Stormy Rapture

by Margaret Pargeter

  Absently he nodded, yet made no attempt to move in that direction, seemingly still doubting her capabilities as his eyes scrutinized her closely. "How long have you worked for my uncle, Miss Lawson?"

  "Since I left secretarial college."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "A year or two ago now."

  Not consumed by curiosity, he accepted her vague reply. "So, apart from the domestic scene, you could say you knew him very well?"

  "You could say that, Mr. Redford," Liza nodded cautiously, her eyes, suddenly wary, fixed on his.

  "But you have reservations?" His perception, as his glance went over her guarded face, was too sharp. "I wonder to what scene they apply—the domestic or the business one? Your co-operation could be useful, Miss Lawson. Note that I too have reservations. You knew him in both spheres, if you lived with your mother in my uncle's house, but you could be prejudiced. You probably realize that, to a certain extent, I'm groping in the dark—not that I intend to grope very long, believe me. I never met my uncle, unfortunately, but that could be a matter of opinion. He might not have cared for me, or I him."

  "But he did like you enough to leave you his estate."

  "Is that meant to reassure me, dear Liza, or is it intended in an entirely different way? I suspect a hint of censure, but of course I'm mistaken."

  Liza blinked as those strange eyes went over her swiftly, the light sarcasm in his silky tones not escaping her. Confused, she wasn't sure herself what she meant. Did she owe Silas Redford any loyalty? A few minutes ago she would have denied such an idea, but now she was doubtful. The underlying cynicism in this man's voice stirred something alien, something totally unacceptable, within her. Silas Redford, if nothing else, had been honest and hardworking. It was only during the last few months that he had changed. Redfords, however, was still big business in these parts, and should be a legacy worth having by anyone's standards. But that a mere employee should say so, Simon Redford obviously thought presumptuous!

  "I think I meant," she stammered uncertainly, "that he must have appreciated your business acumen. I do realize that he didn't know you personally, but I knew him well enough to realize he wouldn't leave something which he'd slaved over for years to someone who wouldn't carry on,"

  "And why should I carry on?" he cut in on her brutally over the back of his chair. "I have a perfectly good business of my own in the South which I've had to leave to the tender mercies of a less than brilliant brother while I sort this little lot out."

  Unexplainable indignation gave courage to her tongue. "Your uncle would hate it if you were to sell."

  "Well, I don't intend to do that." His eyes challenged the glittery expression of hers. "If you're so consumed by curiosity I might well put your mind at rest. I never part with anything I fancy, Miss Lawson, and I do fancy Redfords—along with other things."

  His words jolted, wildly irrational wildfire which licked along her veins, sending shivers again down her spine, as if he activated some long-dormant chemistry. His attitude was affecting her. She suspected he intended to punish her a little, but his exact logic was beyond her, as was the cynical light which flickered in the crystal clear depth of his eyes. Her voice was almost a whisper. "The staff are sure to be pleased…"

  "Which is always something, these days." The extreme dryness of his voice indicated plainly that he didn't give a damn, one way or another.

  Liza's lip caught between small white teeth. She was surprised by the intensity of her dislike. His very assurance was terrifying. She thought he would be vastly difficult to work for. He could be an absolute tyrant. She sensed it with growing hostility which she managed to conceal as his enigmatical statements rolled over her head. If he intended to run the firm—and, staring at him nervously, she was aware that anything which constituted a challenge would hold this man—there seemed all the more reason why she should leave it. That they would never work in harmony together she was convinced. She liked easygoing, agreeable men who made no demands, not one who left her feeling exposed and vulnerable to every double-meaning word he chose to throw in her direction. In a flurry she cast him a wide-eyed frosty glance. When Miss Brown returned she resolved to forge ahead with her own plans, come what may.

  She said hardily, "If you intend staying, you'll want to live in your uncle's house."

  His silvery eyes narrowed, but he replied without enthusiasm, "I might, eventually. Certainly I'll look over it—you might take me there later after we finish here. The family solicitor did offer to accompany me, but I'm sure it won't be necessary to inconvenience him. For some reason or another he didn't seem too happy about it, so I guess he won't mind. For the next week or two I intend staying at the Ronson Hotel. I've already booked in, or rather my secretary did from London, so it's all fixed."

  Lisa eyed him uncertainly. It was obvious that he was one jump ahead. He wasn't prepared to commit himself, being well aware of the folly of making irreversible decisions. The demeanour of Silas's solicitor had alerted him, warned him perhaps, as ably as words might have done, that circumstances here weren't quite what they seemed. Her blue eyes flashed, all her attention focused on his hard, handsome face. He was too experienced to rush into situations without weighing the pros and cons. His was a calculating mind. He would find such deviousness easy. One could only fight such people by resorting to their own methods, and she doubted if her mother would be up to it.

  If only she could be persuaded to leave Hollows End before the humiliation of being asked! She breathed a silent sigh of relief that Monica would be out when they arrived, spending the evening with friends. At least it would give her the opportunity of talking to her again before she met Simon Redford. When she learnt what kind of man he was, perhaps she would prove more amenable?

  Suddenly she was aware that the silence stretched, and that he waited, and she nodded, not sure if he expected some reply.

  His mood shifted and he grinned. "So unless you have a date with that young man of yours, that's settled."

  "Bill Bright is not my young man," she muttered, a little surprised by his breezy manner, a little ruffled, too, that he should take so much for granted.

  "Fine, then." He rose to his feet after continuing to look at her a shade longer, his eyes still slightly mocking. "Where my personal staff are concerned I find it pays to know what makes them tick, that's all. Now we might get down to some real business."

  After that they worked consistently until six. Even then Liza doubted if he would have stopped if it hadn't been time for her to go home. And he hadn't forgotten, in spite of the amount of work which he had got through that afternoon, that he had arranged to go home with her. She sat with him in the high-powered car which he had driven from London feeling strangely exhilarated by the way everything had gone. Work, with Simon Redford, had taken on a completely new dimension, although much of the routine they had pursued had been merely rudimentary. Unavoidably so, as he had ploughed through the basic details of his uncle's business, sorting and discarding, inspecting and evaluating, laying a comprehensive foundation on which to base his outside inspection the next day. Just so, so he had assured Liza, he would know what he was talking about when he met the heads of the various departments. She had little doubt now that he would.

  It was her own feelings she found bewildering as something inside her reacted strangely to him. There was a peculiar, not altogether acceptable sensation of being on the same wavelength. Difficult though his demands might be, she found herself anticipating and responding almost subconsciously. He worked swiftly, not sparing her, obviously prepared to take her word that she could cope. It was almost as if he used her like a puppet on a string, co-ordinating her thoughts to his, a mental rapport, far removed from the physical, entirely outside Liza's previous experience. It was something not to be ignored, yet Liza tried to do just that, wanting no part of this man, wishing, for some as yet undefinable reason, to escape from his too near vicinity as soon as possible.

  At least, she assured
herself solemnly as they drove swiftly along, he could have little reason to complain on her afternoon's performance.

  Nor did he, as he handled the big car smoothly. "You're almost as good as my secretary in London," he remarked. "I think, if I took you in hand, you could be better."

  She didn't care so much for his cryptic remark. "You like experience, Mr. Redford?" Perhaps she was good at that kind of remark herself!

  He laughed through his concentration on the traffic in a strange town, his eyes glinting slightly. "Perhaps I owe you an apology, Miss Lawson. My London secretary is a deal older, and very different."

  "Then I have time to catch up," she heard herself replying audaciously. To him a secretary was probably only an extension of a well oiled typewriter, all part of the general equipment, paid for weekly like H.P. Admirable, and only as it should be. She remembered his secretary over the telephone and thought them well matched.

  "Because you're young enough to adapt you'll certainly do that. And more," he added enigmatically, whirling her on to a roundabout. "Before I'm finished with you."

  She swallowed, digesting this slowly, not at all sure she liked the taste of it. Trying to define the faint hint of a threat, she remained silent.

  He grinned, his dark face turned towards her, eyebrows raised. "No comment?"

  "None that I can make safely." She shot him a quick look. "You make me sound like a piece of furniture which you intend to polish up. Besides, tomorrow I might prove a disappointment."

  "No, you won't." He spoke emphatically. "A man doesn't progress in business, Miss Lawson, without the ability to assess men and situations. It could be an acquired skill, but no man—or woman, for that matter—is a mystery to me after the first ten minutes."

  His consummate arrogance sent rage rippling through her. "So you could read me like a book?"

  "Women, my dear Liza, are a different kettle of fish altogether. No man who valued his scalp would ever say he could see right through them."

  Goaded to sharpness, Liza retorted, "If we are different it's only because men continue to shroud us in mystery."

  The driving wheel spun. "Years back, Liza, the little woman waited at home for her man to return. Now she returns with him, a mystery no longer."

  "And you don't approve?"

  "Let me just say that when I have time I feel a certain nostalgia for another age, probably shared by many men before me."

  "You can still find the warmed slipper and doormat brigade if you look hard enough," Liza said stiffly.

  "But you have no ambitions to become one of them?" he queried softly. His sideways glance conveyed amusement.

  Looking straight ahead, Liza didn't see the amusement.

  Something inside her flinched and shrivelled, distinct aversion proclaimed in the suddenly taut lines of her delicate profile. Over-reacting, she said too quickly, "I happen to like my career more than a package deal with a pair of slippers."

  He laughed openly, derisively at that, his voice laced with awareness. "Because the package deal usually includes a man?"

  Every nerve inside her tautened. Relieved beyond measure, she saw they approached the turn-off for the house. Grasping the excuse, she ignored his all too accurate remark, saying quickly, "Turn right after the crossing. We're just a couple of miles down the road." Her faintly flushed face she turned away from him, to stare out of the window.

  "Quite cosy," he observed as they left the major road and the traffic cleared, dwindling altogether as they went down the lane, between the high hedges which guarded the approaches so well. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he added, with some satisfaction as they emerged on to the red-gravelled frontage. "I thought it might be one of these huge monstrosities in which elderly bachelors sometimes entomb themselves." Not waiting for any comment, he applied the brakes and jumped out, running an expert glance over the low, clean lines of the place, appraising the old red brick which gleamed through the clinging ivy and purple clematis of which Silas had been so fond.

  Quickly Liza removed herself from the very comfortable leather seat as, after another swift glance, Simon turned away, holding open the car door. She said, suddenly afraid of the silence, "There's a small copse at the other side of the field."

  In a faintly disparaging voice he said, "Yes… so I can see. It must be very pleasant in the summer." His eyes told her clearly that he realized she was playing for time. With a small air of desperation she looked away from him, curiously reluctant to consolidate her thoughts.

  In the slanting rays of April sunshine the house and grounds harmonized in absolute tranquillity, and Liza could understand why her mother was so reluctant to leave. Here the noise of traffic from the city was subdued to an almost indiscernible murmur, and the silvery trickle of the stream across the meadow gave the idyllic impression that they were in the depth of the country.

  "I'm afraid my mother is out this evening," Liza informed him, somewhat uncomfortably, as he slammed the car door and followed her into the house. She used the rear entrance, thinking he would feel it more appropriate for the housekeeper's daughter. "I can always show you around, of course," she assured him, filling in the slightly ominous pause which her statement produced. "Unless you'd rather explore yourself. The layout is comparatively simple."

  He flicked her a sharp glance, obviously not fooled by her apparent simplicity, if at the moment unable to dissect it. If he was impatient that she had failed to mention her mother's absence, he gave no indication. "It's the outside which interests me right now," he said obliquely. "I can easily call again when your mother is at home. I presume she is willing to stay on until I decide what to do?"

  "I'm not sure." Not willing to appear to have even considered this point, Liza spoke carefully as she led the way through the wide, old-fashioned kitchen to the front hall. Here she paused undecidedly before opening the door of the lounge. Certainly, in her position, she would not be expected to use this room, but she could scarcely leave the new owner in the kitchen. "Your uncle spent most of his time here," she said conventionally, jerking away from his query. "There's a small library which he was fond of during the winter, but mostly he used this room."

  "I see…"

  He wandered over and stood on the hearthrug. There was silence between them for some moments. She was beginning to get used to the way his eyes flicked astutely about him. Was he always so calculating? Ill at ease, she stood just in-side the doorway regarding him more anxiously than she knew. Would it be in order to offer him a drink—in his own home? The situation was suddenly confusing. Too late she realized it would have been better to have told him in the office that her mother was out. Nothing could really be gained by such methods. She had been foolishly impulsive to think otherwise.

  Cutting abruptly through her thoughts, he said suavely, "You might feel better if you removed your coat and had a drink with me instead of hovering like a young gazelle, ready for flight. My uncle, I'm sure, wouldn't have been an abstainer."

  "No, no, of course not. And thank you, I would like a drink." All thumbs, she unbuttoned her mackintosh which he politely grasped and draped over the back of a chair. Diffidently she moved in the direction of the substantial drinks cabinet in the corner, liking the way he refrained from helping himself. Silas had entertained quite a lot and usually had poured the drinks himself, but occasionally when they had had no guests he had asked Liza or her mother to get him something. "What would you like?" she asked now, turning to glance at Simon.

  "Whisky." His reply was brief as he settled himself down in one of the deep armchairs beside the fire. Wryly Liza's eyes clung. If he had shown an admirable forbearance about his drink, the way in which he settled himself in his chair proclaimed definitely, if subtly, that he was only biding his time.

  As she busied herself with the bottles, Liza's uneasiness returned. She was only just beginning to realize completely what her idiotic secrecy could mean. The fire, for instance, which her mother must have built up before she had gone out. Startled, as the thou
ght occurred to her, she looked at it sideways from the corner of her eye. Simon Redford would no doubt be thinking they were making themselves very comfortable, her mother and she. Perhaps it seemed to him very presumptuous that they should choose to use the drawing room instead of the servants' quarters in a place like this? Carefully she passed him his whisky, frowning slightly as she wondered if she should offer him dinner. It seemed obvious that he was here for the night.

  She was mistaken, however. Just as she was mentally turning over the contents of the larder, he tossed off his drink abruptly after contemplating for a moment the contents of his glass. Then jumping to his feet he strolled over to a picture on the wall. "Silas appears to have had rather an elementary taste in art," he said lazily, inspecting the landscape casually. "Not exactly a Constable," he added dryly, indicating the rather amateurish lines with a wave of his empty glass.

  Liza flushed, but did not reply, taking a quick gulp of her small sherry. Not surprisingly she choked and although furious with herself for such a juvenile lack of poise, was also relieved by the diversion. Her mother, she knew, was not top class, but her style was pleasant and mainly acceptable. This man, of course, with his acute discernment, could pinpoint the mediocre immediately. She might have retorted that there would be a vast difference in the price of a Constable, and that Silas, whatever his faults, had not been a snob. But as things were she could only retreat into the comparative safety of silence, which she could see at a glance Simon found more puzzling than her usual swift repartee. She sighed. He had a knack of making her feel foolish.