by Unknown
'I wouldn't say that.' Rachel swallowed.
'I would.' Lady Olivia's eyes, so like Matthew's, speared her with a raking glance. 'She's not usually friendly with strangers.'
'No.' Rachel wondered how she was supposed to respond to that. 'Well, I suppose we have a lot in common.'
'You think so?' Lady Olivia frowned. 'I don't see the connection.'
No, you wouldn't, thought Rachel tersely, quelling the urge to involve herself in Rosemary's affairs. 'My mother died when I was very young, too,' she compromised.
'Ah, yes.' The old lady inclined her head. 'But your circumstances were slightly different. And Barbara had been ill for quite some time.'
Now it was Rachel's turn to accept her words without answering. She was half afraid she might say something she would regret, and Matthew's mother was a past mistress at inducing the unwary comment.
'So—what were you and Rosemary talking about?' she asked at last, when it became evident that Rachel was not about to enlighten her uninvited. 'Forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing you say that you wouldn't be too sure about something. What was that? Was she asking your advice?'
Rachel was tempted to tell her to mind her own business, but she didn't. All the same, only Matthew's mother would have dared to ask such a question, and Rachel could feel her hackles rising with well- remembered indignation. Only the suspicion that any prevarication on her part might bring some further punishment down on Rosemary's head forced her to bite her tongue.
'She's—concerned that her father may decide to send her away to boarding-school,' she replied, after a moment, and Lady Olivia frowned.
'But you don't think he will?' she queried tersely, and Rachel realised why she should interpret her remarks in that way.
'I really don't know what Matt's intentions are towards her,'
she responded carefully. 'But I think he should be careful. She seems a very distrustful child.'
Lady Olivia sat up straighter. 'You think so, do you?'
Rachel's hesitation was barely perceptible. 'Yes.'
'And what would you know about it?' enquired the old lady sharply, and Rachel realised she had gone that little bit too far in expressing her opinion. 'It's not as if you know anything about children,' she added, her lined features taut with indignation.
'Are you suggesting I should trust your assessment of Rosemary's needs above that of my son?'
'No. No, of course not.' Rachel sighed now. 'It's just that—well, I got the impression that she feels
' She
broke off at that point. She had been going to say 'neglected', but after Lady Olivia's reaction to her earlier words she stifled the criticism. Once again, she was compelled to remind herself that Rosemary's problems had nothing to do with her. Just because she felt some sympathy for the child, there was no reason to provoke Matthew's mother's antagonism towards herself.
'I hardly see how peddling claptrap to the masses equips you in child psychology,' the old lady declared bluntly. 'Why is it that women who consider child- bearing an outdated vocation nevertheless feel themselves capable of deciding what's best for other people's offspring?'
'I never said that.'
'But you do have doubts about the suitability of Rosemary's upbringing!'
'I—suspect—she may have had a raw deal, yes.' Rachel couldn't prevent the involuntary admission.
'A raw deal?' Lady Olivia's lip curled. 'But not half such a raw deal as you dealt her father, hmm? How dare you impugn his intentions when your own behaviour leaves so much to be desired?'
Rachel offered an inward groan. Getting into this kind of a confrontation with Matthew's mother had been something she had hoped to avoid. And in her present state of uncertainty she was definitely not equipped to deal with it.
'Forget what I said,' she murmured, wishing Nurse Douglas would appear to rescue her. 'As you say, it's nothing to do with me. How Matt chooses to educate his daughter is obviously not my concern.'
'No, it's not.' But Lady Olivia was not prepared to leave it there. Rachel suspected she had played right into the old lady's hands by offering an opinion, and re- sentments long since buried were rearing their ugly heads. 'It's ironic, don't you think, that the woman who refused to have my son's child should now be offering him advice?'
'I didn't ' The unwary words were almost spoken, and Rachel felt the hot colour rise into her cheeks.
'You didn't—what?' Matthew's mother was quick to note her heightened colour. 'You didn't offer him advice?' She paused.
'Or you didn't refuse to give him a child?' Her lips twisted. 'Oh, come now, Rachel, you can't expect anyone to believe that!'
'I don't care what you believe.' Rachel closed her eyes.
'Would you ask Nurse Douglas to come in, please? I'd like to get back into bed.'
Her aunt and uncle came to see her during the afternoon. By then, Rachel had had another nap and was feeling more ready to face a second wave of criticism. But in the event Matthew accompanied his in-laws into the room, and, evidently much to Aunt Maggie's chagrin, he stayed.
In consequence, the conversation was much less vindictive than it might have been. Even so, her aunt couldn't resist voicing a little of her resentment that Rachel should be usurping Matthew's hospitality.
'You have a perfectly good room at the vicarage, Rachel,'
she declared, with barely suppressed irritation. 'There is no earthly need for you to impose yourself on— on—well, on the Conroys.'
'Ah, yes, but I wouldn't dream of putting you to such trouble,' Matthew essayed, before Rachel could answer. 'I know how much your husband depends upon you, and it wouldn't be fair to expect you to care for an invalid on top of everything else.'
'I—well...' Aunt Maggie was apparently lost for words. 'That may be so, but ----------------- '
'Matt does have a point, dear,' Geoffrey Barnes intoned, drawing a distinctly malevolent glare from his wife which, fortunately, only Rachel intercepted. 'It's very kind of you, Matt.
Very kind indeed. Maggie does too much; I'm always telling her that.'
'Geoff ------ '
'I hope I won't have to impose on anybody for much longer,'
Rachel interposed quickly, feeling uncomfortably like the skeleton at the feast. 'Perhaps another couple of days
'
'We'll let the doctor decide that,' declared Matthew, his words successfully circumventing any alternative suggestion, and Rachel wondered why he was taking it upon himself to defend her. For he must know, as well as anyone, how her aunt must be feeling.
'I think that's the most sensible course,' her uncle approved, seemingly unaware of his wife's indignation. 'It's reassuring to know you're in good hands, my dear.'
'And you don't think the fact that Barbara has just died makes the situation just the the tiniest bit questionable?'
persisted Aunt Maggie tensely. 'I mean— everyone knows who Rachel is—was!'
'Aunt Maggie ----- '
'I don't believe what anyone else thinks is of any consequence,' responded Matthew smoothly. 'And now, I think, we should allow Rachel to rest. That is what the doctor recommends, and I know you are as anxious as I am to see her restored to full health.'
It was tactically unassailable, and Rachel guessed that her aunt was wishing she had chosen some other method of making her point. But, in the circumstances, she was obliged to concede defeat, and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. So much anger, so much bitterness, she thought wearily. Did no one feel any sympathy for her? After all, she wasn't the one who had been unfaithful.
She had insisted on getting up again to receive her visitors, but now she looked reluctantly towards the bed. Strong emotions were such a drain on her resources, and not one of her callers seemed to care about the fact. Even Rosemary had been an innocent source of turmoil. Why had she had to tell her that her father had been concerned about her, for heaven's sake?
What could he possibly have said to make the little girl
think he liked her? It was all too obscure and unbelievable, after the way he had behaved at the funeral. And she was too tired to make any sense of it anyway.
CHAPTER TEN
RACHEL felt strong enough to put her clothes on the next day. It was amazing how much better she felt after a decent night's sleep, and her anxieties of the previous day seemed less of a problem this morning.
Dr Newman made his regular call as she was finishing her breakfast, sitting at the small table in the window embrasure, overlooking the lawned garden and the lake beyond. After examining her head, he pronounced himself satisfied with the progress she was making.
'The cut is healing nicely,' he said, accepting her offer of a cup of coffee, and seating himself opposite her at the linen-covered table. 'And you are definitely looking brighter. If this goes on, I may consider revising my estimate of two weeks, and say you might be able to return to work in ten days.'
'Ten days?' Rachel shook her head, remembering she had still to get in touch with Justin. She was not looking forward to making that phone call. After the way he had reacted when she'd asked for these four days, she had no illusions but that he would be furious, particularly when he found out where she was staying. Forcing a smile, she asked lightly, 'Is that your best offer?'
'I'm afraid so. And it's only a provisional prognosis.' The doctor regarded her curiously. 'You're very anxious to leave here, aren't you?'
Rachel looked down into the cup of coffee she was holding to avoid his shrewd gaze. 'I do have a job to do,' she reminded him evenly. 'And I presume you'll have no objections if I return to London in a couple of days.'
'If all goes well.' Dr Newman was evidently not prepared to make any reckless pronouncements. 'Shall we say I'll consider the possibility towards the end of the week? Until then, I'm afraid, you'll have to accept your host's hospitality.'
'But you don't think there will be any complications?' she ventured.
'No.' The doctor inclined his head agreeably. 'But that doesn't mean there won't be any, so don't build your hopes too high. However, you can go outside, if you feel up to it. As long as you wrap up warmly, and don't do anything too energetic.'
Rachel gave him a guarded look. 'All right.'
'Good.' He finished his coffee and rose smoothly to his feet.
'And now, I'm afraid I must take my leave of you. Regrettably, Sundays are much like any other day in my profession.'
Rachel nodded. 'Thank you for coming.'
'It was my pleasure.' He gave her a rueful smile as he walked towards the door. 'Not all my patients are half so agreeable, believe me.'
His compliment compensated a little for the disappointment she had felt when he'd refused to be more specific about her leaving, and she was still considering what he had said when Nurse Douglas reappeared. She had left the room while Dr Newman had coffee with his patient, but now she came back to remove the breakfast dishes.
'By the way,' she said, tutting at the fact that Rachel had only eaten one slice of toast, 'Mr Conroy wants to see you. Shall I send him in?'
Rachel caught her breath. 'He's outside?'
'Not precisely, no.' Nurse Douglas looked a little dis-concerted. 'He—I—we were talking downstairs, while you were with Dr Newman. Shall I ask him to come up?'
'Why not?' Rachel was surprised he had asked. Or perhaps it had just been an excuse to talk to Nurse Douglas, she reflected, bitter that she should even care. And, judging by the young nurse's attitude towards him, no real excuse was needed.
He came into the room, bringing a distinct smell of outdoors with him. In tight-fitting moleskin trousers, which were in turn pushed into knee-length boots, and a black leather jacket, he had evidently been riding, and she envied him his ability to appear indifferent to his responsibilities.
However, he seemed surprised to see that she was dressed, and she was ridiculously pleased that she had chosen to put on jeans and a loose cream thigh-length sweater. She had put the casual clothes into her case at the last minute, she remembered, and she wondered if she had had some premonition that she might need them. After all, she had not intended to spend more than one night at Rothside, whereas...
'You're looking much better,' he observed, after a pregnant pause, and she wondered if he was anticipating her departure as much as she was. 'How do you feel?'
'Much—better,' she conceded tersely, linking her hands together in her lap to prevent the automatic urge to touch the dressing that had replaced the bandage only that morning. 'Dr Newman says I should be able to leave in a couple of days.'
Matthew's mouth thinned. 'I understood Newman to say that he was going to review your condition towards the end of the week,' he declared. 'You must have misunderstood him.'
'Or you did,' Rachel flared unsteadily, refusing to be intimidated. 'Um—Nurse Douglas said you wanted to speak to me. Was there a reason, or was that just an excuse to browbeat me?'
'Browbeat you?' Matthew stared at her disbelievingly. 'How have I browbeaten you? All I've done is ask how you're feeling.
I'm sorry. I didn't realise that constituted a threat!'
Rachel sighed, feeling a little silly now, and not liking it a bit. After all, he had provided her with the best of medical care, and it wasn't his fault that she was taking so long to recover.
'Look,' she said, forcing herself to look at him, even though she would have preferred to look anywhere than into his lean, taut face, 'I know how—intolerable—this
situation is --- '
'Intolerable to whom?'
Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Well— to your mother for one,' she said unwillingly. 'And—
Aunt Maggie -- '
'Ah, yes. Aunt Maggie.' Matthew hooked the chair that Dr Newman had occupied earlier towards him, and, swinging it round, he set it in front of her. Then, straddling the seat so that his knee was barely inches from hers, he regarded her with a cynical gaze. 'You know, I might have expected some thanks for diverting your aunt, instead of being accused of God knows what ulterior motives!'
Rachel shifted uncomfortably. Now that he was on eye-level terms with her, it was far more difficult to maintain a composed expression, and when she did look away from his dark face she was made overwhelmingly aware of his powerful body, taut beneath the skin-tight trousers and sweatshirt. His jacket had parted to reveal the leather belt that spanned his waist, and she could smell the heat that emanated from him, and the unfor-gettable scent of his skin...
'Anyway,' he was saying now, and she dragged her senses back from the brink of disaster, 'I didn't come to argue over Newman's diagnosis, and I knew better than to expect your gratitude for anything I might do. No. I came to tell you I've spoken to your editor in London, and he quite understands that you can't possibly return to work for another two weeks
'
'You've done what?' Rachel hardly let him finish, before jumping up from her seat and staring down at him with disbelieving eyes. 'You've spoken to Justin?'
'If that's Harcourt's name, I suppose so,' conceded Matthew drily, his lips tightening at her evident indignation. 'Look, calm down, will you? Someone had to tell him you wouldn't be back tomorrow, and how was I to know you'd be well enough to speak to him your
'
'How dare you?' Rachel was incensed. 'How dare you speak to Justin behind my back?'
'It wasn't behind your back,' said Matthew bleakly, his fingers tightening where they rested along the back of the chair.
'That's why I'm here, isn't it? To tell you that I've spoken to him.'
'You couldn't wait, could you?' Rachel was beside herself, although why she resented his interference so much, she couldn't quite have explained. Except that she had kept her life in London totally apart from Rothmere, and all it meant to her.
'You had to get involved in something that's nothing to do with you! I would have explained to Justin exactly what had happened. I would have told him where I was staying, and when I would be back.'
Matthew's face hardene
d, and, getting to his feet, he thrust the chair aside. 'And don't you think I was capable of doing the same?' he demanded, his tone reminding her that he had a temper, too. 'What's the matter? Is this—Justin—the new man in your life? Are you afraid I may have blown it by telling him you were with me?'
'I'm not with you,' Rachel retorted, frustrated by his ability to always take the upper hand. 'At least, not through choice. And my relationship with Justin is my affair, not yours. Just stay out of my life, Matt. I don't need you any more.'
'If you ever did,' muttered Matthew harshly, his eyes glittering like grey chips of granite. 'Except as a means of getting into television, of course. I mustn't forget that, must I?'
'You—bastard!'
Rachel, who had turned away from his hard, accusing face, swung back abruptly. Her balled fists itching to wipe the sarcastic expression from his narrow features, she overlooked the fact that there was a chair between them. Her knee struck the wood painfully, knocking it aside, and, instead of launching in at him with flailing fists, she stumbled and lost her balance, so that only his presence of mind and the swift support of his hands saved her from repeating the accident which had put her in this position. Strong fingers around her wrists stopped her from tumbling to the floor, but the force of her propulsion sent her thudding against his chest.
For a moment, she was too stunned by what had happened to move. Her face was pressed against the fleecy softness of his shirt, and his raw masculinity enveloped her with a strength that was far more than just physical. Then, as his arms closed around her, she was made aware of the whole length of his taut body, his thighs muscled and powerful, his hard flanks supporting her distinctly shaky legs.
'God, I thought you were going to crack your skull again,' he muttered roughly, his head bent so that his breath stirred the hairs at the side of her neck. 'Are you all right? Hell, I didn't mean to upset you.' The warm draught was like a caress. 'You shouldn't make me so mad. All I did was make a phone call!'
Rachel was trembling, and she couldn't stop it. But it wasn't just the shock that had robbed her of her control. It was Matthew, only Matthew, she knew perversely. Being held in his arms like this was both a heaven and a hell, and, no matter how she fought it, she couldn't deny her own response.