet at her feet. She knew she wasn't expected to put up any more resistance. He knew what he wanted, and her personal feelings in the matter did not concern him—never would, she thought bitterly. As for both of them having something to gain—well, she couldn't see what she would get out of the mock engagement. She took a deep breath. There was Vicky, of course, and it was for Vicky's sake that she had agreed to fall in with Clay's preposterous suggestion in the first place.
Sheena swallowed. Once again he had taken the
initiative and made her feel selfish and unfeeling, and it wasn't like that at all, and it was so unfair ! It wouldn't be so bad if she hadn't got this certainty that there was more behind the mock engagement ploy than just a sincere wish to cure his niece.
Whatever it was, she was never likely to find out, she told herself. It was then that she recalled what. Clay had said earlier about useful side effects. So that was what he had meant by both of them gaining something from the situation. Her slim fingers clenched into a small fist. The man was despicable! He was stamping on her bruised heart just to gain his objective.
She stood up quickly as if unable to bear being in the same room with him. 'Very well,' she said, in a small tight voice. Her eyes said more than words as they clashed with his dark enigmatic ones. 'I gather you've no objection to my broadcasting the news to certain interested parties?' she asked, with a sardonic twist to her voice.
She did not name Doyle. She didn't have to, the sudden narrowing of Clay's eyes told her that he had got the connection. 'I'm taking your advice, you see,' she said quickly. 'You did suggest such a possibility, didn't you?' she added cuttingly.
`So I did,' Clay replied softly. 'I also said something else—something that it might pay you to remember some time.'
Sheena stared back at him. What did he mean by that? A slight frown creased her smooth forehead, but after a moment's thought without enlightenment
she shrugged the remark off as just another annoying comment of his to gain the initiative again.
Because his dark eyes were boring into hers, Sheena looked away quickly and bent down to retrieve her cup and saucer, glad of something to do to break the sudden tension between them. 'Shall I take the tray back to the kitchen? Have you finished?' she tacked on quickly, feeling an urgent wish to change the conversation.
For now, yes,' he answered slowly, then nodded at the tray at his desk. 'Yes, you can take that with you.'
Sheena's hands were even more unsteady when she picked the tray up than when she had first placed it on the desk. When she had asked if he had finished, she had been referring to the coffee and he must have known that, she thought furiously, but he had chosen to place his own interpretation on the mundane remark and answer it with some kind of warning that left her vaguely uneasy, though she couldn't think why.
With relief that their talk was now over, and that was all it could be called, and not a confrontation, Sheena walked to the door. 'By the way, I'm giving a dinner dance tomorrow evening,' Clay announced, as she reached the door, and as Sheena's startled eyes flew to his now mocking ones, he added softly, 'So now I'm warning you, I shall expect a little more cooperation from you from now on.'
The cups fairly rattled in the tray that Sheena held and she had to grip the tray hard to hold it steady
-
after this startling announcement. The fact that he was amused by her reaction turned her apprehension into fury and she managed to reply on an icy note, I shall do my best,' and only just managed to refrain from banging the door hard after her.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHEENA'S ruffled composure was somewhat soothed by the sympathetic Vicky, who after taking one look at the storm signs in Sheena's eyes when she arrived back in the kitchen with the coffee tray, tactfully suggested that they play a game of table tennis.
Had Sheena been given a choice as to how she filled in the rest of the morning until lunch, she would have preferred to be on her own. Her encounter with Clay had left her in a very bemused state. There had been a certain inflection in his voice when referring to future events, such as the dinner dance he was giving the following evening.
She had felt gauche and unsure of herself before, but now she was even more so. On the face of things she had nothing to worry about, yet she was worried and wished she could define the cause of her unrest.
Clay had used her attachment to Doyle as a cover for her disinterest in him where the romantic stakes were concerned purely to convince Cynthia of his intentions, but Sheena had a nasty feeling that it was a tactic that he would continue to use whenever the occasion offered itself. Particularly if she failed to come up to scratch. On this thought her firm lips clamped together as they entered the games room,
* * *
and she selected a bat and stood ready to receive the first service from Vicky.
It was really extremely clever of him, she thought, as she settled down to the game. By promoting the suggestion that his pursuance of her affections was an uphill task, he would leave himself completely free from any outward display of affection towards her—physically so, that was—and there would only be his spoken endearments to contend with whenever they were in company.
On reflection of this point, Sheena knew that she ought to be extremely grateful for his thoughtfulness on her behalf, but she couldn't rid herself of the suspicion that he had a double purpose in mind. She had thought it had been part and parcel of the removal of Cynthia from the scene, but now she was having second thoughts on that, and that brought her mind back to the dinner party.
`Clay's giving a dinner dance tomorrow night,' she said casually to Vicky as she retrieved the ball from the floor where a smash of Vicky's had scored a point for her. Did you know ?' she asked her, as she threw the ball over to her.
Vicky paused a moment before she got on with the game. 'No,' she replied. 'He didn't say anything to me, but then he doesn't. I'm not supposed to be present at those kind of do's, but I usually sneak down and raid some eats before they've all gone.' She grinned at Sheena. 'It's no use waiting to the next day in the hope of left-overs. Pietro's pastries are famous around here. Besides,' she added simply, 'I
like to see the dresses. I get a good view from the top of the stairs—they can't see me, but I can see them.'
On the mention of dresses, Sheena quickly changed the subject, fearing another lapse of Vicky's into her dream world. 'It's rather quick notice, isn't it?' she queried lightly. 'I mean, surely a dinner dance takes a while to organise? Has he got a band on tap, or something?'
Vicky's dark brows so like her uncle's, lifted at this. 'Oh, it's not a big affair,' she replied, 'although the women dress up for it, particularly a few I could mention,' she added darkly, thinking, Sheena surmised, of Cynthia Layton. 'There won't be more than eight guests, and they'll all be neighbours,' she went on. 'It's a sort of get-together, really. As for a band, we don't need one.' She nodded towards a cabinet at the end of the room. 'We've a hi-fi, and plenty of good records. I can't dance, can you?' she suddenly asked Sheena.
Sheena, whose thoughts had been on the neighbourly get-together and who was already beginning to feel a few qualms at the thought, blinked as she considered the question. Doyle had taught her to dance, and as with other painful memories it was something she would prefer not to dwell on, so she hastily replied in the affirmative and smashed back a winning return to Vicky that gave her the game, and would, she hoped, turn her thoughts in another direction.
Sheena might have known that her tactics wouldn't work, but at least Vicky's next question
was not the embarrassing one she had feared, such as who had taught her to dance.
`What will you wear?' she asked Sheena.
Sheena stared at her. What would she wear? She had nothing in the evening dress line. She had had no occasion to buy one, even if she could have afforded one. The dances she had attended wit
h Doyle had been local affairs and all of them at Barter's Ridge. `Do they all wear evening dress ?' she asked Vicky in a doubtful voice, not sure if Vicky had been embroidering a little on this.
Vicky nodded her head firmly. 'The men just wear dark suits,' she replied. 'But the women go to town. You'll see. Haven't you got an evening dress?' she asked curiously.
Sheena shook her head. 'I don't come from those sort of circles,' she answered simply. 'We had dances, but not the sort you dress up for.' As she said this an idea occurred to her that suddenly brightened her outlook. 'I think I'll sit at the top of the stairs with you, and we'll share the eats,' she stated, with a twinkle in her eyes.
`As if Clay would let you!' Vicky said indignantly. `You're the reason he's giving the party, I bet. We haven't had one for ages,' she added wistfully.
At the look of sorrow in Vicky's eyes Sheena said quickly, 'Well, I'll just have to turn up like the country cousin, won't I? I don't think it will really matter much, do you?' she added cheerfully.
`Clay won't like that,' said Vicky firmly. 'I'll find you a dress. There's plenty to choose from—' she
hesitated for a second before she added, 'Mummy's will be too long for you, but Maria's should fit you,' with a gleam of determination in her eyes.
Sheena had been about to expound on the 'Clay won't like it' theme and positively state her views on the matter, but the introduction of another female's name slightly threw her. `Maria?' she queried.