Heaven Here On Earth

by Carole Mortimer

  So was Ryan. Peter loved Mandy, she was sure of that. So why didn’t he tell her so? She certainly didn’t know him well enough to ask him!

  ‘Grant’s convinced I should marry Colin,’ Mandy added miserably.

  ‘Why should you need to marry anyone?’ Ryan frowned. ‘You have plenty of time.’

  ‘Grant thinks I need a steadying influence in my life.’

  ‘He isn’t steadying enough?’ she scorned.

  Mandy gave a rueful smile. ‘He thinks not. But Colin isn’t strong enough for me, I’d be able to walk all over him. Don’t look so surprised,’ she was smiling openly now. ‘I know myself well enough to realise what sort of man I should marry, and it isn’t Colin.’

  ‘Then tell Grant so.’

  ‘I already have,’ Mandy grimaced. ‘Why do you think I wanted to get out of the house this morning?’

  ‘I thought it was to see me,’ Ryan teased.

  Mandy looked abashed, and suddenly very young. ‘It was that too. I thought,’ she added mischievously, ‘that the advice of an older woman might help.’

  ‘Cheeky madam!’ Ryan spluttered with laughter. ‘Twenty-one constitutes an older woman?’

  Mandy grinned. ‘When you’re eighteen it does.’

  ‘And I was under the misapprehension that I was still young!’

  Mandy seemed to have emerged from her bad mood now, and the two of them spent a pleasant enough morning getting the garden of the cottage into some sort of order. Both of them were exhausted by the time Ryan brought out the jug of fresh lemonade she had been cooling in the refrigerator, collapsing in the garden chair opposite Mandy.

  ‘You’re very energetic,’ the other girl groaned.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to do the garden ever since I moved in,’ Ryan grinned, sipping her lemonade. ‘I just needed some kind soul to come along and help me.’

  ‘I’m glad I was too late to do that.’ Mark strolled into the garden and stretched out in another chair. ‘But I’ll have some of that lemonade,’ he grinned, looking very relaxed in white denims and a white shirt.

  Ryan made no effort to move. ‘You can if you go and get yourself a glass. Oh no, you don’t!’ she snatched her own glass out of his reach. ‘Mandy and I worked hard for this.’

  ‘Spoilsport!’ He went into the kitchen, grumbling as he went. ‘Am I invited to lunch?’ he asked when he came back.

  ‘You both are,’ she nodded, ‘if you don’t mind helping me get it.’

  Mandy sat forward, putting her empty glass on the white garden table. ‘I’d better get back—’

  ‘Not on our account,’ Mark said lazily.

  ‘But you’ll want to be alone,’ his sister frowned.

  ‘No,’ he grinned. ‘If you promise to keep your big mouth shut for once I’ll let you into a secret. All right, Ryan?’ he looked at her anxiously.

  ‘I’d be relieved.’ She began to clear away, leaving brother and sister alone together.

  ‘Poor Grant,’ Mandy was saying when Ryan came back out to join them. ‘He’s only trying to do what’s best for both of us, as he always has, and neither of us want to go the way he wants us to.’

  ‘If he can choose Valerie as his own future wife he can certainly be wrong about us,’ Mark said disgustedly.

  ‘I’m not so sure he has—chosen Valerie, I mean.’ Mandy was looking closely at Ryan. ‘I’m not sure he’s chosen anyone—yet,’ she added softly. ‘This idea of yours may be benefiting you, Mark, but have you thought that it could be ruining things for Ryan?’

  He frowned. ‘Who with?’

  ‘Use your head,’ his sister said impatiently.

  He pursed his lips, starting to shrug. Then he stiffened, looking round at Ryan with disbelieving eyes. ‘You don’t mean—’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ Ryan snapped. ‘Now are we going to have lunch or not?’ She glared at both of them, daring either of them to pursue the subject of Grant—because they all knew that was who Mandy was talking about.

  Lunch was an uproarious affair, none of them seeming to notice that it was only a chicken salad and fresh fruit. Ryan and Mandy had worked up too much of an appetite to care what they ate, and Ryan knew from experience that Mark would eat anything.

  Mandy seemed to have forgotten her misery of this morning as they drove back to the Hall after lunch. The mood between brother and sister was also a lot easier than Ryan gathered it had been of late.

  Mark took her upstairs to show her the gallery, throwing the door open with a flourish and letting her go in alone. Ryan was instantly lost in the beauty of Paul Gilbert’s art, in the wonder of his paintings, the beautiful Madonna-like women, the countryside that he painted with a poignant beauty of its own, most of them of his beloved Yorkshire, she now realised. Each brush-stroke, the depth of colour, was a masterpiece; he was a man completely in tune with his art.

  ‘I’ll leave you for a while, shall I?’ Mark interrupted her absorption.

  ‘Oh—um—Yes, all right,’ she nodded absently.

  ‘Join us for tea in the drawing-room when you’ve finished.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think of anything but your stomach?’ she taunted.

  ‘Yes—Diana. I’m just going to call her now. I’ll give her your love, shall I?’ Mark paused at the door.

  Ryan nodded. ‘And thank her for the letter. I’ll be writing back soon.’ She once again became absorbed in the paintings about her, Paul Gilberts that she had never known existed.

  It awed her to be in the presence of so much exceptional talent. Each painting, about twenty in all, was a thing to be lingered over, drooled over, and she lost all track of time, suddenly realising it was four-thirty and she had told Mark she would join him for tea.

  ‘Just where were you at lunch-time?’ Grant could be heard demanding as Ryan descended the stairs. ‘With Ryan?’ he snapped at Mark’s muttered reply. ‘Mandy too, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. But—’

  ‘What’s the matter with this family?’ Grant demanded angrily. ‘I can understand you, but Mandy—! It didn’t occur to you, either of you, to let Shelley or myself know of your plans?’

  ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,’ Mark answered offhandedly. ‘What’s the matter, Grant, are you angry because you weren’t invited too?’

  Ryan gripped the banister and closed her eyes, wishing this were all a terrible dream, but knowing it wasn’t. How could Mark say these things!

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Grant’s voice rose. ‘I complain about your lack of common courtesy, and you—’

  ‘I don’t think your anger has anything to do with common courtesy.’ Mark still spoke calmly; he was obviously not in awe of his older brother.

  ‘And just what does it have to do with?’ Grant’s voice had lowered ominously.

  ‘I think you’re jealous.’

  Oh no, Mark, Ryan cried silently. Don’t do this to me!

  ‘Of what?’ Grant’s voice was even icier.

  ‘Mandy tells me you’re more than a little interested in Ryan yourself,’ Mark taunted.

  ‘Mandy talks too much—and about things she knows nothing about. The fact that I’ve kissed Ryan a couple of times—’

  ‘You have?’ Mark pounced incredulously.

  ‘Yes,’ his brother rasped. ‘And she responded! What do you think of your precious Ryan now?’

  ‘What do you want me to think?’

  ‘The same as I do,’ Grant scorned. ‘That Ryan isn’t as interested in you as you seem to think she is, that the older, perhaps more wealthy brother, would do as well!’

  For a moment there was silence, and Ryan thought Mark had finally been awed by his brother’s fury. She felt slightly sick herself. Was that really the construction Grant had put on her weakness towards him?

  ‘I think,’ Mark’s voice suddenly came out as steely as Grant’s had been seconds earlier, ‘you aren’t fit to be in the same room as a woman like Ryan,’ he bit out furiously. ‘You may have kissed her, Grant
, but you don’t know her at all. She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loyal—Oh, you make me sick!’ He was suddenly storming out of the room, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw Ryan frozen on the staircase, her pale cheeks telling their own story. ‘Ryan!’ he groaned his dismay, coming towards her like a man in a trance.

  ‘What is it now—Oh, no!’ Grant stood behind Mark now, his face ashen as he saw the pain in Ryan’s bruised blue eyes. ‘Did you hear…?’

  ‘Of course she heard,’ Mark snapped at him. ‘Why else do you think she looks sick?’ He had reached her side now, concern in his eyes.

  ‘Ryan—’

  ‘Don’t come near me,’ she told Grant in a cold, controlled voice. ‘Mark, I’d like to go back to the cottage now.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

  ‘Ryan—’

  ‘You heard her, Grant,’ Mark rasped. ‘Leave her alone. Haven’t you done enough already!’

  Ryan never knew afterwards how she got to Mark’s car, but suddenly they were back at the cottage and Mark was handing her a cup of very strong tea.

  ‘Drink it,’ he instructed as autocratically as his brother would have done. ‘Mandy was right, wasn’t she?’ he added as he watched her drink the hot brew. ‘You do care for Grant—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And he cares for you too.’

  ‘You call that caring?’ she scorned, the colour at last coming back into her cheeks.

  He nodded. ‘Ryan, I think I should tell Grant the truth about us.’

  ‘No!’ This time her denial was stronger, and she glared at him.

  ‘But if Grant knows you aren’t my girl-friend—’

  ‘He wouldn’t have kissed me at all if he hadn’t thought that,’ she sighed as she saw his puzzled look. ‘It’s true, Mark, he only kissed me so that he could tell you about it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘He told me so,’ she nodded. ‘Only I said I would tell you first.’ She grimaced. ‘Not a very pretty story, is it?’

  ‘Not very,’ he frowned. ‘But it doesn’t sound like Grant at all. He’s warned me off girls, plenty of times, but I’ve never known him to actually try and make love to one of them before.’

  ‘Try is the right word,’ Ryan said dryly. ‘And he can keep trying, it won’t get him anywhere. Don’t worry about me, Mark, I can take care of myself.’

  But when she thought about it alone later that night she wasn’t so sure. She still loved Grant, even after she had heard his opinion of her. Her anger was certainly no defence against loving him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RYAN saw a lot of Mark the next few days, but nothing of Grant.

  ‘He’s gone away on business,’ Mark informed her. ‘And not before time either,’ he added moodily. ‘Ryan, we had the biggest argument ever when I got back Monday! If it’s any consolation, he regrets what he said about you.’

  If he had really regretted it he would have apologised to her himself, not gone off on business somewhere. No, he might regret that she had actually overheard it, but she doubted he regretted saying it.

  She took Ragtag down into the village with her on Wednesday morning to get some groceries, putting on the hated collar and lead. She was trying to introduce them to him gradually, knowing that when they got back to London he wouldn’t be able to just wander about the streets. Nevertheless, he didn’t like the use of them, constantly pulling on the lead, and he had wrapped himself around the concrete post by the time Ryan emerged from the village shop with her bag of groceries.

  ‘You silly boy!’ she bent down to untangle him, getting her face licked in the process. ‘Anyone would think I’d left you for five hours, not five minutes,’ she scolded, finally unwrapping him, then standing up to find her way blocked by a man in ragged clothing, a growth of beard on his face, his hair long and untidy. ‘Excuse me,’ she made to move past him.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ the man snarled. ‘That’s my dog you have there—and I want him back!’

  In fact Ragtag had begun to growl now, pulling on his lead—away from the man! ‘I think you’re mistaken—’ Ryan was having trouble controlling Ragtag, almost being pulled over as he tried to get away.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he rasped sneeringly. ‘Give him here,’ he held out his hand for the lead.

  At that moment Ragtag gave one last tug and managed to get free, running off across the fields without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘You did that on purpose!’ The man roughly caught hold of Ryan’s arms. ‘You little bitch!’ He began to shake her.

  ‘No, I—I—’

  ‘Duke is my dog—mine, do you hear!’ he shook her. ‘He went off just over a week ago and I’ve been looking for him ever since. You stole him from me—’

  ‘Is there anything wrong here?’

  Ryan turned gratefully at the sound of Grant’s voice, not even hesitating as she ran to his side. She hadn’t noticed the green Jaguar pulling into the side of the road, or Grant climbing out from behind the wheel, tall and dark in black trousers and a black shirt—and she had never been so pleased to see him in her life!

  She clutched at his arm, trembling as she looked back at the angry man. ‘I think this—gentleman—’ she quivered as she remembered his dirty hands on her, ‘I think he’s made a mistake.’

  ‘No mistake,’ he growled. ‘Not on my part anyway.’

  Grant looked at the other man with cool green eyes. ‘That’s enough, Cole,’ he rasped. ‘Miss Shelton is a guest of mine, and if you have anything to say to her then I think you should say it in front of me.’

  The middle-aged man didn’t look so aggressive now. He was obviously daunted by Grant’s haughtiness. ‘I’ve said all I want to say to her.’ His light blue eyes focused on Ryan. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this!’ He turned and shuffled away, his coat old and torn, his trousers ragged.

  Ryan was still shaking, offering no resistance as Grant helped her into the passenger seat of the Jaguar, putting her shopping on the back seat before climbing in beside her.

  ‘All right?’ He turned to look at her pale face before starting the car.

  She swallowed hard, her hands still trembling. ‘Yes. Who was that man?’

  ‘Alfred Cole,’ he told her grimly, leaving the tiny village now. Alfred Cole was nowhere in sight. ‘He lives up in the hills, rarely comes down to the village. It’s a pity he did so today,’ Grant bit out. ‘What was all that about?’

  Ryan chewed her bottom lip. If what Alfred Cole said was true, that Ragtag was his dog, would Grant force her to return him to the other man? She had no idea what Grant’s reaction would be, she didn’t know him that well, even though she loved him. But she wouldn’t let Ragtag be made to go back to that hateful man. Ragtag obviously disliked him, and if Alfred Cole had been as rough with him as he had with her that wasn’t so surprising! She couldn’t let Ragtag go to such a man, she just couldn’t!

  ‘I don’t know,’ she evaded. ‘He seemed a little—strange,’ she understated.

  ‘He is,’ Grant nodded grimly. ‘He always has been. But he’s usually harmless.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she dismissed lightly. ‘Let’s just forget about him.’ She turned in her seat to look at him. ‘Did you have a good business trip?’

  ‘Who said it was business?’

  ‘I—Mark did.’ Colour slowly flooded her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know it was a secret.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh.’ If he didn’t want to talk to her she certainly wasn’t going to push the matter!

  ‘I’m sorry, Ryan,’ his voice lowered huskily. ‘Yes, I had a very good business trip. I have an interest in an art gallery in London.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ Her eyes widened with interest.

  He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to know. I go up to London about once a month to check up on my investments.’

  She remembered now Mark telling her that Grant often displayed the Paul Gilbert paintings—possibly in his own gallery? ‘I suppos
e you’re quite good at spotting talent?’ she asked. Grant wasn’t the sort of man who did things by half measures, if he had an interest in an art gallery then he was an art expert!

  ‘Quite good,’ he drawled, glancing at her. ‘What’s the matter, Ryan—thinking that perhaps my comments the day we met weren’t so biased after all?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted miserably.

  ‘They weren’t,’ he said without conceit. ‘I think art is in the Montgomery blood, probably inherited from our great-grandfather. Mark will be very good one day, once he’s lived a little.’

  ‘He’s very good now,’ she defended.

  Grant shook his head. ‘Not enough depth. He’s been cushioned too much, he needs to feel a little more responsibility for life before he can paint as well as he’s able to.’

  ‘Feel a little pain, hmm?’ Ryan derided.

  ‘Something like that,’ he nodded.

  She didn’t doubt that he was right; Grant never seemed to be wrong.

  ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said suddenly. ‘The last time we met I was very rude about you. I had no idea you could hear what I was saying.’

  ‘And if you had?’

  He sighed. ‘I probably would have said the same thing. You hadn’t told Mark I kissed you?’

  ‘Didn’t his reaction tell you that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Grant derided. ‘I think he was more shocked at me than at you.’

  ‘Probably,’ she said sharply, opening her car door as they reached the cottage. ‘After all, I’m that sort of girl, aren’t I?’ She got out of the car.

  He leant across the seat. ‘Ryan—’

  ‘Goodbye, Grant. Thank you for your help with—Mr Cole.’ She got her shopping, turning to go into the cottage, closing the door firmly behind her. A couple of seconds later she heard the sound of the Jaguar accelerating away, and knew she could finally relax. That encounter with Alfred Cole had been bad enough, but these last few minutes with Grant had been worse. Why did they have to argue every time they met, and why was she the one who always ended up getting hurt?

  She had missed knowing he was around the last couple of days, had even been looking forward to his return, and within a few short minutes that had all been ruined.