Something perversely insistent inside her drove Liza out through the back entrance of the hotel. This didn't appear to have been altered, and the one person she passed took little notice of her. Liza didn't know if the lake was still there and she was ashamed to find she didn't really care. Rage at her own stupidity boiled up inside her. Why hadn't she sorted out her jumbled emotions with silent dignity instead of allowing them to precipitate her into such reckless action? It would have been easy enough to plead tiredness and go quietly home.
In the mood he was in she had known Simon would follow, but she hadn't thought quite so soon. The lake, still there, lay in front of her in the moonlight, the water glinting whitely, the whole stretch of it hidden from the road which ran so close by a thick copse of trees. One quick glance was all she spared it before turning to confront Simon, who came swiftly up behind her.
In the dim light he had the air of a man whose patience was held on a tight rein, but when he spoke it was levelly and without undue haste. "Sometimes, Liza, I find it difficult to connect you with the cool and collected secretary I know." His eyes, penetrating the gloom, flicked her hot face where the moon caught it fully. His own stayed in comparative darkness, enigmatic, his thoughts leashed as he studied her beautifully modelled head.
"I don't have to be always cool and collected!" Liza heard her voice, its rising inflection which she seemed unable to control. "At least you can't say that I made up the lake." Indignantly, with a small half-sob, she swept out her hand, a tentative half-circle. "I know," she flung at his impassive face, "it was stupid of me to come, to act as I did, but it wasn't intentional."
Slowly he shook his head, his glance going past her to the water. "I've been here once or twice and had no idea that a lake existed, so it must be sentiment after all."
"Yet you sound doubtful?"
"I wonder," he said softly, his eyes narrowing. "I never know quite where I am with you. I intended taking you back to the flat for—more coffee, if you like."
"Just that?" There was danger, Liza knew, in such an impulsive question, but it was out before she could stop the words from passing her trembling lips. Maybe she had imbibed too freely. Excitement traced with anger spun through her head.
His eyes lingered on her full, quivering mouth. "No. More than that, but not what you think. I had a sudden urge to hold you and kiss you, make love to you for a while. Who knows how many of your inhibitions might have flown from the window? But then you had to spoil all my well laid plans. We lingered too long near the church. You talked too much over dinner. Now you're disposed to linger by some godforsaken lake in the middle of nowhere, and it's too late to do anything else but take you home."
He was teasing, and while she hated him for it, her spirits inexplicably lightened. He hadn't been annoyed for long. With this mood she felt she could cope. "I'm sorry," she countered demurely, "to have proved such a disappointment." She decided to ignore what he had said about the flat.
"So long as the lady is willing to admit her deviousness something might yet be salvaged from the situation." Dark laughter sprang into his eyes. "This lake, you said, has happy associations?"
"Not always." With his laughter her confidence strengthened. "There was a day when I fell in…"
"Is it deep enough, large enough, for that?" His glance flickered past her head in the fast gathering darkness.
"About three acres, and quite deep in places, or it used to be. Someone, long ago, planted trees. I liked to lean over the side of the boat and look at their silhouettes through the water. When the wind blew their reflections moved. One day I leant over too far and—fell in."
"And you looked like a drowned rat, pigtails and all." Mercilessly his hand shot out, grasping her hair, pulling her head back to his shoulder. "You don't have pigtails any more, but your hair is heavy and sexy, just as I like it."
Her eyes flashed with uncontrollable resentment. She didn't mind so much when he teased her, but not like this. When she tried to move his grip tightened and hurt and her eyes smarted. "I was brought up in a good home," she gasped. "My hair isn't intentionally—how you like it."
He took no notice of her feeble protest, his laughter still apparent. "Do you know," he smiled, "I've never known anyone with such a lack of appreciation." His hand slid from her face, pulling her firmly against him. "I'll have you know," he mocked, "I don't treat all my secretaries as I treat you."
"Just as well—" she started to stutter, swallowing hard. She had been in his arms before. In fact—hysterical laughter welled—she should be getting used to it. She shivered, but not with cold, conscious of his probing fingers. The truth was she liked it, and, while not prepared to admit it, unconsciously she snuggled closer. The excitement which she had managed to subdue a few minutes ago flared, and she felt her heart racing madly beneath his hand.
"Tell me," he ordered softly as she hesitated, "exactly what you're thinking about."
"Nothing," she retorted stubbornly.
It would seem that he wasn't convinced. "You're slipping, my love," he taunted. "No struggles? You'll be telling me next that you can't resist me. Then we'll really be getting somewhere."
Anger and humiliation exploded in Liza's head with a brilliant glare. She tried to pull away from him, on fire now with an urgent need to retaliate, yet unable to escape the controlled strength of his arms. "You have a rare conceit of yourself," she choked, her tongue running away with discretion. "Personally I don't mind having a man's arms around me, but you—why, you're no different from anyone else!"
"Then let me prove it!" He jerked her to him so that she was at his mercy completely, her loaded little speech activating a ruthlessness he made no attempt to hide. He grasped her shoulders through the thick mesh of her hair, not caring if he hurt her. She caught her breath and the blood pounded in her ears.
It was too late, resistance was beyond her. Simon's head bent and he found her mouth, forcing it open with punishing mastery. Piercing sensations shot through her, and dizzily the world she knew fell away from her. There was only Simon, and she was crushed up against him, clinging to him convulsively, her long shuddering sigh trembling on the night air.
There was no gentleness in his kiss, only passionate demand, and she was frightened by it. Yet she couldn't stop her arms from sliding around his neck, nor her body from pressing urgently against his. His lips were hard and warm, destroying whatever will she had left to resist him. A new warmth, a new life and emotion held them together. Her hand behind his head tightened impetuously and she could feel herself trembling in his grasp.
She wasn't aware of the exact moment when his mouth left hers. Her eyes were somehow full of tears and she could feel his hand exploring her chin and throat, his lips trailing a line of fire across her cheek, his breathing slightly deeper against her throbbing temple. There he must have felt the faint wetness on her weighted lids.
With an almost involuntary movement he withdrew. "Liza," he snapped huskily, "I didn't mean to frighten you. You provoked me, but that's no excuse. I'm so much older than you, you need more time, while me, I've never yet learnt to wait for anything I want."
It was difficult for Liza to think coherently. His words jumbled about her ears, mixing with the throbbing of her pulses, impossible to understand wholly. Rather desperately she tried to pull herself together. His voice came with a hint more of restraint than impatience, and she drew some comfort from the evenness of his tones. The full implication of what he said went over her head.
Because of her burning mouth her smile was shaky. "Please don't apologise," she said softly, her lips parting as she looked at him. "I think I lost my temper because I'm tired. I shouldn't have come out here in the first place."
He turned her swiftly, cupping the curve of her chin for one heart-stopping moment with the hard palm of his hand, dropping a last light kiss on her tremulous, quivering mouth.
"I'll take you home," he replied briefly. "Of course you're tired, you've had a hard day."
"I'
m sorry if you're disappointed," she murmured idiotically, not quite sure of what she was saying as she half stumbled along by his side.
"Shush, girl!" His hand was at her elbow steadying her through the darkness.
As always when he had held her in his arms she tried to tell herself that she hated him, but this time she knew quite clearly that this wasn't so. Her tears and the heavy, fatalistic beating of her heart should have warned her long before her senses screamed out the truth. She had fallen in love with Simon Redford. The truth, though unpalatable, was unavoidable, and Liza felt her mind go numb with the shock of it. If only she had had the sense to leave the firm weeks ago, this might never have happened. That it could only lead to a crazy unhappiness, she was convinced. Simon would never love her. She would be a fool to allow herself even one glimmer of hope. He might, in some small measure, be attracted to her, but he would only play with her, then marry someone like Laura Tenson. Men like Simon Redford were never at the mercy of their emotions. They knew exactly where they were going, and never deviated from the way they wanted to go.
If the revelations beside the lake had been a shock, the appearance of Laura Tenson in the hotel lounge when they returned proved an even greater one, more especially when Simon seemed quite pleased to see her. It seemed the proverbial last straw when he smiled.
"I get used to you turning up unexpectedly," he said, more enigmatically than Liza realized. She was only aware of his fingers on her arm, thrusting her forward with slightly punishing force when she would have drawn aside. "You know my cousin, of course."
"Yes." Liza noticed the fleeting frown which marred the smoothness of Laura's brow as she flicked a briefly indifferent glance in her direction. "Have you been working?" Her tone suggested that there could be no other reason why they should be out together.
"We've been to Bristol," Simon explained, too readily in Liza's opinion. "We stopped on the way back for dinner."
"But why here particularly?"
"My dear Laura," Simon's dark brows rose, "why not? But if your curiosity must be satisfied, Liza's father happened to be vicar here once."
"So you thought it would be a nice gesture." Laura's own brows rose as she met his mocking eyes. "I suppose he would be your relation as well," she conceded thoughtfully.
Whether intentionally or not Laura's persistence aroused in Liza an impatient indignation, and she intervened quickly before Simon could reply, "We were just going home, actually."
"Liza's tired." Much to Liza's surprise Simon's hand tightened protectively on her arm and he spoke with authority. "We're on our way, after I get her a drink."
"And me too, Simon darling, if you don't mind." On the face of it not a bit put out, Laura smiled charmingly before adding, with what to Liza seemed deliberate cunning, "But why not, if Liza is tired, let my chauffeur take her home? I've been visiting relatives of my own in the district—a duty call, as they're elderly, and I felt like prolonging the evening. Actually I do sometimes call in here. One can always bump into someone one knows. This evening it seems I've been especially lucky."
When Laura Tenson liked she could be something more than charming! So convincingly so, in fact, that Liza's brief doubts as to her reason for being here faded completely. Besides, it would be silly to think she had made up the whole story. There was no way by which she could possibly have known of Simon's whereabouts. But Laura's plan to get rid of her was so transparent that Liza could not restrain a slight smile. Perhaps it wasn't entirely Laura's fault that Simon Redford's devastating effect on women seemed to drive them to ridiculous lengths. Hadn't she been guilty of similar indiscretions herself? This might indeed be the salutary lesson she needed. To see in another's faults a dismal reflection of one's own.
Afterwards Liza wasn't sure whether she ought to have been vexed or pleased that Laura's rather brazen attempts to annex Simon didn't altogether succeed. To have gone quietly home on her own seemed suddenly irresistible to her bruised spirits, but Simon was adamant. With his board meeting face he settled Liza comfortably in a deep chair before seeing to their drinks. Then, without further comment on Laura's suggestion, he had sent her chauffeur away alone, then taken both girls back to Birmingham himself.
But any satisfaction Liza might have felt at his adroit handling of what might have been an embarrassing situation was short-lived when Simon dropped her off first at Hollows End.
"You've had enough for one day," he said, with a keenly observant glance at her pale cheeks, her wide, strained eyes. "An early night won't do you any harm."
A faint smile on her lips, Liza stood on the doorstep and watched them go. It seemed perfectly obvious that he into round off the evening with Laura, and, in spite of his solicitude, the thought brought no comfort to Liza's aching heart. Laura Tenson would win every time and, from the smug expression on her beautiful face, it appeared that she had every reason to think that this was so.
It wasn't until her mother came downstairs next morning that Liza learnt the full story of Laura's escapade, but after an almost sleepless night it didn't seem to matter any more.
"Laura rang," Monica said, as she spread her toast lightly with marmalade, "just after you did last night, and I told her I'd just had a call from the hotel. I think she wanted to get in touch with Simon."
Which only went to prove that their subsequent meeting hadn't been such a coincidence after all, and more than strengthened Liza's suspicions that Miss Tenson was a great deal more interested in Simon Redford than she was prepared to admit.
Needless to say, Liza didn't mention any of this to Simon. There didn't seem much point. If Laura had been visiting relatives, as she had said, then she might only have been twisting the truth. In any case, she had a feeling that Simon wouldn't be interested in such a tale, if indeed he believed it. And it might only appeal to his ego if he did.
"I enjoyed myself very much on Saturday," she assured him when he asked her. "In parts," she added demurely, as an afterthought, and pretended not to see when his eyes narrowed intently across her defiant face.
Inevitably during the next few weeks Liza was aware of a growing sense of despair, a feeling of hopelessness that she had allowed herself the monumental folly of falling in love with a man who certainly didn't love her in return. Sometimes there were days when she felt especially vulnerable, when she almost prayed she wouldn't see so much of him, but the developing nature of their work together did little to help.
She was kept busy as Miss Brown was still away, but she did have the assistant Simon had promised, and once trained, this girl was quite often left in the office while she accompanied him on jobs outside. Usually, when Liza worked for him like this, they had lunch together, and he was especially nice to her, but never again did he attempt to hold her in his arms and make love to her as he had done by the lake. On top of this, Liza knew that in the evenings he was seeing a lot of Laura Tenson.
Often she wished she had the courage to hand in her notice and leave. By staying here she was only building up heart-ache for herself. There was Monica to consider, of course, but now Liza was beginning to feel convinced that there was no future for either of them at Hollows End. The house wasn't right, she had felt it before. There was something alien about it, something incompatible. Although her mother might refuse to admit it, neither of them had been really happy there. Monica, with her obsession about the meadow, might think differently, but all of a sudden Liza was certain that once away from the place, her mother would find happiness in other and more satisfying ways.
Yet, in spite of all these things, Liza knew she would stay. Away from Redfords, and in another house, she might never see Simon again. Half a loaf was better than no bread, and here at least she could see him and talk to him, even if their conversation was largely about work.
Then came an evening which Liza was not to forget in a hurry, an evening when Laura arrived unexpectedly at the office just as she was getting ready to go home. She had called to see Simon, she said, but didn't seem particula
rly put out that he wasn't there.
"He's been gone for most of the day," Liza explained, unwillingly. "He had a conference in London this afternoon. I thought you would have known."
Laura ignored this. "I did see him this morning," she said sweetly, moving past Liza towards Simon's office and softly opening the door.
"He's certainly not in there," Liza told her shortly, not knowing whether to feel irritated or amused. It was well after six and she was tired. Irritation won. "He doesn't make a habit of hiding from people," she snapped. "Even from those whom he'd rather not see."
Laura laughed, refusing to be ruffled, her china blue eyes crinkling beneath a weight of make-up. Liza's barbed innuendo appeared to go over her head. "I was only taking a tiny peep, darling, so you mustn't be unkind. I didn't imagine he would be there, but I just couldn't be one of these people he'd rather not see, now could I?"
Her cheeks flushed, Liza hesitated uncertainly, finding Laura's coquettish mood more exasperating than usual. "Didn't you expect that Simon would be back?" she inquired slowly, unable otherwise to account for the girl being here.
With superb self-confidence Laura smiled charmingly. "I wasn't sure. He said he might be. I was passing and decided to pop in and see. He often takes me out to dinner and I thought this evening he might like to come home with me. He's almost sure to be tired and might have refused if I'd given him a ring. As it is…" She shrugged, her slim shoulders moving imperceptibly.
"I see…" Suppressing what could only be a twinge of jealousy, Liza waited. Laura, she felt sure suddenly, had something more to say. So far as Laura Tenson was concerned, intuition had always served her well. There was no reason why it should fail now. Only this time there was also a swift sting of premonition, an instinctive knowledge that what she was about to hear wouldn't be welcome, and defensively Liza turned to her desk, reaching swiftly and purposefully for her typewriter cover.
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