by Lucy Gillen
His use of her Christian name seemed to have become firmly established, she noticed, and was rather pleased about it, although whether her uncle would feel as pleased was another matter.
‘It’s a good job. you were there,’ the doctor ventured softly. ‘A young woman needs a man’s help at times like this, no matter how independent she may be, eh, Miss McCourt?’
Tarin merely smiled, saying nothing that would either confirm or deny his theory, and Darrel’s fingers tightened momentarily on her arm, as if he approved of her silence. The doctor watched while Darrel saw her into the car again, and nodded his head, evidently finding confirmation in the act of courtesy.
‘It’s a grand thing when such nonsense as a feud ends,’ he said in his soft voice, still apparently trying to see what he wanted to see in their behaviour. ‘It’s high time, you’ll agree!’
Neither of his callers answered, but for a brief moment Tarin looked into Darrel’s brown eyes and saw the deep glint of laughter that enjoyed the old man’s persistence. ‘Feeling O.K.?’ he asked softly, and she nodded.
Driving back through the village neither of them said a word, but the one time that Tarin ventured a glance at him from the concealment of her lashes she met his gaze full on her and hastily looked away again. The glitter of laughter was still there and she found it infinitely disturbing.
‘I don’t know why you find my being hurt so funny,’ she told him, her mouth unconsciously pouting reproach.
‘I don’t!’ His denial was only to be expected, of course.
‘Then whyâ’ she began, and he laughed softly.
‘I’m thinking what old Doc Robertson’s going to make of this little caper,’ he said.
‘And you find that funny?’
Her blue eyes sparkled indignantly, and she foresaw, all too easily, another quarrel looming. Public opinion, she thought, had never deterred the Bruces, and the present holder of the name was no exception. It wouldn’t worry him that Doctor Robertson would probably be regaling his cronies with whatever interpretation he had put on their visit. Her own prickly, uneasy manner and that possessive hand on her arm, the warmth in those brown eyes when he looked at herâthere was so much that could be misinterpreted and she, for one, was not happy about it; her uncle would be even less so.
‘You’re afraid for your reputation?’ he suggested softly, and Tarin did not answer. ‘Or are you afraid of what your uncle might say when he hears you’ve been seen with the Bruce?’
‘Please don’t laugh about Uncle Robert,’ she begged in a husky little voice. ‘Heâhe’s very serious about it, you know.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘But sooner or later he’s going to have to see the light, isn’t he, Tarin?’ The brown eyes glanced at her briefly again over his shoulder. ‘If you really want to see an end to this ancient nonsense,’ he pointed out, ‘your uncle won’t have much choice.’
‘I do,’ Tarin assured him without hesitation. ‘You know I do!’
‘I hope you do,’ he corrected her softly, and pulled up outside her uncle’s house, turning in his seat for a minute to look at her steadily. ‘And if you do you’re going to have to work at it, Tarin.’
‘IâI know.’
Her heart was beating so hard she could scarcely hear what he was saying, and she licked her lips in her nervousness. So much, it seemed, depended on her, and on Darrel too, although she suspected she would be expected to make most of the effort.
One large hand reached out and enclosed hers in strong brown fingers that curled tightly for a moment encouragingly. ‘We’ll make it,’ he said confidently.
Robert McCourt arrived home only minutes after Tarin came back with Darrel, and she guessed he would be more than simply curious to see Darrel’s car outside, if indeed he recognised it. In fact he looked quite stunned when he found him actually in his house, and for a moment Tarin held her breath in case he ordered him out.
Common sense and good manners prevailed, however, and he merely murmured a polite greeting, as if to a stranger, and asked what he could do for him. It was then that he noticed there was something wrong with her hands and he frowned anxiously.
‘Tarin!’ he said, taking her hands in his and staring at the red and angry tips covered with acqua-flavin. ‘What on earth have you done, lassie?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Tarin told him ruefully. ‘But I’m all right, Robert, honestly. I burnt my hands taking a hot cake tin out of the oven, but fortunately Mr. Bruce was here and he ran me down to see Doctor Robertson. It’s nothing to worry about.’
Assured of her recovery, her uncle immediately took up the fact of Darrel Bruce having been visiting his home while he was absent, and he frowned at him curiously. ‘You were here?’ he asked bluntly, and Darrel half smiled.
He could guess, Tarin thought, what it cost her uncle to have a member of the family he still thought of as enemies, actually under his roof, and probably visiting his niece in his absence. Probably it amused Darrel, but it would certainly not amuse her uncle and she was anxious to let him know the reason for the visit without delay.
‘Mr. Bruce has some business he wants to discuss with you, Robert,’ she told him. ‘I think I’ll go and see what I can do about that mess in the kitchen while you talk to him.’
‘Business?’ Her uncle’s frown was even more puzzled, and he looked at Darrel watching Tarin leave the room.
‘Take it easy with those hands,’ Darrel warned, and she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, a strangely lilting sensation in the region of her heart as she met his eyes which were grave but glowing dark.
‘I’ll be careful,’ she promised softly, and closed the sitting-room door behind her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Something Tarin had always enjoyed, even as a child, was walking, especially in such country as this, and since she was unable to do anything much with her hands for the time being, she took advantage of her enforced idleness and went for a long walk the following day. Her uncle had assured her that he could cope quite adequately with what cooking there was to do, so she had taken herself off with an easy conscience.
The events of yesterday had given her much food for thought and she wondered if she was being too optimistic in thinking that the much desired end to the feud was even nearer than she dared hope. Darrel had seemed so serious about them working for that end together and she saw no reason to doubt his sincerity.
It had been something of a minor triumph to learn that her uncle had agreed to supply Deepwater with some badly needed pumps for the hotel’s private water supply, and she guessed that Darrel had made a better impression on Robert that he was prepared to admit.
As old Doctor Robertson had said, the whole silly business had gone on for far too long, and if the present generation could be the means of ending it once and for all, then so much the better. Darrel and her uncle had apparently come to some agreement, and although her uncle had said little about it to her afterwards, despite his reticence she sensed he was quite pleased to have the hotel’s custom. His was quite a small business despite the fact that it was doing very well.
With her surroundings lending themselves to undistracted thought, she dwelt on one subject after another, going over in her mind all that had happened since her return to Deepwater. Finding Darrel so different from the youth she remembered with such clarity had been somewhat upsetting, but his older image had been even more disturbing. For all that she had moments of misgiving she had not had any real cause to regret her move north.
She enjoyed her work most of the time, and she was forced to admit that she had worked for worse employers than Darrel. She got along well with Mrs. Smithâher defensive rudeness to Darrel had soon been forgotten, and she seldom saw the rest of the staff.
She’d come into contact with few of the guests, except the American, Conrad Stein, and she spent a moment wondering if he had left the hotel altogether, for she had seen nothing more of him since that first meeting on the carriagewa
y. He had expressed a wish at the time to see her again, but probably that had been no more than a somewhat flattering form of politeness.
Whatever it was, she had not seen him since, and she shrugged him out of her thoughts and gave her mind to other things as she continued with her solitary walk. No one could be out of temper for very long in such surroundings, she felt sure.
She was enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool fresh breeze that kept it from being too hot. The hills, even those close at hand, had a misty, ethereal look that she always found so enchanting, and the same soft, dreamy atmosphere enhanced Stonebeckâas if that mysterious village of legend might appear at any minute in its green hollow, ribboned with silver water.
The soft cushion of budding heather gave a spring to her step as she walked, heading for the tiny loch of Torin’s Pool that sat like a gem in its beautiful setting. The water was still, but for a faint, almost indiscernible ripple across its surface, stirred by the light wind, and it mirrored a clear blue sky fluffed over with white clouds.
The little loch always looked so incredibly deep, despite its small surface area, and she had heard legends of it being haunted by a past McCourt who had drowned in its peaty depths. Perhaps, she pondered wryly, driven to desperation by a contemporary Bruce.
A windblown rowan hung its head near the water’s edge as a reminder of bleaker days and several beeches huddled into a mass of pale spring green along its banks, while the last catkins still danced on the branches of the sauch or goat willow.
The only sounds to be heard were the whisper of the wind stirring the trees and the distant throaty cry of a pheasant somewhere. The whole scene had a tranquillity that Tarin found just as moving as its beauty, and she stood for some time at the water’s edge with her eyes closed and her face lifted to the cooling wind.
It was some instinct, some sense that she was no longer alone, that made her open her eyes suddenly and turn her head, and she frowned. No specific sound had warned her of anyone approaching, for even a horse’s hooves were deadened by the cushioning heather, but when she looked over her shoulder the only moving thing was a horseman coming her way. It was only now, as he came nearer, that she heard the first faint steely jingle of harness.
Seeing the rider her first thought had been that it must be Barrel, but a second look assured her it wasn’t. The figure was shorter and thinner and less, just a little less, expert, if she could count herself any judge. Whether he too recognised her, she was unsure, but certainly he urged his horse to greater speed and came racing towards her, and she recognised Conrad Stein.
Her reaction to his appearance was somewhat mixed, for although she had liked him well enough at their first meeting some weeks before, she was reluctant to have such peace as Stonebeck offered disturbed by a stranger, no matter how charming. Whether she wanted his company or not, however, it was plain that he meant to join her and she could see that he was smiling as he came.
She had to admit that he was an excellent rider, but he lacked Darrel’s style and panache, his air of arrogant self-confidence, and consequently he appeared less impressive. Despite her reluctance to have her peace invaded she nevertheless gave him a smile of recognition as he joined her.
He reined in his mount and dismounted almost in one movement and stood beside her, his smile wider than ever, as if he had no doubt at all that he would be welcome. ‘Hello, Miss McCourt!’
‘Mr. Stein.’
Before she had time to even remember her hands he had grasped them firmly in greeting and she winced, despite an effort not to. He looked at her anxiously, startled by her reaction. ‘Gee, I’m sorry,’ he said hastily. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Smiling ruefully, Tarin nursed her two hands together against her chest. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Stein,’ she told him. ‘I had an accident yesterday and my hands are a bit painful.’
‘An accident?’ He looked even more anxious. ‘Not too serious, I hope.’
‘It was entirely my own fault,’ she admitted readily. ‘I should have known better than to take a hot tin from the oven without a cloth.’
‘They’re burnt?’ He took both her hands this time and bent over them anxiously for a moment. ‘I am sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you too muchâ they look kind of sore.’
‘They are,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘But I’ve no one to blame but myself.’
She was quite glad in. a way, now that he was there, that he had joined her, and she smiled at him encouragingly while he retained his hold on her hands, the reins draped on one arm. It was obvious from the expression on his boyish-looking face that his pleasure at seeing her again was quite genuine, and she could not possibly object to that.
‘I somehow never expected to see you again,’ he said. ‘Do you always come out here and walk alone, like this?’
‘Quite often,’ Tarin told him, wondering if she was misreading the intention in his eyes. ‘More especially when the weather’s as nice as it is now. I love this late spring, early summer weather, don’t you? And the scenery is absolutely breathtaking, don’t you think so?’
‘Quite beautiful!’
The expression in his voice and the look in his eyes made it plain that he applied the adjective as much to her personally as to either the weather or the surrounding scenery, and the realisation gave her a warm glow of well-being suddenly.
A man like Conrad Stein was just what she needed for her morale when Darrel Bruce was in one of his autocratic moods. Someone to soothe and console her, and it was a pity, she mused ruefully, that she had not had the benefit of the American’s morale-boosting company only a couple of days ago when she had suffered a badly bruised ego.
A quite minor point of office business had caused one of their inevitable differences and, as usual, she had come off worst in the exchange. Darrel had verbally beaten her and she would have welcomed someone like Conrad Stein to help make her forget the experience. Conrad Stein, she felt quite sure in her own mind, would never, as Darrel had done, tell his secretary that she could either do as she was damned well told or get out.
She hadn’t taken him at his word, of course, and he had been very kind and helpful yesterday, when she had hurt her hands, even if his kindness was suspect. It did a lot to make up for his bad temper the day before, although it was not the first time they had clashed violently and she doubted if it would be the last.
Both she and Darrel had pretty forceful tempers, and he was inclined to be impatient with her more conventional methods of doing things, so they were bound to clash on a number of points. Having someone like Conrad Stein to turn to in moments of crisis could well be the antidote she needed, if he was as anxious to further their acquaintance as he appeared to be.
Remembering how he had stated a wish to see her again at their first meeting, she was puzzled by his not having done so. ‘I wondered why youâ’
She shook her head and hesitated to go on, then looked at him from the shadow of her long lashes and again wondered if there was a good reason for his not having contacted her. ‘I wondered if you’d remembered me,’ she said, and he immediately reached for her hand again, stroking her fingers as if to impress her with the truth of what he was saying.
‘I’ve been away for a while,’ he told her, ‘and then when I tried to come in and see you after I got back your boss put up the bar!’
Tarin blinked at him a little dazedly for a moment. ‘Did he?’ she said huskily.
It was something of a surprise to think of him standing guard to make sure that no one came and interrupted her while she was working. It was surprising too that Conrad Stein had not laid down the law more insistentlyâafter all, he was a paying guest as far as she knew, and surely entitled to a certain amount of concession.
‘He said you were busy,’ he explained. ‘And he’d rather I didn’t bother you while you were working, andâwell, you know how Darrel can be! He’d as soon have kicked me out if I’d gone against him!’
Tarin looked at him curiou
sly, smiling at the seriousness of the statement. ‘Oh, surely not, Mr. Stein,’ she said. ‘You are a guest at the hotel, after all.’
‘Not quite in the usual sense,’ he denied, but didn’t make any other explanation, so that Tarin was more puzzled than ever about just what he and his sister were doing there, unless they were private guests. Certainly from the way Gloria Stein walked around in and out of the office, it looked that way.
‘Anywayâ’ he shrugged and pulled a face, ‘I just lay low and hoped I’d spot you off duty some time.’
‘And you have,’ Tarin smiled.
‘Sure, the luck of the Steins!’
Evidently, Tarin thought, she had been right to assume that Darrel would not like his staff mixing with the guests, whether paying or private, and for a moment she tried to see snobbery as one of his faults and couldn’t. But there could surely be no other reason for his refusing to let Conrad Stein come in and see her.
‘I spotted you from way back!’ he grinned, and his youthful-looking face appeared more school-boyish than ever. ‘Don’t tell me that prayers are never answered!’
‘I’m sorry you had so much trouble trying to see me,’ she said with a smile. ‘But as you say, I do know how Mr. Bruce can be.’
‘Isn’t he the limit?’ Conrad asked, shaking his head. ‘You’d think he owns you, not simply pays you to work for him, the way he lays down the law! Don’t you ever feel like kicking up?’
‘Sometimes!’ Tarin laughed, wondering again at his frankness with a virtual stranger.
‘But you never do?’ he asked, and she pulled a wry face.
‘Quite often,’ she told him ruefully, ‘but it doesn’t do me much good, I’m afraid! I’ve never won an argument yet!’
‘Does he bully you?’
They were walking together along the side of the tiny loch as they talked, with Conrad Stein leading his horse, and adapting his normally longer stride to suit her more leisurely pace. Being still unsure just what his standing was with Darrel, she hesitated to be too frank with him, even though she had said nothing so far that wasn’t completely true.