by Jane Corrie
Her fingers gripped her napkin hard; she had to leave, for other memories were crowding in on her, and she needed to be alone to accept them. `I've a headache, Michael,' she said quietly. `I'm sorry to break the evening up so early, but do you think we could go?'
Teresa never really remembered getting home
that evening. She quite purposely refused to think about anything except allaying Michael's fears that she was ill, and somehow managing to convey to him that she only had a headache, which after all might have been expected, considering that it was the first time she had spent an evening out since her accident.
She must have proved her point to him, for after attempting to make a date with her for the following day and having been gently refused on the excuse that she needed a rest, he had accepted her refusal with an equanimity that had made her want to hug him, and saying that he would look forward to their next date, he saw her into the chalet.
The following morning, Teresa awoke to a day that no longer held confusing side issues. Bit by bit, the past had slipped into place. She clearly remembered her old home, but more precious than that, she remembered her mother and brother, and had a curious sensation that they were very close to her. She hugged this thought to herself in grateful remembrance, praying that she would never ever find herself suspended in limbo again, not knowing, or being able to care about those who had loved her.
Her thoughts inevitably turned to Carl—not the pompous, overbearing man he had appeared to be, but to the man she knew; a warm, loving, and understanding personality. The one who had lifted her out of her misery and into the realms of light.
A tiny teardrop glistened on her lashes as she recalled what she had said to him not twenty-four hours ago, asking him what right he had to interfere
in her life. 'Every right?' she whispered to the silent room.
She could even remember the night of the party and the ensuing events, and sighed as she recalled his apology for what had happened. She now knew the reason why she had walked out on him that night. She had thought he did not love her, and she hadn't been able to bear it.
A slow smile quirked the corners of her full lips—but he did love her ! So much so that he had been willing to uproot himself from the home he loved, just to take her out of the firing line.
Teresa's thoughts roamed on, and she visualised her uncle's reaction to what he would consider her change of heart. But what did he know of her and Carl? He was so wrapped up in the past that he couldn't see that people change, and life moves on.
She frowned. Was it really necessary for them to go up north? Was it Uncle Patrick who was the fly in the ointment? The thought brought a smile to her lips. Well, she could handle Uncle Patrick! He wasn't going to be allowed to carry on this stupid rearguard action any longer—and as for Carl She closed her eyes. 'I'll make it up to you, my darling,' she whispered, 'and you won't have to uproot yourself,' she promised fervently.
After a quick shower she dressed in a blouse and jeans, and eyeing her meagre wardrobe, wished she had the rest of her clothes there so that she could have worn one of her special dresses for the date with Carl that evening, but as it was the rest of her luggage was still at Sunset Ridge, and she only had what
she had been able to bring with her on that fateful evening when she had walked out on him.
When she was ready Teresa went in search of her uncle; the sooner he knew she would be marrying Carl, the better. At the thought of the wedding, she stopped dead in her tracks. Carl had said ten days, and that was two days ago ! That left not much more than a week for her to prepare her trousseau! She gasped, then suddenly remembered that Carl had bought her her wedding dress before they left England. He had wanted no hitch in the wedding arrangements, for they were to be married at Sunset Ridge, and she recalled his teasing comments at the time. 'There won't be any time for shopping, my love. I intend to show you over the property before the great day, and that will take up most of our time. There's so much I want to show you.'
Her steps almost broke into a dance as she continued on her way. Life was wonderful! Oh, how she wished Carl had made an earlier date with her; seven o'clock seemed aeons away.
She slowed up. Ought she to ring him? Her eyes sparkled; of course she would! She ought to have thought of that before
When she reached the kitchen, slip was surprised to find no evidence of her uncle having made himself a cup of tea. Everything was as she had left it the previous evening. She frowned, and called out down the corridor, 'Are you having a lie-in, Uncle?'
The silence that followed told Teresa that she was alone in the chalet, and she walked to the hall and looked at the message pad lying beside the telephone. As she saw her uncle's hurried scrawl of an
address, her brow cleared; he had evidently been called out on a job. He had mentioned that he would be extra busy from now on, for the 'wet', as he called, it, was due any time now, and it promised to be a record one. 'Everything comes to a halt, then,' he had explained. 'So folk try and get all cattle movement over by then.'
Going back to the kitchen, she made herself a cup of coffee; she was too excited to eat anything, and had just made the coffee when she remembered she had meant to ring Carl, and dashed back to the hall to make the call. Her heart thudded as she located the number she wanted and dialled it. What ought she to say? Would just 'Darling, I'm sorry,' be enough? She nodded to herself, he would understand what she was trying to tell him.
The call was answered by a woman with a strong Scots accent, and Teresa remembered it was Mrs Ray, Carl's housekeeper, and she wished her 'Good morning,' and asked if she could speak to Mr Elton.
Mrs Ray answered, sounding a little puzzled, as if trying to place the person on the other end of the line. `I'm sorry, he's not here at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?' she asked.
Teresa thanked her but said no, she would be seeing him later that day, anyway, and rang off. She smiled as she wondered how long it would take Mrs Ray to work out who had called.
Back in the kitchen, she sat sipping her coffee and thought about Carl, and wondered where he had gone. He was, of course, a very busy man, and could have been anywhere on the ranch—or perhaps he was just out riding, enjoying a morning gallop?
Her thoughts roamed on, and she recalled the girl who had been at Sunset Ridge the day Carl had taken her back there. She frowned in an effort of concentration; she must have been introduced to her at the engagement party. Then she had it ! Isobel Johns, her family were Carl's nearest neighbours, and Teresa remembered Carl saying that he had grown up with Isobel and her brothers as constant companions. Her look was wistful as she wondered if Carl was out riding with her now.
The peal of the doorbell brought her out of her reverie, and into a state of joy—it was Carl! She was sure it was, and she rushed to the door. Her welcoming smile froze on her face as her hopeful eyes met the cold blue ones of the very person she had been thinking about a few minutes ago.
Isobel Johns stood there, her eyes taking in the peeling paint of the front door, and Teresa could almost feel her repugnance at having to make a call in such a neighbourhood. 'Yes?' she said coolly, wondering why she had been so honoured, for it was clear that Miss Johns thought it was an honour.
'I want to talk to you,' Isobel said haughtily. `Do you mind if I come in?'
Teresa stood aside. 'Not a bit,' she answered airily, and recalling her antagonism at their last meeting, knew it was no social call. 'Although I can hardly imagine what we can have to talk about,' she added frankly.
A whiff of expensive perfume assailed her as Isobel swept past her and waited to be shown into the sitting-room.
'In here,' said Teresa, and opened the door for her.
Her reaction to the room slightly echoed Carl's, and Teresa silently told herself she would make him pay for that, in the nicest possible way, of course!
With her eyes disdainfully resting on what might prove to be the best bet for a comfortable seat, Isobel drew off one of her wh
ite gloves, and fastidiously flicked it over the seat of the chair before she sat down, and Teresa felt her hackles rise. She had a temper to match her hair, and if Miss Johns didn't watch her step she would soon be on the receiving end of it !
'This lost memory,' began Isobel.
'I beg your pardon?' broke in Teresa in a dangerously low voice.
Isobel looked at her with narrowed eyes. 'You heard! ' she said thinly. 'And I might as well tell you, I don't believe a word of it! '
Teresa took a deep breath. Losing her temper wasn't going to help at this stage—later, perhaps I 'It happens to be true,' she replied quietly, 'whether you believe it or not.'
The girl leant forward towards her, and Teresa absently noted the fine cut of her yellow silk suit that artfully highlighted her curvaceous figure. 'Shall I tell you what I do think ?' she bit out.
Teresa met her look candidly. 'You will, anyway, won't you? So go ahead,' she said, keeping her voice light.
'I think you're using it as a way to bring Carl to heel,' Isobel hissed, and Teresa was shaken by the venom in her voice. 'You hadn't much choice when your uncle appeared on the scene, had you? He was a sight too early, wasn't he? He ought to have waited until after the wedding.' She shrugged dis-
dainfully. 'Not that that would have got you out of your dilemma—Carl would have thrown you out, anyway.'
Teresa sat very still, but her eyes never left the other girl. `Go on,' she said softly.
'I'm right, aren't I?' Isobel said triumphantly. 'You might as well admit it. You won't be able to fool Carl much longer—oh, I'll agree that your ruse has worked so far. He really feels guilty about the whole thing; the poor darling feels bad enough about it to throw up Sunset Ridge.' She met Teresa's startled eyes. 'Oh, yes, I know all about his plans for moving up north, but that wouldn't suit you, would it? It's Sunset Ridge you want; like all the Raffertys you'll never be satisfied until you take over Sunset Ridge.'
Teresa was beyond questioning, the girl's rather biased point of view. The fact that Carl had discussed his plans with her hurt.
'I want to tell you here and now,' went on Isobel, 'that no matter what, no Rafferty will rule over Sunset Ridge. Carl might be able to forget your birthright, but he'd never allow that. Why do you think he's tearing up his roots? Because he couldn't stomach that, that's why ! '
The blood drained from Teresa's face and she felt
sick. Isobel, seeing that her thrust had gone home, went on relentlessly. `So you're wasting your time,' she grated. 'It won't take Carl long to work out what you're up to, and,' her eyes glinted at Teresa, 'I pity you when that happens.' Her contemptuous gaze swept the room, then returned to Teresa. 'If I were you, I'd settle for Michael Oates. It's a bit of a
comedown from what you were aiming for, but at least you'll land up with more than you'd get from Carl. He doesn't believe in handouts, not to the Raffertys, anyway.'
Teresa's shattered senses were somewhat revived on this last jibe. Not only was Isobel warning her off Carl, but she had the audacity to suggest another partner for her! 'Tell me, Miss Johns,' she asked in a voice that trembled slightly, she was so angry, 'have you any plans for Carl? You might as well be honest with me, I think we've got past the stage of the velvet glove treatment."
Isobel Johns' eyes flashed and Teresa had her answer. She had known it all along, of course.
'As a matter of fact, I have,' she retorted sharply. 'I might as well put you in the picture. Carl will marry me—as he should have done. It was what both our parents wanted.' She carefully studied her well-manicured nails. 'He knows he's made a dreadful mistake with you. He didn't have to tell me that; he's been so miserable since he came back, it's obvious. For my part I'm really grateful to your uncle for jumping the gun like that.' Her eyes bored into Teresa. 'What chance of happiness would there be for either of you? Tell me that! If you really cared for Carl you'd keep out of his way.'
Teresa got up slowly, feeling as if every bone in her body had turned to jelly. She had had enough of Miss Johns' enlightening company for that morning, -and intended to show her the door. 'It's been very ... interesting,' she managed to get out lightly, determined not to show her her true feelings. 'I expect you've other calls to make. So if you'll excuse me ' She opened the sitting-room door and stood
purposefully beside it.
Isobel got up swiftly; it was obvious she wasn't quite sure how to take Teresa's answer, and decided on one last snipe. 'You'll be wise to follow my advice,' she said smoothly. 'Your uncle hasn't long to go before retirement, has he?'
Teresa wondered what on earth she was getting at, and blinked as she tried to connect the question to the previous conversation, but failed.
'He'll need all the work he can get before then,' Isobel continued calmly. 'But I warn you, if you persist in this pathetic last-ditch stand, it won't only be you who feels the lash of Carl's temper when he finds out you've tricked him. Many of the ranchers who employ your uncle are friends of Carl—not only friends, but some are dependent on him for their livelihood because he has shares in their property. Just one word, Miss Cottam, that's all it would take, and your uncle wouldn't get another trucking order.' She brushed her hand lightly down her dress as if removing any particles of grime that had dared to cling to her. `You might care to think about that side of things,' she added maliciously, `and I shouldn't think the Oates would be too well off either. There are other auction premises, you know.'
On this shattering revelation she swept past Teresa and towards the door, and with her synthetic smile drawled, 'I'm sure you'll be sensible, won't you?'
For a few minutes after Isobel had gone, Teresa stood in the hallway, then as if jerking herself into
action she walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. With an almost automatic gesture she picked up her half-finished cup of coffee, but as the liquid touched her lips she grimaced and put it down again. The feel of the cold liquid on her lips served as a kind of shock treatment that awakened her dazed senses and brought her back to all the heartache she had pushed aside since she had regained her memory.
Her lips twisted wryly; and she had thought it was going to be so easy ! A feeling of hopelessness overwhelmed her, and she sank her bowed head on to her arms resting on the table, unleashing her misery in tears.
Why couldn't she have been left in the state of limbo? Why had she to be awakened back to unhappiness? She gulped. Isobel Johns loved Carl too, that much was evident, and she had fought for him with the only weapons she had had available. Teresa utterly discounted her threats regarding her uncle's work; Carl was not a vindictive man, and she might have been tempted to discount the rest of Isobel's spiteful accusations, but for something she had said just before she had left—and that something dovetailed to a nicety with Teresa's previous thoughts. 'If you really love him, you'd leave him alone,' she had said.
Teresa swallowed. How right Isobel had been when she spoke of the slim chance of happiness for either of them. Hadn't she come to the same conclusion?
It hurt, but she made herself go over her last meeting with Carl, and how he had asserted that he
''
loved her and how, for her sake, he was willing to makes fresh start elsewhere; at this point, Isobel's harsh words struck through her consciousness : 'Carl might be able to forget your birthright, but no Rafferty will rule over Sunset Ridge.'
Teresa gave a shuddering sigh. Was it true? Was that the real reason why he had decided to pull up his roots? Her fingers clenched themselves into a tight ball; it was a question she would never know the answer to—Carl wouldn't be likely to tell her, would he? and she had a horrible suspicion that Isobel might well be right. She closed her eyes as she recalled Carl's stunned reaction to her uncle's disclosures that night. It was all there if one cared to look. He'd even admitted how he'd felt, and asked to be forgiven for his bitter reaction. Oh, yes, she thought, as she dried her face with her, by now, extremely damp handkerchief. He'd done his best to explain, and
she had believed him, because she had wanted to!
Getting up slowly from the table, and with hands that shook slightly, she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She was in need of a hot drink, but more than that she needed some task to keep her thoughts at bay. But try as she would, they kept hammering at her, refusing to be pushed aside.
She had so very nearly fallen into the pit that had been dug all those years ago. She couldn't jump over it, as she'd almost convinced herself she could. It was either keep away or go down—and not only her, she thought miserably, but Carl too, trapped by the spadework that had gone before. Would their love be strong enough to withstand the isolation?
For that was what it would be for Carl—away from his home and friends. She gulped; she couldn't answer that one either—only for herself—she loved him enough to try and make him happy, but then she wouldn't be the one making the sacrifice, would she? It was easy for her, but Carl would have to love her very much to even consider throwing everything up. Perhaps he did ... but what of the future? How long would it take for him to start to pine for the things he had left behind, for the ranch that had been built up over the years by his forefathers, of whom he was so justly proud? Here again, Isobel's voice intruded. 'He's so miserable.'
The kettle was boiling, and Teresa made herself some more coffee. Her hands no longer shook; she knew what she had to do—she really hadn't any option in the matter. In a way she was grateful to Isobel. But for her, she would have rushed headlong into the pit and dragged Carl with her. She straightened her slim shoulders; it wasn't going to be easy. She just had to act as if she didn't know him—in other words, Carl must never know she had regained her memory. She loved him enough to give him back his freedom, ,and his beloved Sunset Ridge.
CHAPTER NINE