But if she had hoped that her rather terse manner would discourage Laura she was to be disappointed.
"I had quite a long chat with Simon this morning," said Laura.
"Indeed?" Liza could not restrain a hint of tartness.
"He certainly seems to be getting this firm on to its feet again."
"It was quite firmly established before Simon arrived." Liza glanced up from her desk, frowning, not at all sure where all this was leading to and not really wanting to find out.
"Daddy is of the opinion that Simon might well finish up a millionaire. One doesn't often get such charm along with money."
"Your father appears to have more than his share of both," Liza suggested dryly, her lips tightening derisively in spite of her endeavour to stay cool. Laura was leading up to something with all the aplomb of a conductor leading his orchestra through the overture!
Laura nodded, apparently unaware of Liza's true frame of mind. "Daddy says that charm can pave the way. He can never understand a man who doesn't use it. Simon could use just a tiny bit more, on occasion."
"How do you mean?"
Laura yawned pretentiously, not even bothering to cover her mouth prettily, as she had done after dinner at Hollows End a few evenings ago. "If you knew Simon a little better, Liza, you wouldn't ask. He can be quite brutal when he likes, but not, of course, with me."
Her fingers clenched, Liza waited. Laura rambled on so much she could scream! "I hadn't noticed," she said.
"Oh, but you will, darling." Laura now was positively purring. "It's rather a pity that he's so set on building at Hollows End. I might have enjoyed living there myself one day."
Liza's breath caught painfully in her throat as she stared at Laura blankly. What on earth was she getting at? "I'm afraid I don't follow you?" The words seemed torn from her.
For Laura it was the final triumph. Her eyes positively gloated over Liza's white face. "Haven't you heard, my dear? He's got planning permission at last for a housing estate in that meadow of yours. I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but he told me himself this morning. I should have thought you and your mother would have been the first to know. That's what I meant when I said he could be quite brutal—on occasion."
CHAPTER TEN
Hollows End lay dreaming beneath a late summer sky when Liza arrived there an hour later. As she went down the lane the heady scents from the meadow smote her anew. The sounds of summer, the warm breeze whispering through the trees, a soft smell of earth and grass, bees droning in the flowers; swallows swooping overhead. In spite of her contrary thoughts she knew she would miss it. But she wasn't worrying so much on her own account. It was Monica. She loved the house and the shock might be more than she could bear… A wild resentment in Liza's heart against Simon Redford threatened to choke her.
For almost half an hour after Laura Tenson had left the office, Liza had sat staring in front of her, lost in a trance of unhappiness. That Simon had chosen to break such news to her in this fashion hurt bitterly. It would have seemed bad enough if he had told her himself, but to leave it in the careless hands of someone like Laura was beyond comprehension. He must have known that Laura would waste no time in passing on such information, unless he was so much in love as to be blind to her faults.
Liza's face lost every trace of colour as she walked towards the house, as again her mind went over what Laura had said. For all her doubts and uncertainties Liza had never for one moment imagined that Simon would build on the land, yet it wasn't actually this that stunned her. With time to calm down and think rationally, she could not but admit that this could be one way of severing the ties which held her mother so firmly. No, it wasn't this. It was the knowledge that Simon had taken neither the time or trouble to tell them personally. Monica, after all, should have been the first to know. As Laura had said!
If Liza found she had been shaken by this, then there was worse to come. Laura, not content with one blow, had dealt two. After she had left the office Laura, it appeared, had got in touch with Monica and repeated the whole story. Liza found her mother in tears.
"It must be true," Monica sobbed, when Liza half-heartedly tried to persuade her that there might be some mistake. "She had it from Simon's own lips. You know as well as I do that he wouldn't joke about such a thing!"
"I just don't know…" Liza stared at her mother distractedly. She was taking it much worse than she had anticipated. "I hated finding out this way myself, but I didn't intend saying anything to you until I'd seen Simon. Why Laura Tenson should choose to tell you, I have no idea."
"I don't know either." Monica, tears still flowing, shook her head. "At times a girl like Laura can have too little to do, and a little mischief excites them. I can't think of any other reason. Unless, in some strange way, she's jealous of my privileges. If she intends to marry Simon she may not be prepared to accept his relatives."
"If she marries him we could be the least of her problems." With a dry comment Liza tried to disguise the magnitude of her heartache. "In any case," she went on, making a determined effort to be fair, "it's not completely Laura's fault. Simon ought to have told us himself."
As she removed her coat and dropped it over a nearby stool, Liza noticed her mother's things, paints and easel, a rolled piece of canvas, lying carelessly beside the telephone table. Usually it was all stacked neatly away. "Will you mind very much, Mums?" she asked in a low voice, perching tentatively on the arm of Monica's chair. Monica never invited sympathy. She was a great believer in a stiff upper lip. Liza could never remember seeing her so upset before. Gently she put a hand on her shoulder.
To her utter alarm Monica said wildly, "It might just about kill me! I feel dreadful already. Without the meadow I shouldn't be able to paint any more, even if we were allowed to stay in the house. I don't know what I shall do,."
"Mums, please," Liza begged, her hand tightening on Monica's shoulder. Her mother's attitude scared her. If they did have to leave surely it wouldn't be such a catastrophe? This wasn't the aspect which so infuriated Liza, but obviously it was of major importance to her mother.
Unable to calm her down, Liza waited nervously for the flood of recriminations to stop. Perhaps Monica would feel better with everything off her chest. Steeped as she was in her own unhappiness, much of what Monica said went over her head, until there was something which caused Liza to straighten with a jerk.
"Simon went right through the house only yesterday," Monica sniffed. "It was something to do with fire insurance, he said. He was up in the attics, mostly, I didn't take much notice, but he did distinctly ask me not to mention it to you. Not until he returned from London, whatever that might mean."
"You should have told me sooner, Mums!" Stiff with anger, Liza rose to her feet. "He probably intends to turn the whole of Hollows End into flats about our ears, and I don't doubt that he was reserving the pleasure of telling me so for himself. Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to have a wash and make you a cup of coffee. Then I'm going straight to see Simon Redford myself. And don't you try to stop me!"
It wasn't until she was almost ready to go that Liza stopped to contemplate in all seriousness the thing she was planning to do. It was one thing to lose her temper, to vow vengeance because Simon had chosen to plan and scheme behind her back, but quite another to go and confront him in his own flat. He might not be back yet from town. She had no idea about evening trains from London. She seemed to remember one getting in to New Street station about eight once when she had gone to London herself a few months ago.
Liza knew Simon lived not far away from the station. He had managed to find a service flat and she had the address and telephone number in case of emergencies, but she had never been there before or had any reason to contact him there in any way.
"Wouldn't it be better if you waited until tomorrow?" Monica pleaded, alarmed in spite of her own distress by the strained whiteness of Liza's face. "Simon might have some explanation. There might be something which we've overlooked.
I shouldn't want to make things worse."
Liza, pretending not to hear, swiftly left the house. "I won't be long," was the only reply she made, determined that nothing would deter her at this stage, her momentary misgivings swept away on a fresh surge of anger. A man like Simon who resorted to such measures could only be hateful, despicable, and she would not deprive herself of the pleasure of telling him so. In the morning, at the office, she had no desire that her new assistant should overhear what she had to say, and she rather suspected the girl was not above listening at keyholes.
She glanced down at the thin summer dress she was wearing. It would have to do. Maybe she ought to have put on something warmer as the nights were drawing in and the air soon cooled. However, she should be quite all right in the car and what she had to say shouldn't take more than a few minutes.
A disturbing thought struck her as she reversed the car out of the garage, making her pause to wonder how irresponsible she was being. What would she do if she knocked at Simon's door and found Laura there? There seemed every likelihood that this was possible. Laura had seemed as resolved as herself to contact him that evening, if undoubtedly for a different purpose.
Determinedly Liza thrust such doubts aside. She would face such a contingency when it occurred, not before. She could always make an excuse about having to see him on business. She could pretend she had been trying to get in touch with him and been unable to get through. In such circumstances he would be forced to grant her a little time, just long enough to say exactly what was on her mind.
At nine o'clock at night there was still plenty of traffic about, and Liza had to negotiate several difficult junctions before she found her way to the station. Then it was just a question of finding the right area where Simon lived. She made one or two mistakes which weren't easily rectified on a one-way traffic system, but eventually she came to the large block of flats which she was looking for and brought the car to a halt in the centre courtyard.
To her relief there were only three blocks of apartments rising starkly against the sky. Compared with Hollows End it looked stark and bare, with only a few patches of greenery in tubs and a bed of wilted rose trees which obviously refused to thrive in the middle of such a concrete jungle.
Parking the car carefully in the visitors' car park behind the line of garages, Liza locked the door before crossing to the nearest block. It stretched up into murky gloom above her head, and she took a deep breath before going up the steps into the foyer. Opening her handbag, she fumbled clumsily for Simon's number which she had written on a sheet of office paper. Her fingers were full of nervous tension and her courage which she had thought so strong seemed to be ebbing away.
Apartment twenty-six, second floor, she read. There would be no need to take the lift. The few seconds needed to climb the stairs would give her time to pull herself together. The stairs were carpeted and her feet made no noise as they sank into the deep pile. Surprisingly there was scarcely a sound to be heard. It was difficult to imagine that the building must house several hundred people.
On reaching the second floor Liza stiffened her shoulders, walking slowly along, glancing at the numbers on the doors. Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six—This was it.
Without giving herself time to hesitate she pressed the bell and waited. Her heart was beating in great thumps, and she knew if she had given herself a chance to reconsider she would have turned and run without a backward look.
There was silence for so long that she began to think that Simon was not yet home. Relief flooded through her, only to be shortlived. There were sounds of firm footsteps approaching the door, then it swung open, and Simon himself stood there, caught in a shaft of light from the room behind him.
Tall and broad, dressed only in a shirt and pair of light trousers, he stared at her in amazement. The shirt was open at the neck and the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He had obviously not been expecting visitors, and Liza found herself suddenly unable to speak.
He ran a smoothing hand over his hair, a frown creasing his brow. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked sharply, his voice vaguely impatient.
Liza looked over his shoulder into the apartment. So far as she could see there was no sign of Laura Tenson. "I wanted to see you," she managed at last. "I think you'd better ask me in."
He looked as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it. His frown deepening, he stepped aside, indicating that she should enter, and after she had moved past him, he closed the door behind her.
Without further comment he went ahead, leading the way into a large lounge which was a masterpiece of understated luxury. Deep chairs, a long, superbly upholstered settee, wide, fitted carpets and floor-length windows which gave panoramic views of the twilight city. At any other time she might have been filled with admiration, but in her present state of mind nothing really registered. An archway from the lounge opened on to a small dining-room, but there was no sign of an evening meal. He had apparently eaten on the train.
He asked her to sit down, and she sat on the very edge of the settee, half ashamed of her palpitating heart, and aware that Simon still regarded her with some impatience. He had started to roll down his sleeves, to button his cuffs and, in spite of the fury which still smouldered along her nerves, she wanted to tell him not to bother.
Wetting her dry lips with her tongue, she rushed into speech. "I wanted to talk to you. I mean, I wanted to discuss something which I heard earlier."
"I see." His eyes narrowed as he noticed the colour that came and went beneath her smooth skin. Apart from those two words he didn't help her. He did go back to the door, to switch off the centre light, leaving only the soft glow from a small table lamp to illuminate her features.
Liza stared at him, hating the coldness of his expression, the feeling he was giving her of being an intruder, of being able to render her almost speechless when she had so much to say. "I saw Laura Tenson this afternoon," she exclaimed unsteadily.
Simon's expression sharpened and grew grim. "And so…?" he prompted.
Liza's hands twisted tightly on her lap, her nails biting into the palms of her hands as she watched him standing in the middle of the room, not moving a muscle. He had moved to within a few feet of her and, as if anticipating something of what she was about to say, regarded her hot face, his whole aspect unchanging. Of course any criticism of Laura Tenson was bound to infuriate him. Infuriated by such a thought herself, Liza spoke recklessly. "She told me that you intend to build on Hollows End. You didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself, but had to send your girlfriend to do it. As well as an impostor you're also a coward, and a despicable one at that!"
Somewhere, at the back of Liza's mind, came the frightening knowledge that she had said too much. That she had allowed the surge of her emotions to carry her beyond the bounds of common sense. If she had set out intentionally to insult him she had certainly succeeded. She saw the expression on his face, saw his eyes blaze with a sudden anger, his lips taut with a fury which could not be disguised as he cut off her impetuous accusations.
"I think you've said enough," he snapped grimly, looking down at her as she sat frozen on the edge of the sofa, seeming to hold himself with an iron control. He didn't say a word about Laura.
"But you don't deny any of it!" His silence provoked her and she jumped unsteadily to her feet, backing away from him.
His face was a mask. "Not a bit," he retorted harshly. "I'm going to build on the whole damned lot."
Too late came the notion from somewhere that she might have been wiser to have approached him in an entirely different manner. She had never seen him like this before, nor did she ever want to again. She hated him, yet why was she aware of everything about him, every minute detail, from the soft sleek cream of his pale silk shirt to the immaculate cut of his navy trousers? But most of all she was aware of his eyes, their annihilating scrutiny, the unforgiving determination smouldering in their depth.
With that glance her glimme
r of prudence vanished. Her eyes met his and challenged defiantly, "You always intended to, didn't you! I remember Bill Bright saying something about it when you first came, but unfortunately I didn't take much notice."
"It's a great pity that Mr. Bright didn't take time to get his facts right," he sneered.
"He might not always be accurate, but he doesn't cheat. Not like you."
"How about yourself?" Simon's voice positively thundered. "You chose to let me believe that you're my cousin, when in actual fact you're nothing of the sort. You're a fine one, my dear Liza, to talk of deception!"
Sheer terror beat wildly through Liza's head. So he had found out! In the middle of what seemed to be a nightmare she knew a surprising flicker of relief, though not enough to register, or to control a blinding panic. "I think you're hateful!" she gasped, whirling on her heel as she made for the door, her one desire to escape.
For a split second she thought she had managed to elude him, but with a smothered exclamation he came after her, catching her up easily and drawing her back into the hard circle of his arms. "I was right about you all along," he spoke with a controlled, unforgiving anger, his eyes moving over her face and shoulders with cold indifference. "You've been nothing but trouble, irresponsible, undisciplined trouble, and it seems fitting that someone should teach you a lesson!"
Taking no notice of her inarticulate struggles, he lifted her bodily, carrying her back to the settee, thrusting her down into the soft, yielding cushions and sliding his own weight down beside her. Then, with punishing determination, he put a hand behind her head and brought his mouth down to hers. Liza, only aware of his implacability, his half audible threat as his lips touched hers, made one last attempt to turn away, but Simon held her ruthlessly to him, kissing her with unswerving purpose, while his free hand closed over the lovely line of her breast.
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