"Is that a necessary qualification?"
"You wouldn't want me to say yes, would you, Miss Lawson? As I've told you before, and I don't care to repeat myself, you're young enough to train to my ways. As for anything else, well, we can only wait and see."
In a way Liza supposed she deserved that proverbial rap across the knuckles, but Simon never ceased to annoy her with his sharply ambiguous remarks. How could he one minute be so tender, so protective with his arms about her, guarding her against the storm? And then, almost in the same breath, without so much as batting an eyelid, cast her down! Already he was adding coolly:
"You wouldn't be after compliments at this time of the morning, would you, Liza?"
"I would scarcely go to you with that in mind," she retorted dryly. "I had a card from Miss Brown last week and she says her sister is improving, so she could be back sooner than you think."
"Good."
"I suppose you might eventually return to London?" Perversely Liza found herself unable to leave the subject, in spite of Simon's discouraging tones.
His sigh now was short and faintly exasperated. "I might," he replied, "but not at the moment. Things there appear to be running very smoothly. My absence, ironically, would seem to be exactly the incentive my brother needed. He's improving all round, and I have no wish to halt the process, especially when there's so much to do here. Besides, as again I think I've told you before, I have a very good general manager."
"And you would like to appoint one here?"
"Something of the sort. Perhaps not quite in the same capacity, and then only when I'm sure of the right man."
Liza sat looking at him, her forehead creased. "You seem to have quite a choice. Silas used to say he had a lot of good men."
His dark face loomed beside her, his expression enigmatic. "There have also been a few quite profitable fiddles, I believe. Nothing traumatic, now that I'm here, but something which could easily start again. Sadly this sort of thing goes on. In some cases it's been known to almost cripple firms. Well, so far as Redfords is concerned, I'm not particularly keen on making a mistake by appointing one of the ringleaders to a managerial position."
"I think you're quite wrong!" Liza's face flushed indignantly. "I can't think of anyone in our company who would do such a thing, and I think you ought to have some kind of evidence before you even suggest it."
An ironical smile lit his face as his eyes lingered on her flushed cheeks. "A stranger, Liza, taking over a company, is usually willing to be guided by the advice of such men as his accountant. In this case his was based on a marked discrepancy of the books, which is still being investigated."
"I still can't think of anyone who would do such a thing."
"Can't you, Liza?" he asked with mingled amusement and impatience. "Well, I'm not thinking particularly of our Mr. Bright, so don't get alarmed. There are many others in the firm who might be suspect before him. There are also men who have had little to do with the firm, but who can be fairly unscrupulous."
"And you have it all worked out?" Indignant that he should always think she ought to protect Bill, Liza threw the question at him scornfully.
He replied smoothly, apparently indifferent to her wrath, "Not exactly, but as you say, I'm working on it. Once I learn to find my way around the rest could be easy."
"The men won't appreciate your spying on them." Liza returned his cool stare angrily, her blue eyes widening beneath the darker light of his own. Again she had the timeless feeling of being suspended in space, of being some small creature struggling feebly beneath the acquisitive regard of a monster who couldn't decide if the time was right to gobble her up.
She was saved, at least temporarily it would seem, by the traffic moving on in front. Only then did he release her from the dominant subjugation of his gaze. "Just be quiet," he ordered, "that's a good girl."
He let in the clutch as he spoke and the car moved forward, a symphony of power, at one with the man who drove it. He spoke to Liza as if she was a child and, like a child, she crouched, unexplainably apprehensive, in her corner and did as she was told.
When she returned to Hollows End that evening Monica told her that Simon had asked if she would agree to give a series of dinner parties for him.
"He's tired of dining in hotels, and his flat is too small and impersonal. He's already met a lot of people, and would like to know some of them better. This is where he hopes I can help."
"You mean by having people here? I don't see how that could help."
"You're confusing the issue, Liza. You usually do. It's important to the firm that he knows the district and local business people as soon as possible, and one can't do this very successfully in a hotel."
Liza frowned, suddenly suspicious. Was this what Simon had meant when he had talked of learning to find his way around? Surely he didn't intend that her mother should be instrumental in finding out who had been cheating Redfords of what probably amounted to no more than a few paltry pounds? Monica, she felt sure, must have no idea of the true situation, otherwise what pleasure could she hope to derive from entertaining old friends in these circumstances? And that they would be old friends of Silas Redford's, Liza had little doubt. Simon, with his cool ingenuity, would find it easy to get from Monica a complete list of all Silas's business acquaintances—if he hadn't already done so. Her own hands were tied, as it was quite clear that intuition alone would cut no ice with her mother. Her mother, Liza could see, with a glance at her animated face, was quite taken by the idea. Added to this was possibly a sense of being needed, of being of some importance once more.
Another aspect occurred, perhaps because finance was never far from Liza's thoughts just now. "Mums, have you had time to consider the expense? We can't afford to give dinner parties any more. Surely you explained?"
Monica almost crushed her with a look. "I didn't need to explain, darling. Simon Redford is a man of the world, and far from stupid. He knows very well that entertaining, even simply, costs money. He's to pay for everything."
Liza stared at her. They were sitting in the kitchen having their evening meal, but as usual as of late she didn't feel hungry. A fine rage against Simon seemed to be welling over in her heart. If he had first mentioned this scheme to her she would have told him exactly what to do with it! Life, at the moment, was difficult enough without more complications. On the face of it there might be no hidden motives, but she doubted it. Simon Redford just wasn't that type of person. Every move he chose to make would be considered, even if within the space of a few seconds. Suddenly even the thought of a dinner party seemed exhausting. Didn't her mother realize that by agreeing to such a plan they were only letting themselves deeper into the mire?
"Sometimes," she muttered tersely, "I wonder who's the craziest, you or Simon Redford! Have you considered every aspect? Who, for instance, is going to cook these dinners?"
Monica smiled in triumph, not a bit put out. "The new caretakers next door. They're to do it for a rent-free house. They did it at their last place. They're more than willing."
"Oh, I see…" Moodily Liza studied the blue pattern on the tablecloth. So he had had it all thought out. Trust Simon to think of everything! It was a sheer waste of time trying to oppose him.
"Don't you see?" Monica leant across the table eagerly, her eyes intent of Liza's unhappy face. "This is bound to strengthen our position regarding the house. It wasn't something I could refuse to do lightly."
Liza said caustically, "You appear to have done anything but that."
"He's to pay me, so that should please you. That is, we agreed to a small fee." Monica sounded both cautious and slightly hurt.
"Mums, I wish you wouldn't take even a small sum." Liza felt her cheeks go coldly white, unable to explain, even to herself, exactly why she felt so disinclined to take anything from Simon Redford. Even his kisses only brought pain. Trying to hide her inner agitation, she added firmly, "You must tell him that anything you do will contribute towards rent, the upkeep of the house if you like, bu
t whatever you do you mustn't take a penny, not if otherwise it isn't going to cost you anything. We're too deeply indebted to him as it is."
"Just as you like, dear. It would only have been pin-money in any case. Nothing to make a fuss about." Monica rose as the telephone rang in the hall and she went to answer it, leaving Liza to stare after her doubtfully.
Sometimes Liza wasn't sure what to make of her mother. She was usually so honest and straightforward. This new deviousness seemed to spring entirely from her obsession with Hollows End, a house which was rapidly becoming a burden to them both. Simon Redford might be paying for what he was getting, but in the end, any benefit would go to him alone. Only her mother was much too blind to see.
The first of the dinner parties was small, just a half a dozen people, and Liza didn't appear at all. It happened about two weeks later, and she found it quite easy to disappear for the evening. She even managed a convenient excuse which Monica seemed to find acceptable, but which Simon didn't seem to like at all. He had noticed her absence and been annoyed by it.
"It would have made the numbers wrong," Liza told him stoically, next morning, when he asked her curtly where she had been.
"Which doesn't exactly answer my question," he pointed out.
She glanced at him remotely, pretending an indifference she didn't feel. It was Saturday and she was down in the field beside the stream. In the distance there was the faint noise of city traffic, but here in the depth of the woods there was only the wind sighing through the leaves, stirring the long grass, the wild flowers. Carelessly she picked a piece of brome-grass which grew beside a clump of wild cornflowers, tearing it into little pieces with her slim white fingers, unaware of what she was doing until Simon rescued the torn green stalk. "Where were you last night?" he insisted, his face darkly relentless, his hand hard on her arm. "Monica said you were out with a friend."
He called her mother Monica? Of course he would. His sophistication would more than match Monica's own, and already she was singing his praises loud and clear. Liza stared at him blankly. "Yes," she nodded, "I was out with a friend."
"What friend? Bill Bright?" He let go of her arm, speaking with barely concealed impatience, as if he guessed she was deliberately obtuse.
"I went out with Bill," she agreed, not looking at him. Where his fingers had gripped her wrist fine needles of fire ran. Unconsciously she massaged the bare skin between finger and thumb, as if trying to obliterate his touch.
He looked her over, his dark eyes explicit. "You weren't going out with him again, not after you'd seen your ballet in Stratford. Did something momentous change your mind?"
"Bill and I are just friends." Liza flushed as Simon's brows rose derisively. "Oh, I know that that's a typical joke, but in this case it happens to be true. We went out with some of the other staff, if you must know. One of the girls had a birthday and she was giving a party."
"Don't you ever answer questions directly?" His eyes narrowed as her chin tilted slightly. "Never mind," he said, "let it slide. But the next time I ask people to the house I want you there, and that's an order. If nothing else you could be of some assistance to your mother."
His forcefulness hit Liza like a blow, but she refused to be completely deflated. "You might find that having your secretary around cramps your style, Mr. Redford," she murmured demurely. "They might suspect I have my notepad concealed within my flounces. Above all, that is the main reason for all this entertainment, isn't it? You need to weigh up every potential criminal in town."
"Liza Lawson," he drawled coolly, "one of these days, so help me, I'll put you across my knee and wallop you hard. Someone ought to have done it years ago."
Liza's cheeks flamed and her eyes were suddenly pinpoints of blue fire. "You wouldn't dare," she spluttered angrily. "You're almost as bad as Silas!"
"I wish I'd known my uncle," he answered. "It would seem that you didn't agree?"
"With Silas…" Liza's temper died as quickly as it had sprang to life. Glancing uneasily at Simon, she noticed how the sun slanted across his face to where the muscles had hardened along the firm line of his jaw. In spite of his threats maybe an apology might have been more in order than her impulsive retort. Yet he probably wouldn't believe her if she told him that apart from the question of a career Silas and she had disagreed about very little during all the years she had lived at Hollows End. Instead she said stiffly, "I'm sorry, I certainly shouldn't have spoken as I did. I do realize you have business problems and this, after all, is your own house."
He caught her shoulder as she turned away, his fingers biting, although he smiled faintly. "Is that meant to be an apology, Liza?"
"Yes, I think so…" Not prepared to let him see the full extent of her remorse, she bit her lip sharply. "I did say I was sorry."
"I heard." To her surprise his hand dropped immediately from her shoulder and he replied almost brusquely, obviously not impressed by her few stilted words. "You could try to do a little better next time, but I didn't really come here this morning to discuss last night's party."
She said quickly, "You haven't gone to London this weekend?" She realized suddenly that it was Saturday and he was still here. There must be a reason.
He turned with her to walk back over the stream towards the house, his hand, which had slid from her shoulder, grasping her elbow firmly. "I have work to do here this weekend," he said. "In a couple of hours I have a rather important appointment near. Bristol and I need your help. I came to collect you. I'm afraid I took it for granted you'd be willing to come."
"I might have been out." Liza's feet stumbled slightly as they went through the long grass, and his grip on her arm tightened.
"I realized that," he agreed. "Actually, this project which I'm looking over concerns our London branch more than this, but I can just as easily complete the initial survey from Birmingham. There was just a chance, and I decided to take it, that you wouldn't be doing anything in particular."
For only a moment Liza hesitated. She had promised to run her mother into the city that morning. The venture with the store had gone better than they had dared hope, and Monica, true to her word, had seen to virtually everything herself. Now, with the promise of another three landscapes to come, the accounts department had agreed when the deal was completed to cancel her debt. She had another picture already finished and had intended taking it to the shop after breakfast. Liza glanced quickly at Simon and was unable to resist the temptation of spending at least some part of the day with him. Perhaps the new caretakers would run Monica into town? They were very obliging, and her mother did so hate driving through the city centre on her own.
"If you just wait until I get my coat," she said. "I'm sure it will be all right."
Monica, to her surprise, didn't seem to mind at all. "You must go," she told Liza crisply. "We owe Simon a lot. I'll manage to get into town, even if I have to catch a bus. My painting isn't heavy, just awkward."
Liza kept on her blue denim jeans, pausing only long enough to collect a matching top. Simon had forbidden her to change. Her long hair, which she had had professionally done two days ago, tumbled heavy and gleaming on to her shoulders and needed only a light flick with the comb. At least, if Simon could find nothing to admire, he couldn't really complain, she thought anxiously. With a curious glance in the mirror she was suddenly grateful for a cool elegance of bone structure which she had never seemed to notice before. Her outfit might be casual, but on the whole she looked quite attractive, if a little young.
Simon, impatient to get away, had refused to come in. She found him now, sitting in his car, gazing across the meadow with speculative eyes.
"There's a large stretch of land there," he observed as they moved off. "Did Silas ever mention building on it?"
Liza shivered, her newly acquired confidence fading. Even the idea of anyone doing that, and her mother's subsequent reactions, daunted her. "If he did I certainly never heard him," she replied fiercely.
"And your mother just can't
paint anywhere else." The expression in his dark eyes mocked her transparency. "Don't you think it's time she learnt to work elsewhere?"
"Perhaps," Liza muttered a little unhappily. She didn't want to talk about Hollows End and its associated problems, not today. To her relief Simon added nothing more, and she stayed silent, allowing herself to relax gradually as the big car ate up the miles. His remark about building in the meadow had obviously just been something which had idly crossed his mind. Nothing to be taken seriously.
About fifteen miles from Birmingham they passed through the parish where Liza's adoptive father had been vicar.
"We'll call here on the way home," Simon startled her by saying. "If there's time we might even have a spot of dinner and a look around. I've been promising myself that pleasure since I first knew where you came from."
Feeling her cheeks grow pale, Liza squirmed upright in her seat. Why was it that their most momentous conversations seemed to take place in this car? Nervously she regarded the luxurious leather upholstery, almost as if she suspected it of complicity, of being guilty of collaboration with the tall, disturbing man by her side. Once before, she remembered, he had asked about her father. Maybe if she took no notice, like that first time, he would forget. "Just as you wish," she said distantly.
"I should be full of anticipation, if I were you." He glanced at her keenly. "Unless there's something you're trying to hide?"
Her eyes flew open, meeting his, amused beneath his quirking brows. "I shouldn't mind if we spent the whole day there," she cried recklessly, the slight rise on her voice proclaiming, had she but known it, something of her inner agitation. "I haven't lived there for years," she tacked on for good measure. "I'm sure no one would even recognize me."
"Your looks are the kind which don't change," he said soberly, looking to the road again. "You could be pleasantly surprised."
She protested quickly, "I've grown up since I left. I was only a child."
He gave a soft, mocking laugh. "My dear Liza, sometimes, even now, you're not much more. Of course, memories can also be painful, but you can't blot out the past, pretend it hasn't happened. If you have any such recollections, don't you think it would be better to face up to them? You've never struck me as being singularly lacking in courage."
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