"I see," said Liza; suddenly wary of the topic. Of course she knew what Bill was on about. She wasn't as naive as all that. It was her own antagonism when she had thought he had talked disparagingly of Simon which she found so curiously disturbing. With concentrated effort she forced herself to think of other things.
Their waiter seemed to have forgotten their existence, but their secluded table was pleasant and Liza tried to relax. Bill, content to let the matter drop, continued to caress her hand which still lay in his, and his face was within inches of her own. In the dim alcove Liza waited expectantly for her reactions, but none came. Her pulse, perplexingly, neither quickened or missed a beat. Bill, taking advantage of the moment, was talking softly, but she didn't concentrate on what he was saying. Why, she wondered, with a hint of desperation, did Bill make no impression at all, while Simon Redford only needed to look at her? Was it that she didn't try hard enough?
Experimentally she leant nearer to Bill. The lights weren't bright enough, she thought, to draw other people's attention. Shyly provocative, she smiled, lashes flickering over blue eyes, down on to pink cheeks, her smooth lips slightly parted. Then, apprehensively, she felt Bill's fingers tighten with surprise before starting to travel up her arm, his hand gripping the soft bare skin below her elbow.
"Honey," he breathed heavily in her ear, his fair face alight, "I believe you're actually flesh and blood after all!"
"Good evening."
It was Simon Redford's voice cutting down from above them, and Bill let go of Liza's arm as if it scalded him, jumping to his feet, his cheeks flushing. "Oh, good evening, sir…" Which sounded faintly ludicrous, even though Simon was his boss, and several years older.
Surprisingly Liza managed to stay aloof, although inside she was hot and churning. "Hello, Simon." How cool her voice sounded! How easily his name came to her lips. In the office she stuck to Mr. Redford—as she had done with Silas. Here it would have clearly sounded silly, and would, no doubt, have aroused Bill's trigger-happy suspicions.
"Tut, tut." Simon's eyes gleamed and his mouth twisted with obvious amusement, as his eyes caught her startled ones. "I seem to make a habit of popping up at the wrong moment, but I could hardly pass by without a word."
"But you don't need an excuse." The cool tone of her voice implied quite plainly that they wouldn't have noticed if he had gone straight past. That he wasn't particularly welcome. And the air seemed suddenly static as he read her thoughts correctly. He flicked her a leashed look which swept a little flame right through her. That look promised all sorts of things by way of reprisal, and something inside Liza shuddered. This man never seemed to miss a move, and her throat tightened.
His eyes left her, returning to Bill, leaving her dry remark to wither with his indifference. "Sit down, Bright," he said lightly, in coolly uninterested tones. "I wasn't aware you were so friendly with Liza."
"Wishful thinking for the most part—on my part, I mean," Bill stumbled, looking no happier, his gaze shifting with obvious embarrassment away from Liza around the restaurant. He didn't sit down.
Liza could cheerfully have shaken him. If he had hoped to impress Simon Redford, then he wasn't succeeding. What on earth had prompted him to make such a comment? As she had known it would, Simon's slight air of contempt deepened, but before she could say anything to ease the tension Simon turned abruptly with a short lift of his hand and was gone, his murmured farewell drifting back over his shoulder.
Scarcely able to believe he had been, Liza watched him go, the suddenness of his departure upsetting her almost more than his unexpected arrival. His eyes had warned that he hadn't been impressed by her behaviour, but on a wave of defiant recklessness she didn't care. She hadn't committed any crime, so far as she could see. She had merely been enjoying a pleasant meal with another man. With a light toss of her head she swung back to Bill, her hair as she turned swinging to half cover her tense face, hiding her expression. Bill was not to know that Simon affected her one way or another.
The experimental venture with Bill didn't, however, prove very satisfying, leaving as it did, for no reason she could think of, a nasty taste in her mouth. She was quite aware that the meeting with Simon had beyond doubt spoilt her whole evening, although she tried to tell herself afterwards that such an idea was ridiculous. But the more she tried to rub out the silliness of her own reactions, the more indelible they seemed to become.
It hadn't helped when Bill had stopped his car in a quiet spot going home and asked her to marry him. "I'm sorry, Bill," she had been forced to say, because she just didn't love him, and could think of no better reason for turning down his proposal. "I am fond of you, though," she added unhappily, conscious of his crestfallen face.
"Famous last words," Bill observed sourly. Then in more hopeful tones, "If I was willing to wait, to have patience, you might discover you're fonder of me than you think."
"I'm sorry, Bill," she repeated, wondering with a cold little shiver why she should be so sure.
Bill wondered too, and said so. "Maybe you've met someone else, although I would have known."
"You shouldn't be so sure." A wry smile played on Liza's lips. "But no, there is no one else. It's just a feeling I have."
"Feelings are usually based on some foundation." His eyes narrowed suspiciously as Liza glanced quickly away, but he only muttered dryly, "Well, no one could say I didn't try!"
Stung, and not a little defensive, Liza was tempted to remind him what he had said himself to Simon about wishful thinking, but thought better of it. After all, he was probably unpleasantly hurt that she had refused him. It wasn't every day a man proposed. She said softly, her face gentle, "I hate to disappoint you, Bill."
"Life is full of disappointments, Liza. I'll very likely be due for another one soon."
Liza frowned. There seemed little she could add. Rather miserably she wished she was home. Bill's mouth drooped sulkily and, through the dim light in the car, she could see his expression matched. It suddenly occurred to her that he appeared more put out than heartbroken. Ambiguous, like his turn of speech. What had he meant about being due for another setback soon? Confused, she waited in silence, expecting him to go, and was even more bewildered when he said urgently:
"You won't tell your cousin you turned me down, will you, Liza?"
"You mean Simon?" He could mean no one else, but she was so surprised by his request she had to be sure.
"Who else?" Bill's voice was short and he didn't offer any explanation.
"Well, we're not very liable to be discussing the matter," Liza retorted with mock exasperation. Yet her heart lurched. It could be just the sort of query Simon might have in mind if the question of Bill's promotion should come up. Perhaps, she thought, as she digested this in silence, not without humour, it could be what Bill had had in mind when he had proposed. "You know, Bill," she said lightly, "I don't think you love me at all, but I think we've really talked enough for one evening."
It was unfortunate that he misunderstood. With a heavy kind of chuckle, before she could protest, he had drawn her back into his arms, to kiss her warmly on her lips. "Just one for the road," he grinned as she pulled indignantly away. "You surely couldn't begrudge me that! You did let me hold your hand while we were having dinner."
"I'm sorry, Bill." Raw awareness of her own inability to relax stung her into speech. "I haven't been very good company this evening, I'm afraid. You deserve someone nicer than me. I don't seem able to respond. Maybe I'm not made in the right way."
"Don't be a silly girl!" His arms dropped, with the old companionship around her shoulders, as once more in command of the situation he hugged her to him. "Maybe you're too strung up about the whole thing. We'll have to see what a little practice will do, that's all."
But Liza found she had no wish to practise as Bill suggested, and did her best to avoid him during the ensuing days— not such an impossible task, she found, as he seemed to be away from the depot a lot, working, to Liza's relief, in another part o
f the county. Simon she had seen little of either, something else which she felt grateful for, still remembering his open satire on the night when she had been out with Bill. Miss Brown breathed that Simon was busy, but then, according to Miss Brown, he was never anything else. Liza decided on such occasions that she wasn't impressed, and clung rigidly to her theory about new brooms, not willing to think of Simon Redford for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. He would be busy with interests other than business, and the image of his dark head, only inches away from Laura Tenson's blonde one, remained vividly in her mind.
She was startled, however, one evening, a week or so later, to find him standing on the doorstep at Hollows End. It was almost ten and because her mother was out she had gone for a walk across the field, down to the stream. It was a perfect June night, and she had wandered longer than she had intended, having promised to do several chores, including the dishes, after supper.
Now, carrying her sandals, her feet bare after paddling about in the water, Liza felt pleasantly drowsy, and was unaware that a car had pulled up on the drive. Not until she came around the corner of the house and saw Simon! In the gathering dusk she could scarcely believe her eyes, believing for a moment that he was a figment of her too vivid imagination. Bemused, she stood and stared. On reflection, of course there was no reason why he shouldn't be here. It was his house, when all was said and done. She and her mother were only here under his sufferance. They weren't even paying a small rent.
Yet curiosity prevailed. What could he be calling about at this time of day? Uncertainly her eyes flickered over him, as she waited for him to spot her. On a painfully caught breath she hesitated, but it was only a moment before he turned his head, the reflex of his senses almost instantaneous.
"Good evening, Liza," he said coolly.
Somewhere across the warm, sweet stillness a bird called clearly, a wild, country sound, oddly inconsistent on the edge of a city. And the soft silence that followed might have been far removed from the city boundary. Still full of a slumbering summer magic, Liza's wide blue eyes regarded the man in front of her, seeing the broad shoulders and hips, the long, straight legs of an athlete. A self-controlled, powerful man. Fascinated, her unhurried glance lingered on his arms, brown and muscular, revealed by the short-sleeved shirt he wore with a pair of casual slacks. Obviously he didn't intend this as a formal visit. Her eyes clung stubbornly to the expensive gold watch strapped to his strong brown wrist, her glance staying there even as she returned his salutation, not aware that her very concentration suggested, somewhat ridiculously, that his call was too late for convention.
He grinned, his eyes gleaming ironically over her, observing the apprehension. "Come on, you silly child, I'm not going to eat you. I have a perfectly legitimate excuse for being here, and we're probably adequately chaperoned."
"Simon." She moved forward in her floating midi dress, then stopped, touched by an odd restraint as she remembered her bare feet. If she had forgotten, the gravel on the drive reminded her sharply, and she flushed with pain as well as embarrassment, as the gritty stones bit into her soft skin.
Her lips caught between white teeth as she attempted to hide her predicament, turning numbly for her sandals, forgetting she had dropped them unconsciously when she had first caught sight of Simon. Then, before she could move again, in two strides he was by her side, scooping her up, taking her slight weight, laughing her half strangled protests away as he strode with her into the house.
He didn't stop to knock, or to ask if he might enter. His arms and hands were strong, holding her easily, and for one wild instant she thought he wasn't going to put her down, but on reaching the hall he slid her gently to the ground, his breath gliding down her cheek softly.
"If no man ever carries you across the threshold again," he said, "at least it's happened once."
He threw back his dark head and smiled, and Liza, the blood coursing unevenly through her veins, was conscious only that she hadn't wanted to be put down, and his taunting remark seemed to hurt her unbearably.
"This is ridiculous!" she heard herself saying, and glanced up at him swiftly, not knowing whether she referred to the way in which he had carried her in or to her own unaccountable reactions. Unobtrusively she slipped a nervous hand behind her, steadying herself against a chest. A pulse hammered in her throat, and anger and surprise fought for precedence.
The grey eyes watched her steadily and his mouth still quirked at the corners, and, as his glance travelled with interest back to her bare feet, one dark eyebrow flicked upwards. "You still haven't told me how you came to be like this. Don't tell me that you've been playing in the water at your age?"
That precisely was what Liza had been doing, but she would rather have died than said so. He wouldn't understand, used as he was to more sophisticated women, that the simple pleasures of life could be appealing. Hastily she shook her head, shaking back her long, shining hair when it fell across her face. "I enjoy walking barefoot through the grass," she prevaricated, evading a direct answer as she tried to cling delicately to the truth.
He saw through her small subterfuge, not allowing her to think otherwise. "After the paddling session, you mean?"
"You don't approve?"
"Oh, yes." The quirk deepened with maddening amusement. "I like water myself, but something deeper than what you have at the bottom of your garden. Do you swim at all, Liza?"
"Yes, of course. That is…" Suspicion smothered the remainder of her sentence. How did he know about the stream? It was well concealed from the house, and when he had been here before he hadn't walked over the grounds. However, she felt it was none of her business to ask him. "You'd better come in." She changed the subject abruptly, slithering away from the other one neatly. "My mother is out." She remembered what he had said about being adequately chaperoned.
"I'm sorry," he shrugged, yet he didn't look particularly put out, or interested.
"It's her bridge party evening. She usually plays once or twice a week, but on Friday she plays later."
"And you're left here on your own?"
"Why not?" Instinctively Liza knew she was on perilous ground and must stay cool. "We don't go everywhere together. I don't even play bridge."
"Why not, indeed?" Simon Redford's eyes narrowed as he followed her into the drawing room and closed the door. "You must be aware that you're fairly isolated here, and very accessible—a rather dangerous combination. It didn't occur to me when I let you have the house."
Cautiously Liza tried to keep a balance as she asked him politely to sit down. It might be better not to say so, but since Silas and Mary, the maid, had gone, she had been conscious of this aspect herself. Only it was something to ignore. Her mother certainly laughed at the idea that there might be any danger, but then Monica never did see anything she didn't want to. "Perhaps," she suggested lightly, deliberately obtuse, "you're afraid of the furniture being stolen?"
Simon considered her innocent vagueness with a slight frown as he stretched his long length in a deep chair beside the fire, the same chair which he had sat in on that first evening. "I'm afraid of nothing of the sort. That is not what I'm talking about, and well you know it, my dear Liza. The furnishings couldn't be further from my mind."
"But there are things here of considerable value, collectors' pieces, one or two extremely good antiques." Liza's gaze shifted to the fine Queen Anne period lacquered long-case clock, the movement by Samuel Towneson of London, and the George the First walnut corner chair on its four cabriole legs which stood beside it. Silas had been an inveterate collector, especially before prices had risen so highly. Even so, right up until the time of his death, he had been quick to spot and secure a bargain. Why, even the pair of Coadestone plaques above the mantelshelf he had picked up very cheaply, having found them in the bottom of a box of old jumble. Unhappily Liza's eyes dropped to the now empty fireplace. With all his appreciation of the arts, and of her mother's paintings, she had often wondered why he had felt so little symp
athy with her half-fledged aspirations to be a dancer.
Simon had followed her line of vision, and while appreciating what he saw, shook his head impatiently. "I'm not interested in the material aspect, although, now you come to mention it, remind me to check the insurance some time. Not that I've any reason to doubt that it won't be in order. Most of my uncle's affairs are."
Did her mother and she, Liza wondered quickly, qualify that small margin of doubt? But before she could construct a sharp enough query, Simon filled in his slight pause.
"Going back to the furniture, Liza, it could serve as an example. Other people might be extremely interested, along with other things. Just how would you have defended yourself this evening if I'd been a scoundrel of some sort? You don't even have a dog."
"We did have one once, but he died." Liza's soft mouth drooped as she remembered. She had been very young, and Monica didn't like dogs, so there hadn't been any more.
"That would be something." His sharp glance caught and noted the small flicker of distress.
"We'll work something out," she murmured dully.
His taut sigh was audible from where she stood facing him, her bare toes squirming into the carpet. "You're evading the issue, Liza, but the fact remains it's still there. A problem to be solved."
Deliberately Liza closed her mind. The whole situation, so far as she could see, was one vast problem, and the only way to live with it and remain sane was not to think of it any more. Besides, she wanted none of Simon's interference, even though he was the rightful owner. Yet, because even to think like this seemed slightly silly, she asked quickly, "Was this all you wanted to see me about this evening?"
He smiled derisively, reading her thoughts, aware of her eager tones as he answered dryly, "I didn't come to see you about that at all. That just cropped up, and for the moment we'll let it go. I came to see you about another matter altogether, but I wouldn't mind a drink or some coffee before we move on to anything else. It might bolster me up a bit. With you, Liza my dear, a man could need all his wits about him."
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