Stormy Rapture

by Margaret Pargeter

  "Yes, a long time ago," Liza replied aloofly, remembering that Lady Tenson had indeed brought a picture but, so far as she knew, had never paid for it—no doubt a slight oversight, considering her husband must be worth a fortune.

  Laura went on, but startling Liza this time by her next question. "Does Simon know your mother paints? I might be able to persuade him to buy one."

  "Oh, please don't! I mean—" Liza tried to moderate her voice, to give an impression of a detachment she was far from feeling. "I mean," she stumbled on, "I don't think he would be interested."

  "But I'm sure he would if I asked him." Oddly persistent, Laura spoke with emphasis, her eyes suddenly sharper on Liza's brightly flushed face.

  "I'm afraid he doesn't care for my mother's style," Liza offered a little wildly, momentarily forgetful of the other girl's watchful eyes. This wasn't altogether untruthful and she knew a flash of relief as Laura seemed prepared to accept it.

  One of her pencilled brows rose. "Oh, well," she shrugged, "it was only a thought. If you change your mind let me know and I'll see what I can do. Simon is in London this weekend and I'm feeling a tiny bit lonely."

  Liza made a mammoth effort to be polite, even though, for no apparent reason, she felt she would have loved to have been rude to Miss Tenson. As far as Simon was concerned Laura could have all the territorial rights she cared to declare. So far she had stated her case quite clearly. Simon, no doubt, would be more than prepared to meet her halfway. Already Liza had guessed he was no hermit. Remembering his demanding kisses, the persuasive strength of his arms, she was quite sure that Laura would be able to cope much better than she. Yet the thought of Laura in Simon's arms brought a fine pain, not the indifferent coldness she had hoped for.

  "I'm afraid I don't know how Mr. Redford spends his weekends," she retorted unthinkingly, as Laura obviously waited for some sort of reply. "I do know, of course, that he sometimes goes to London."

  "And will probably return there in the near future. That is permanently, of course." Laura's lips curved into a smoothly satisfied smile. "I spend more time in London than Birmingham myself, so that shouldn't be any great penance. However, I wish you luck with your artistic talents—or rather your mother's." Again she nodded casually towards the paintings. "I'll be looking in to see how they get on."

  Liza nodded helplessly, worried not so much by what Laura said as by the way she said it. She reminded Liza too vividly of a vixen who had scented danger and was on the lookout. Her tone had indicated more clearly than her words that she intended to retain a watching brief. Yet, try as she might, Liza couldn't think why. It didn't seem possible that Laura Tenson could be jealous of Simon Redford's secretary. "If you'll excuse me," she murmured, "my mother is waiting in the car, and I have a little more business to see to."

  "Of course." Suddenly Laura was all smiles. "I have to pop into the office myself to see my father. He's so busy just now, poor lamb, and I promised I'd join him for coffee. If I don't hurry he'll think I've forgotten."

  At the end of the department Liza turned left instead of right as she had originally planned a few minutes ago. How could she possibly go and conclude her business while Laura was around? Not that she supposed Laura would be hovering in Accounts, but she could be near that particular area. And Liza felt too unnerved to run even the remotest risk of meeting her while asking to see someone privately about her mother's affairs. If she knew anything about Laura Tenson she would already be brimming over with curiosity as to why anyone from a place like Hollows End should be trying to sell paintings in a store on a Saturday morning!

  A cold wave of apprehension seemed to wash over Liza as she waited with a crowd of people for the lift. Surely no one, not even in Laura's position, could pry into a customer's account in a shop like this? Maybe not, but there might be nothing to stop her asking her father to make a few discreet inquiries, although there again, Liza felt certain it wasn't done. A store, even of this size, would soon run out of customers if such a practice was carried out. But of course, a small voice whispered inside her, not all customers ran up bills they couldn't pay!

  Liza wasn't late for the office on Monday, in spite of a hectic weekend. That the bus was full and she had to stand all the way did nothing to dispel her weariness. But her tiredness was more of the mind than the body and, as she travelled into the city, her thoughts went restlessly back over the previous two days.

  On Saturday, when she had arrived back at the car, Monica had been delighted by what she called her success with the store. She hadn't seemed to notice Liza's silence, or the faint lines of strain about her wide, curved mouth. Her enthusiasm stimulated by her modest achievements, she chatted excitedly on the way home, planning to check her materials immediately, to start painting again on Monday after she had made the necessary purchases to replenish her supplies. In some ways, Liza decided with a rueful sigh which caused a fellow passenger to glance at her keenly, Monica was rather like a child, either full of enthusiasm or black despair, never on an even keel for very long.

  Then, when they had eventually reached Hollows End, it had been to find some workmen hammering on the door, demanding the key for the flat, full of complaints that no one had been around to let them in. They had only been pacified after Liza had assured them that, as Simon Red-ford's personal secretary, she would see to it that they were paid in full for the time they had wasted. There had also been her mother to mollify, and this had taken even longer as she had completely forgotten to mention anything about the new caretakers until then, and, like herself, Monica hadn't taken to the idea very kindly at first.

  On the whole, Liza decided, Saturday had been a rather dreadful day, even if the outcome should prove eventually successful.

  Apart from a headache the next morning she had felt all right but drained of her usual vitality, feeling that she scarcely had the energy to face another day, especially not one to be spent at home. When the telephone rang she almost gasped with relief to find it was Bill, asking if she and her mother would like to come out with him to spend a few hours in the country.

  "I promise to behave myself," he had teased over the line, obviously unaware of her despondency—not like Simon, who seemed to sense her every mood a mile off. Bill continued, after a moment's hesitation, "I thought if I asked your mother along it would sort of back up my statement."

  "Idiot!" she had laughed, adding that her mother and she would be ready within the hour. She did wonder if he would expect her to decline on Monica's behalf, but if so he was doomed to disappointment. Bill had behaved himself since the evening when he had taken her out to dinner, but Liza felt she couldn't bear to risk another proposal. Or a repetition of all the reasons why she would be wise to help further his prospects of promotion with Simon.

  So, refusing to allow a twinge of uncertainty to prompt a closer inquiry, she had thanked him sweetly and rung off.

  Then, when Bill had arrived and Seen the workmen still hard at it in the fiat, there had been more explanations. He had even asked if he could have a look around. Reluctantly Liza had accompanied him, noting with some surprise that the place was still in very good order and would undoubtedly, when furnished, make a snug little home.

  It was almost twelve before they got away, and Bill, having made no definite plans, had asked Monica to choose where they should go. Monica, delighted with the prospects of a day out, had thought she would like to go to Worcester to see the cathedral. Once, years ago, she and her late husband had spent a week there and she had always wanted to go back. The cathedral, she said, was beautiful.

  Liza had privately been of the opinion that Bill wasn't too enthusiastic to begin with, but once on the road he had soon cheered up. Besides, Worcester wasn't so far away. They had followed the motorway and arrived in time for lunch. The ancient city, dominated by its magnificent cathedral, sprawled on the banks of the Severn. Liza had been there before, but had never allowed herself time to explore. Once there she had followed Monica around eagerly, glad of the dis
traction of beautiful old buildings and churches.

  Afterwards they had gone on a little further, down amongst the hop fields, the orchards of cider apples and cherries, following the Teme, one of the prettiest rivers in Britain. Beside its banks were bright green meadows, the soil tinged with red sandstone which dyed the water brick red when the river was in flood. They had had tea near the little village of Abberley in the thickly wooded Abberley hills, and, looking back, Liza thought that the green fields, the apples and corn, the grazing herds of fat Hereford cattle had lulled her into a sense of false security, a misleading aura of immunity from all the harder aspects of life. The countryside had been wonderful on that summer's afternoon, and she had thought longingly of a neat little cottage, nestling beneath the brow of a hill, somewhere off the beaten track where one could spend regular weekends. Weekends with someone one loved, right away from the noise and dust of the city. That Simon Redford had got mixed up with her wistful reflections seemed purely incidental. He was the last person she would associate with anything so rustic as a cottage. A mansion, yes, but definitely not a cottage!

  In a way, Liza mused, as she ran up the stairs to the office, it was strange, and usually surprising how things worked out. Yesterday's unexpected outing had cheered her mother up a lot, and this morning, in her absorption with her paints, she seemed to have lost some of her indignation about people moving in next door. Towards Bill, she supposed, they both had reason to be grateful.

  In the office Liza found that Simon had already been and gone, but not without leaving a long list of things to be seen to, along with some telephone numbers where he might be contacted should the need arise. With a sigh she wondered how he did it. He must have travelled back from London late last night or early this morning. His programme, which she herself had jotted down, had been enough to keep two men busy over the weekend, let alone one!

  It was well after lunch, although she had forgotten to have any, when Bill wandered in. Glancing up, thinking that at last it must be Simon, Liza knew a flicker of dismay. She had asked him before not come while Simon was out, not unless it was business, something which couldn't wait. And she had a feeling that he wasn't here strictly about business today. Uneasily, as she watched him amble across the room, she blamed herself. She shouldn't have gone out with him yesterday. He had been a pleasant companion, but that didn't prove she liked him more than she did. She ought to have realized sooner that Bill Bright was a man who required no encouragement. He merely took it for granted that a girl would be more than delighted to meet him halfway. Or more than halfway, should the occasion arise.

  "Hello, darling," he grinned. "Enjoy yourself yesterday?"

  "Yes, Bill, of course," she exclaimed, a thread of impatience running through her voice. "But I do wish…"

  "I know, I know," he cut in, his grin broadening unrepentantly. "You wish I wasn't here. However, his lordship is out, or so I believe, and I wanted to ask you something. No harm in that now, is there?"

  Liza grimaced as she shook her head wryly. Bill was apparently of that opinion, but if Simon should happen to catch him it wouldn't do either of them any good. Bill ought to realize this without being told! Then again, why should he? Not many employers would adopt such an unreasonable attitude, although most, she imagined, had their personal idiosyncrasies. But on the whole, Simon wasn't such an unreasonable man. Which was confusing.

  "If you'll only come back for a minute from wherever you've gone off to," she heard Bill pleading, "this won't take two seconds. I just want to know if you're free tomorrow night, and if so, will you come out with me?"

  "Again?" Liza came back to earth with a bump, her heart sinking. She had hoped he wasn't going to ask her anything like this—and now he had. Rather desperately she played for time, yet knowing she had small reason to refuse. "You'd better tell me what it's about first, Bill. I'm not fond of mystery tours, or saying yes before I know what I'm letting myself in for."

  "You mean you want me to explain while you're searching around for an excuse," he muttered darkly, as he noticed her lukewarm demeanour. "Well, I've two tickets for the Royal Shakespeare Theatre at Stratford. Ballet—Shukumei! You know, the Japanese tale of murder, revenge and hara-kiri. It's on there before going to London, or so my sister tells me, and it was she who sent me the tickets."

  "But why you, Bill? I didn't know you were so fond of ballet?"

  "I'm not, you idiot, but once I told my clever sister I was fond of a girl who was, if you follow me, which you probably don't! She had these four tickets, see, and the other couple let her down, and in a moment of questionable generosity, seeing I don't particularly like ballet myself, she…" His shoulders lifted expressively.

  "Oh, Bill!" Unable to help herself, Liza's gurgling laughter filled the room. When Bill liked he could clown very amusingly. It was at times like this that she wished she liked him better. And she never could resist a ballet. "It's very nice of you to ask me," she replied politely but with a small and, if she had but known it, flirtatious kind of smile. "I'd love to come. Just let me know what time you'll pick me up and I'll be ready. Always supposing," she tacked on more soberly, "that my boss doesn't ask me to work late."

  To her surprise Bill didn't answer, not right away, not as he usually did. There was a moment's silence during which Liza was suddenly aware that he was conscious of something she wasn't. Startled, she swung swiftly, her eyes wide, to find Simon standing directly behind her, regarding her narrowly. How long had he been there watching—listening? Surely no longer than a second? She hadn't even heard him come in. No intuition had been strong enough to warn her. In that strangely suspended fragment of time when no one spoke she remembered another such incident. How this was exactly the way in which they had first met. And now, as then, it seemed appropriate that he spoke before she did.

  Not that he was courteous enough to address her when he did so. Coolly he turned his back, speaking exclusively to Bill, almost as if she didn't exist at all. And what he said seemed to prove he had been there longer than she had imagined.

  His eyebrows rose heavily in his dark face. "I'm extremely sorry, Mr. Bright," he murmured suavely. "Miss Lawson will certainly not be free to accept your invitation before we have checked this week's schedule. As my secretary—and cousin—she ought to have had more sense than to conclude that she was."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The first thing to shock Liza was the way in which her heart lurched so strangely when she turned and first saw him. After all, he had only been gone two days. The next was his quite obvious displeasure in finding her conversing with Bill, especially when only a few minutes ago she had beer considering him as a reasonable man. As always, she supposed, there must be certain qualifications, but on this occasion there was something she didn't pretend to understand. Quite simply, of course, it might just add up to the fact that he was tired, and because this seemed the easiest explanation, she clung to it tenaciously, refusing to admit the possibility of any other conclusion.

  A long time afterwards she was still reiterating exactly what she ought to have said immediately to Simon. Instead of standing staring at him mutely she should have taken advantage of their non-existent relationship, as he had done, and retorted boldly that her assignment with Bill had been previously arranged. A man like Simon Redford might find it advantageous to have his secretary at his beck and call, but it could not be considered fair to think that he had acquired sole rights to all her time and attention. They had made a crazy pact, but she had no intention of conceding as far as this.

  It must have been something about his attitude, the way he regarded her appraisingly, which froze her into silence, a guilty, immature silence which infuriated, but which she found impossible to break.

  It was Bill who spoke at last, after what must really have been, in spite of Liza's doubts, only a slight pause.

  "I'm sorry, sir," he grinned. "We were only chatting while I was waiting to see you."

  "Indeed!" Simon's eyes fixed on Bill deri
sively. "Since when have you had to consult me every time you have a problem? Unless it's something which can't wait I'll see you another time. Later, perhaps." His voice promised nothing.

  "Nothing important," Bill muttered, already backing away, his grin fading, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. "As you say, I can always look in later."

  If only he wasn't quite so transparent! Liza thought despairingly. He was so keen to have promotion he dared not say a word. The glance he threw her as he disappeared was no doubt meant to indicate that he would get in touch.

  As soon as the door closed, Simon said brusquely, "Come into my office, Liza. I want a word with you. Right now!" he snapped as she hesitated.

  "I'll be there in a minute," she retorted, deliberately slow as she made the necessary adjustments. Her courage, never long absent, returned, although her eyes, still slightly distracted, avoided his, and a faint apprehension still tugged at the corners of her soft mouth.

  His dark gaze bored into the back of her head as he watched her switch over the intercom, unstaple a note, pick up a sheaf of papers. "Didn't that fool girl come up from the pool," he ground out. "I left instructions."

  "She hasn't arrived. We are right in the middle of the holiday season. Perhaps she couldn't be spared."

  "Damned inefficiency!" Tersely he brushed her explanation to one side. "There'll be someone here tomorrow or I'll know the reason why!" His glance slipped over her sharply as she fumbled in a drawer with time-consuming obstinacy. "Haven't I told you before not to wear your hair screwed back like that? God knows I have enough on my mind today without finding my secretary looking like a scarecrow!"

  Simon wasn't the only one to have things on his mind, yet this obviously didn't occur to him. Most men, she supposed, did notice a woman's appearance, but not many were prepared to openly criticize. Simon Redford would have to be different. He would be the kind of man who, if married, would wake his wife up through the night to tell her her nose was shining! Instead of being amused by her own sarcasm, Liza found her nerves, as she glanced quickly at Simon's muscular figure, tautening, and the thought came unbidden. If Simon Redford woke his wife up at such an hour it would not be to discuss her nose, however charming that might be.