by Flora Kidd
‘But you’re attracted to him?’ persisted Lydia with a knowledgeable nod. ‘Yes, I think I can guess how Ross would treat you, in a kindly way but with a firm hand. He’d be interested in you because you’ve been hurt and he would try to help you ... rather like he was interested in a poodle puppy of mine which was hurt once. As soon as it recovered he lost interest.’
The chocolate mousse which Sally was eating lost its flavour and she placed the plate on the nearby table.
‘Ross and I met in Malta,’ continued Lydia. ‘We fell in
love, but unfortunately I was married. I would have wangled a divorce somehow, but Ross decided to behave honourably and he put in for a transfer. Now I’m free and I’m hoping he hasn’t changed his mind about me.’
Sally longed to escape. She didn’t want to hear any more. She did not want to listen any longer to a woman who could dismiss the death of her husband so briefly and coldly. But she was rooted to the spot, fascinated by the gaze of the empty grey eyes.
‘When I first heard about you from Miriam,’ said Lydia in a very confidential manner, ‘I was worried. I thought you might have been capable of changing his mind. But now I’ve met you I can see you aren’t the type to make much impression on him. Ross likes women to be poised and to know all the answers. You seem to be just a little wet behind the ears.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sally stiffly, furiously.
Lydia smiled with some of her aunt’s flashing brilliance.
‘Now I’ve hurt your feelings. I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit I have. But maybe my frankness will help you to get over your infatuation more easily. Ross will be moving on soon. He’s very ambitious, and has a certain amount of pull with the company. And now I must leave you and go and talk to someone else. Aunt Miriam is a stickler for etiquette, you know, and she thinks it’s very bad form if you stay talking to one person for too long at one of these parties.’
It wasn’t easy to escape from the party, because Mike was enjoying himself and didn’t want to leave. In the end, however, Sally persuaded him that although she didn’t feel well enough to stay there was no need for him to leave. Miriam and Tom, to give them their due, were more concerned about her desire to leave alone, but they did not attempt to persuade her to stay, and at last Sally escaped into the cool dark blue night and hurried down the hill to her home.
After Lydia’s attack she wanted to hide away from everyone. How she wished she hadn’t gone to the party! She had set off in a confident, anticipatory mood and was returning home torn and rejected. If only Ross had been there maybe Lydia would not have been so spiteful and possibly Mike would have stayed by her side under the watchful eyes of his ‘slavedriver’.
Why hadn’t he been there? A busy week, Tom Hunter had said. Yes, she could imagine Ross driving himself and everyone else to achieve his objective, working flat out, ignoring all invitations to be sociable. He would be sociable in his own time and in his own way.
She unlatched the garden gate and ran up the path to Rosemount. The warmth of her home enfolded her and she felt comforted immediately. She opened the living room door and stood stock still. Sitting at the table opposite to her father, leaning over the chessboard, was Ross. His tweed jacket was off, the knot of his tie was loosened and his hair was rumpled.
Hugh was concentrating hard, his shoulders hunched as he contemplated the few remaining pieces on the board. He puffed briskly at his pipe—a sure sign that he was thinking deeply.
Only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece disturbed the silence of the homely room. It was a pleasant silence, the sort which can only exist between two people who like and respect each other, and Sally hesitated to break it. But curiosity plus exasperation were difficult to restrain.
‘Of all the nerve!’ she burst out, thinking of the people who were expecting him at the party and all the time he had been sitting here.
He looked up, put a finger to his lips and said ‘shush!’ At that moment Hugh made his move and Sally, giving Ross what she hoped was a haughty glance, walked across the room and looked down at the chessboard. She could see that in a few moves her father would soon have Ross’s king checkmated and she stood by the table watching until the moves were made and the game ended.
Hugh sat back, rubbing his hands together with glee.
‘I thought for a few minutes ye had me beaten, ye devil!’ he chortled.
Ross shook his head. ‘Not tonight, not this week. It isn’t my week for winning,’ he remarked.
‘Well, lass, did ye have a good time up yonder?’ asked Hugh, turning to his daughter. ‘Ye’re back earlier than I expected. Jessie’s gone over to Sheila’s place to stay the night. The bairn is on its way and Sheila has gone to the hospital.’ His bright hazel eyes narrowed as he studied Sally’s face and she touched the scar without knowing that she did so. Hugh glanced across at Ross, who was putting the chessmen away, and rose to his feet.
‘I’ve been glad of your company, lad. We’ll have the return game another time.’ He collected his pipe and matches, considered them silently for a moment, then said firmly, ‘See that y’r not too late to bed, Sally. Goodnight to ye both.’
‘Goodnight,’ murmured Ross, who was still intent on arranging the chess pieces.
‘Goodnight, Father,’ said Sally absently, as she watched Ross. As soon as the door closed behind her father she hissed,
‘Why are you here?’
Ross placed the lid on the chess box, leaned back in his chair and grinned up at her.
‘Why shouldn’t I be here?’ he enquired blandly.
‘You were invited to Miriam’s party.’
‘I was, but I’m not aware that I accepted the invitation. Was it a good party?’
Sally pulled the chair from the table, sat down on it and stared at him helplessly. He was always so unrepentant, so unashamed. He returned her stare steadily, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
‘No ... well, I don’t think so. That’s why I came home early. Lydia was there. She was quite upset when you didn’t turn up.’
‘I thought she might be,’ he commented coolly.
‘Then you planned deliberately not to go,’ she accused.
‘I didn’t go because I didn’t want to go. I dislike Miriam’s parties—too much social climbing and gossip. Also I rather enjoy thwarting Miriam’s attempts to organise my life. I prefer to make my own arrangements to see Lydia and when I see her it will be privately without a crowd of bystanders. Did Mike leave with you?’
‘No, I came back alone.’
He looked at her sharply, so she rushed on with another question, afraid that he might enquire too much about the party.
‘Why did you come here?’
‘I met your father on the quayside. I was taking a walk and looking at the fishing boats. He told me where you’d gone, and that Aunt Jessie had been called to your cousin’s house. He seemed in very low spirits, so when he invited me for a game of chess I could hardly refuse. I thought I’d be gone before you returned. Does he often get depressed?’
‘Yes, since Mother died,’ replied Sally.
A floorboard creaked overhead as Hugh moved about his room. He had gone to bed leaving her downstairs alone with a man, an unprecedented action in this house where old- fashioned rules were still kept. With her thought her glance had strayed to the ceiling and as she looked down again she noticed Ross lounging indolently, watching her with that bright intent gaze which belied his indolence.
‘Dad has gone to bed,’ she faltered.
‘So he informed us. Apparently he has more tact now than he had ten years ago,’ remarked Ross dryly.
‘More tact? In what way?’
‘Ten years ago he wouldn’t have left Maeve and me alone down here at this hour of night.’
‘Oh!’ she gasped ... and blushed. Recovering as quickly as possible, she sat up straight and said coldly, ‘The circumstances then were different.’
‘How were they different?’ he challenged.
<
br /> ‘Well, you and Maeve were ... were...’ She noticed suddenly that he was smiling at her and continued hotly, ‘He probably had good reason to stay in the same room as both of you.’
Ross raised his eyebrows.
‘You have a point there,’ he conceded smoothly. ‘Maeve was difficult to handle even at seventeen. I’m glad for her sake that she met Fergus. He seems to know how to keep her in order. Have you heard anything from them since last Sunday?’
Grateful for the return to safer ground, Sally quoted Maeve’s message.
‘She hopes your eye is better. Is it?’ she asked.
His method of answering was unexpected. Leaning across the corner of the table which separated them, he said,
‘See for yourself.’
Sally had to lean forward too to look closely at his left eye. The bruise had lost its puffiness and all that remained was a yellowish-black shadow under the eye, the white of which was still slightly bloodshot, giving his face a somewhat dissipated appearance.
‘It looks much better,’ she said seriously. ‘Has it been painful?’
‘Thanks for asking. It hasn’t made a difficult week any easier,’ he remarked sardonically, and it was then that she realised that only inches separated their faces. The sudden silence in the room was not the comfortable relaxed silence of twenty minutes ago when she had entered the room. It seemed to sizzle with tension.
Anyone coming into the room and seeing them would think they were about to kiss. The thought had hardly crystallised in Sally’s mind when she was swept by a depth-shaking desire to be kissed, to feel that determined mouth on hers, obliterating conscious thought and rousing her senses.
She sat back quickly out of range, glancing stealthily over her shoulder to make sure no one was at the door and hoping that Ross hadn’t noticed anything unusual in her reaction.
Her hope was in vain. He laughed, and rising to his feet observed derisively,
‘Perhaps the circumstances aren’t so different after all. In the absence of Hugh I’d better exercise a little self-restraint and go.’
Still shaken by her own behaviour, Sally watched him shrug into his jacket, straighten his tie and push an unruly lock of hair back from his forehead in a half-hearted effort to tidy it.
‘Did Maeve have anything to tell you?’ he asked carelessly, breaking the tension with a harmless enough question.
‘Yes,’ croaked Sally. ‘She likes the house and her new neighbours. As soon as they’re settled in she and Fergus are going to an adoption society for an interview.’
‘A husband, a house and a baby,’ commented Ross musingly. ‘Maeve’s ambitions have been very simple really ... and now she’s near to achieving them. Is that what you would like too, Sally? Marriage and all that goes with it?’
This time the question was not so idle. He had moved
round the table and was standing beside her. Disturbed by his nearness as well as by the question, Sally looked up.
‘I don’t know,’ she stammered, and her hand went to the scar on her cheek. ‘I haven’t thought about it.’
‘You haven’t thought about marriage?’ He sounded surprised.
Sally shook her head and wished he would go.
Her wish wasn’t granted. Instead he squatted down before her, placed a firm hand upon her wrist and pulled her hand away from her cheek.
‘I thought you were getting out of that bad habit,’ he scolded.
Deprived of her shield, too close to him again for comfort, Sally lowered her eyes, unable to return his intent gaze.
‘Surely all girls plan and scheme for marriage from the time they’re able to string two thoughts together,’ he said with a touch of cynicism. ‘Why haven’t you?’
‘That’s not true,’ flared Sally. ‘Girls don’t plan and scheme all the time. Scheming and planning have nothing to do with love.’
Her eyes glinting angrily, she faced up to his gaze, only to be completely confused by his smile.
‘You think love has to do with marriage?’ he probed.
‘Yes, I do,’ asserted Sally. Then she realised that her hand was still in his, so she pulled it out of his grasp and looked determinedly at the green chenille tablecloth which protected the fine old polished table.
‘I assume then that you haven’t thought about marriage because you aren’t in love with anyone,’ said Ross.
She flashed him a wary look to see if he was making fun. He was still squatting in front of her supporting himself with one hand on the table and one hand on the side of her chair. His blue eyes were quite serious under dark, slightly frowning eyebrows.
‘Not even with Craig Dawson?’ he persisted.
Surprise arched Sally’s eyebrows and she answered spontaneously without thought,
‘No. I was never in love with him. I was only interested in him because he cared about Winterston House. But ...’ She paused and her hand went to her cheek again as she recalled the way in which Craig’s glance always flinched away from the sight of her scar.
Once more her hand was removed forcibly from her face.
‘Stop it!’ ordered Ross. ‘Don’t you realise that whoever loves you truly won’t care about it?’ he added softly.
For a silent moment as she returned his gaze Sally felt that she was on the verge of making a momentous discovery. But fear held her back, fear of being hurt, and she withdrew her hand from his again and looked away.
He stood up and leaned against the table.
‘What about Mike?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I like him very much. We have a lot of fun together,’ replied Sally mechanically, her thoughts chaotic, and she tried to find a reason for his searching personal questions. ‘But I haven’t known him for very long, and he’s already said he doesn’t want to marry a girl just to leave her behind while he goes off to the other side of the world to work.’
‘He could take her with him, like Tom Hunter has taken Miriam?’
Sally thought of Miriam, busy, busy, smiling, smiling, organising everyone.
‘Would you like your wife to become like Miriam?’ she challenged.
‘I haven’t a wife,’ he replied with a grin, side-stepping the question neatly.
‘Och, you know what I mean. If you had a wife would you like her to grow into a busybody, trying to fill in her time in strange places, knowing that she daren’t put down roots because they’ll only have to be pulled up again?’
He considered her question silently for a few seconds before answering.
‘No, I wouldn’t like my wife to become like Lydia,’ he said at last. ‘On the other hand, like Mike, I wouldn’t want to leave her behind. So it would seem that marriage is not for me, unless I can find someone exceptional.’
‘But you’re going to marry Lydia!’ exclaimed Sally.
‘Am I?’ His voice was dangerously quiet, warning her to take care about what she said.
‘Yes. She told me tonight that she thought of divorcing her husband because she loved you, and because you loved her and wanted to marry her.’
‘Her desire for a divorce had nothing to do with me,’ he replied coldly.
‘Then why did you ask for a transfer? Why did you leave that site?’ questioned Sally, thoroughly puzzled.
‘You did have a good party, didn’t you?’ he jibed nastily. ‘Did you enjoy stirring the mud with the others?’
‘I didn’t!’ To her annoyance tears sprang to Sally’s eyes as she searched vainly for words to convince him that she hadn’t sought information about him willingly. ‘I couldn’t help knowing. It was Lydia. She made me listen to her.’
‘I see. I wonder what she hoped to achieve. Perhaps she thinks you have designs on me. But she’s wrong, isn’t she, Sally? I hope you told her so.’
Thoroughly confused by his jibes, Sally sat still, her face white as she stared down at her hands which twisted together in her lap.
‘To keep the record straight, I’d better tell you my side of the story,’ continued Ross.
‘Brian Wood happened to be a good friend of mine. I left the site because it was the only thing I could do to avoid a scandal.’
‘Thank you for telling me,’ Sally replied stiffly. ‘I think I understand now.’
‘I hope you do. Lydia isn’t a particularly kind person and she’s really taken it out on you ... I can see that now. Mike should never have taken you to the party, or he should have stayed with you and protected you,’ he said critically.
‘She wouldn’t have said anything if you’d been there,’ defended Sally. ‘She was worried when you didn’t arrive. She wonders whether three years has been too long, whether you have changed your mind about her. Have you, Ross?’
‘Maybe. Remember, “In delay there lies no plenty.” ’
Sally remembered. She remembered the rest too, and felt suddenly desolated by the knowledge that Ross lived only for the present, that he did not expect love to last. Her feelings must have shown in her face, because he leaned forward and touched her cheek gently, laying the palm of his hand against it in an odd gesture of comfort.
‘You’re too sensitive. Why worry about Lydia? I can assure you she wouldn’t give a damn about you. Sally, look at me.’ His hand moved caressingly, stroking her cheek, smoothing the scar. The tender caressing note in his voice was almost her undoing. If she looked up she would be lost. He would kiss her, and then goodness know what would happen. ‘Don’t,’ she cried. ‘Don’t touch me! Go away!’
He removed his hand at once.
‘What’s the matter? Does it hurt?’
‘Och, no, no. Go away, oh, please go away!’
The ticking of the clock was very loud again and overhead a floorboard creaked.
‘You say that so emphatically that I’m beginning to believe you mean it,’ said Ross, at his driest. ‘I’ll go. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.’
CHAPTER SIX
MIKE arrived too late to take part in the Tuesday night race during the week following Miriam’s party. His expressive face twisted into a wry smile as he stood with Sally outside the Club House and watched the dinghies slipping silently away into the light of the westering sun, their terylene sails filtering yellow light as they tilted over in the breeze.