"Until tomorrow," he whispered, as he steadied her and let her go before turning to switch on the light. "Goodnight, Liza." His voice was normal and he didn't wait for any reply as he strode across the room and closed the door firmly behind him. And there was nothing Liza could do but to let him go.
Next morning, after an almost sleepless night, the light of another day brought with it a saner frame of mind, but it also brought disturbing news, in fact more shocks.
Full of a caution she couldn't really account for, Liza hadn't told her mother of Simon's visit the previous evening. Monica would only have asked a lot of questions and, as yet, Liza hadn't thought out a plausible explanation. It helped that since Silas had died her mother rarely rose early enough to see her off, and never after a late night. It would be disastrous, Liza knew, if her mother got so much as an inkling that she had refused a considerable rise, and, to make matters worse, this morning Liza couldn't help feeling herself that she had perhaps been foolish to allow a stubborn sense of pride to drown her common sense. The extra money would have been handy, and after all, in a way, she and her mother were actually only here as caretakers until Simon decided what to do. If they hadn't been here he would probably have to employ someone to do the job for him.
So it was with mixed feelings that she reached the office. Once there she found herself hoping fervently that the pattern of the last few days would prevail, and she wouldn't see Simon at all. The touch of his hands and lips was still with her, and one could easily become addicted to a certain line of thought. It needed more self-discipline than she could find not to think of him all the time, and this way, she was convinced, lay total disaster.
At the office she found Miss Brown already there, which wasn't anything to remark about as Miss Brown had long seemed to consider it her duty to set an example in punctuality, along with other things. This morning, however, she was visibly distraught, which was unusual, and while she hurriedly sorted the mail, she explained. It was her sister in Majorca, who had met with an accident, an accident just serious enough to keep her in hospital for a week or two. Miss Brown was flying out to her immediately.
Rather dazed, Liza interrupted, after three full minutes of slightly hysterical information. Miss Brown, it seemed, had been up all night packing and was inclined to repeat everything twice, but into a faintly breathless pause Liza managed to squeeze a few words. "I am sorry about your sister, Miss Brown, but you've only just come back."
This rather inane remark did nothing to impress Miss Brown. "The tourist season is in full swing," she retorted sharply, concentrating on the mail. "I must go and help run the hotel, as Caroline was doing. There are also the children to be taken care of. My brother-in-law is not, unfortunately, a good manager at the best of times. You must just carry on here, Liza, until I come back."
"But have you considered what Simon will say when I tell him you've gone? Or," she hesitated more hopefully, "perhaps you intend to wait and inform him yourself?"
People like Miss Brown, she might have known, always had at least one trump card up their sleeves. "Mr. Redford already knows," she said calmly. "I wasn't able to get hold of him until after midnight, but I can assure you that he's been completely understanding. In fact he has arranged everything and insisted on paying all my expenses. My flight is booked, and I'm to leave within the hour. I'm only here this morning in order to pick a few things up. My taxi should be here at any minute."
In no time at all, it seemed, she was gone, and in spite of a feeling of sympathy for Miss Brown's sister, Liza was dismayed by the incredible turn of events. The fates, it seemed, were working against her. This meant that she would be seeing Simon continually when, at the moment, she would rather not. Would definitely rather not—after what had just passed between them!
"You still aren't prepared to accept a rise in salary?" he queried dryly, when she went into his office later, after he rang.
Notebook in hand, Liza paused. Being here like this was like being thrown in at the deep end. She needed a moment to regain her breath, to swim out, but perhaps it was better this way. Problems were much better faced. If only her heart would stop behaving so erratically it might be relatively easy to present an unruffled front.
"No, thank you, sir," she said lightly, managing to look directly into his eyes, but her faint little smile never quite made it. Something about his expression made her tilt her face defiantly. "As I've said before, I'd rather not. Besides, Miss Brown might soon be back. I hope she finds her sister much improved."
"So do I, Miss Lawson." His eyes seemed to mock her transparent primness. "But it is, as they say, an ill wind. On the whole I'd rather work with you, although I shouldn't say it. I trust you won't let such praise go to your head. Miss Brown is excellent in her way, but her ways are not exactly mine. She has been conditioned to another man's line of thought—my uncle's, obviously."
"She knows much more about construction than I do, Mr. Redford." An inborn sense of loyalty made Liza ignore his obvious satire. She might be forced to listen, but more than that he couldn't expect.
There was an ironical note in his voice when he spoke again, yet his mouth was faintly indulgent. "As my secretary, Liza, you don't need to know all that much about construction, just enough to have some vague idea of what I'm talking about, and that I'm convinced you do. The thing I value about you is that you're young enough to adapt to my way of thinking. Miss Brown has a regrettable tendency to confuse the issue. She seems to imagine it should be the other way around."
Liza stared at him as the telephone rang and he picked up the receiver, speaking to his caller, cutting off her chance to reply. She knew a twinge of dismay as she considered how neatly he had summed up Miss Brown, and, in view of his remarks, his generosity towards her seemed questionable. Could he possibly, by pretending a sympathy he did not feel, be contriving to rid himself of an unsuspecting Miss Brown? That he could be entirely ruthless when it came to getting his own way, Liza had suspected before, and this latest development would appear to confirm her suspicions. To him all secretaries would be pawns, just as his social and business life would be worlds apart. Here he was this morning, hard and implacable, giving no hint that he had even seen her last night, let alone held her in his arms. The only reference he had made concerned her rise in salary. Did he intend it this morning as compensation for any embarrassment he might have caused her, or was he dangling it as a bonus for fear she might embarrass him?
A fine hate flooding her heart, Liza glanced at him stoically, noting the dark unfathomable look in his eyes as he watched her while he dealt with the call. Nothing more impersonal than that calculating gaze could she imagine, and yet she was instantly aware of her own quickening pulses. She couldn't, she knew, go on working for this man much longer. Somehow, some time in the near future, she must find a way out.
The day passed, as all such days do, but Liza was greatly relieved when work outside the office kept Simon occupied for a greater part of the time. She was left without help to cope with a positive string of inquiries, and had the job of switching them through to the various departments as she saw fit. There were also notes to be made of those whom Simon must deal with himself. Whatever the cause, business appeared to be booming. Not that she minded being busy, but it was tiring doing everything herself and Liza doubted if she could keep it up indefinitely. She would have to see. For the time being, however, work would stop her from thinking too much of a darkly arrogant man who might enjoy arousing her feelings, but who otherwise didn't seem to care.
It was almost six, just when Liza was tidying up prior to going home, before Simon arrived back at the office. His energy, she thought, must be amazing. He didn't even look tired, and he had had a full schedule.
"Oh, there you are. I thought you might have gone, and I wanted to see you." He threw down a sheaf of papers, then stood quite still, looking at her intently. "Better grab your coat and I'll drop you off. I'm passing your way in any case, so it will save time."
&nb
sp; Liza nodded, collecting the required article of clothing, for once being too weary to argue. Something about his voice aroused her curiosity, and not having to run for a bus appealed strongly. On the way she could tell him about the one or two small matters which required his attention.
She ran down the stairs in front of him, slid in beside him in the big, luxurious car, and closed her eyes.
"Tired?" His question washed over her softly, but, defensively, she sat up with a jerk, glancing at him swiftly, regretting that impulsive moment of relaxation. Did he imagine she was trying to start something again? Foolishly she had thought he would be too busy manoeuvring out of the yard to notice her immediately.
"In a way," she confessed, feeling her cheeks grow hot but knowing it wiser not to be too emphatic.
"I haven't seen you looking so tired before." His dark eyes were sharp, not willing to leave it as she would have done. "Tomorrow I'll get you some help. There are girls in Inquiries who appear to have little to do."
"I don't need any help. Please don't interfere," she retorted waspishly. She might have added that her weariness was due to other things besides work, but if he couldn't guess then she certainly wasn't going to tell him. Then, suddenly contrarily terrified that he should have even the slightest suspicion, she tacked on icily, "The telephone never seems to have stopped ringing, but it's not like that every day."
"Just as you say," he drawled smoothly, as he slipped through the worst of the traffic to reach an oasis of quieter roads. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I've been busy my-self, and not entirely about my own business. I've found a caretaker for that flat of yours, actually."
Liza looked at him a little wildly, twisting in her seat so she might see his face. "Caretaker?" she whispered, her young voice sounding strangled. "But what would we do with a caretaker, Simon? I mean, I thought that was what my mother was supposed to be? You must be talking about Hollows End?"
"I am," he nodded, a dangerous line between his dark brows as he noted her shocked face. "And the caretaking job was your idea in the first place."
"But we made a bargain!"
"Which still remains. I have no wish to disturb your mother, only to protect her."
"Your chivalry astounds me!" she flung at him in a tight little voice. "All this, I suppose, because I was alone last night, and you think that left your property dangerously exposed. You don't have to pretend that any personal feelings come into it."
"Right," he retorted curtly, "but not on all counts. Let's get that bit straight."
"There would be no place for anyone to live." Desperately she went off at a tangent, her thoughts veering drunkenly out of control as she tried to cope with quivering nerves, an odd resentment against fate that she should suffer like this.
"You've forgotten the old service flat…" His voice levelled out as, reaching Hollows End, he swung through the gates, then to the right sharply, stopping the car out of sight of the road yet hidden from the house. Above them the tracery of branches, blown in a light June wind, seemed to wrap them in some secret world of their own. He applied the brakes and switched off the engine. "We can talk better here for a few minutes," he said.
So surprised was she at what he was saying, Liza was barely aware he had stopped. There was also a vague irritation that he should choose to confront her with all this instead of her mother. With Monica it seemed obvious he was keeping his distance, and Liza wondered why, although that thought was not uppermost as she concentrated on the flat. "The flat," she frowned, "hasn't been lived in for years, as far as I can remember. Silas used to get a man occasionally to do the garden, but he lived in town. The place isn't deco—it won't even be clean."
"Which can easily be remedied. I'll send someone around right away. You don't imagine I was about to ask you to do the job, my dear Liza?"
She ignored his mild sarcasm, the slight lift of his dark brows. She had done that sort of thing before, but had no intention of offering her services in this case. He could do his own scrubbing out. It was the hidden insinuation that she wasn't cut out for anything rougher than the wielding of a light duster which she resented. She glanced out of the car blindly, scarcely seeing, or hearing the green summer rustle of leaves about them. The small wren regarding them curiously from the end of a branch. "You say you found this caretaker," she said carefully. "I was under the impression that such people today are few and far between, yet you talk as if you'd found them under a bush? As easily as that."
Simon turned, resting his arm along the back of her seat, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he watched her narrowly. "I can assure you, Liza, they were not under any bush. If you recall, we're about to start demolition on a large old property in the Alcester area. It's beyond the financial means of the present owner to repair, but for a time he's been hanging on, hoping for a miracle, I suppose."
"And the miracle didn't happen?"
"No, Liza, the miracle didn't happen. These days such things rarely do. But to cut a long story short, while this chap's been living abroad he's had these people, a man and his wife, living in, looking after the place. They've been there for years, absolutely reliable, but they aren't really interested in a permanent position, not at the moment. What they want is a breathing space before looking for something further out, in the country."
"So you offered them the flat." She met his eyes indignantly. "You never wondered whether we would like having them or not?"
"Liza," his eyes held hers mockingly, "I know what's good for you better than you do yourself."
Again there seemed hidden implications, not entirely concerned with the flat, but which she had no time to go into properly. The flat, which she supposed was entirely Simon's own business, was part of the house yet completely self-contained, and would undoubtedly be better occupied. And it might be nice to know that someone was around to keep an eye on her mother while she was at work. Only she had a feeling that Simon was holding something back, something he didn't intend to tell her about—not yet, at any rate.
"I still don't think it necessary," she insisted stubbornly. "Caretakers, proper ones, aren't cheap. You don't need to be noble," she cried, swift colour in her cheeks. "Wouldn't it be better if my mother left and you were to live here yourself? To have to go to the lengths you're going to seems clearly ridiculous to me."
Simon considered her face for one long impatient moment. "Liza, I'm going to tell you for the last time, I'm not running this solely for your mother's benefit. A man doesn't reach my age without learning that it's better to sit on the fence for a while before making momentous decisions. I haven't yet decided if I'll stay in Birmingham. The business is all that interests me at the moment, and my service flat is so impersonal I scarcely know it's there. It certainly doesn't tend to clutter my mind with vague possibilities which may never come to anything."
"Then why not put Hollows End on the market? Sell the place?" She was past discretion.
"There are other possibilities." His lips twitched slightly, and Liza had an angry suspicion that he was amused.
"What else could you do with it? It's not quite large enough for an institution or a school."
"Never mind." Now his mouth definitely curved. "I suggest you mind your own business for the time being."
"Don't you find you like Birmingham?" Something which she couldn't account for seemed to be driving her on. Perhaps it was his arrogant air, and the knowledge that he openly laughed at her, not even considering her important enough to warrant a proper reply.
"Do you?" he countered, ensuring that she didn't get one this time either.
"Yes—and no." With a resigned sigh she answered soberly, knowing it useless to protest; one could just fight a man like this for so long.
"Where did you live before you came here?" he asked suddenly, his eyes fixed curiously on her face. "You haven't always lived with Silas."
Liza wasn't prepared for his question, or the cold feeling of terror it brought—a feeling which, she told herself sternly, wa
s plainly ridiculous and only there because she was scared he would find out she wasn't quite who she was supposed to be. She said at last, shifting a little beneath his keen gaze, "No. My father died when I was ten. He was vicar of a parish a few miles away." Taking a deep breath, she named the parish, as he obviously expected her to. She might have felt better if she hadn't had to do that.
"I see…" He was all smoothness. "I must go there some time, have a look around."
Instantly she was wary. "The parish isn't particularly attractive. You wouldn't care for it." She didn't see his glance sharpen, but she was aware of a slight change in the atmosphere. Tensely nervous and too abruptly, she changed the subject, yet not knowing which was the worst. "Last night you must have known all about your caretakers, but you said nothing!"
Simon shook his head. "Last night," he said softly, "I knew nothing. It was only this morning, when I went to look the property over. I wouldn't have done that, but I happen to know the owner slightly, and he asked if I would go along."
"Surely these people must already have made arrangements?"
"As I told you before, they were going to spend a few weeks in Birmingham. I just happened to be there at an opportune moment. They'll probably stay with us until spring." His voice was still smooth, deceptively so.
"And by spring you'll have decided what you want."
"Long before springtime, my little curiosity. And now I must go." He flicked a quick glance at his watch.
Coolly, Liza shrugged. She could take a hint. She had kept him from his appointment too long. "Thank you for the lift," she said politely, refusing to look at him or to thank him for anything else. He was too fond of riding rough-shod over people's feelings. She certainly wouldn't mention his caretakers again, or ask if he had made any definite arrangements about cleaning the fiat. "Goodnight," she added mutinously, her hand searching blindly for the door.
But before she could escape Simon leaned across her to open the door, his laughter hard and derisive as he scorned her few formal words, surveyed her small, still face, her defiantly tilted chin. "Goodnight, my dear Liza," he said, and before she could stop him he bent his dark head and kissed her full on the lips, the pressure easing and aching for one heart-stopping second until he let her go.
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