A Man Called Cameron

by Margaret Pargeter

  ‘Don’t you think she’s old enough to take care of herself? Old enough to know it could pay her to be here looking after her own interests?’

  ‘That’s just the point, my little beauty. She doesn’t often have the opportunity. Her mother has this insatiable desire for travel. She’s been around the world so many times she could be dizzy, and she likes Janey with her. It’s not Janey you have to worry about, Petronella, but her mother. You see, she wants this match for her daughter with Oliver very much and she’d certainly chop down any foolish little girl who might get in her way.’

  Could Mrs. Cameron really be as ruthless as her stepson? Petra failed to believe it. Carelessly, because she didn’t want Neil to imagine he could frighten her, she shrugged. ‘Don’t Oliver’s feelings have to be considered?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll go along with it eventually, if no one interferes. Janey has quite a bit of money of her own which will nicely bolster the Hurds’ not inconsiderable coffers. I give her my support as I can quite clearly see that if she was married she would have a reasonable excuse not to be at her mother’s beck and call any more.’

  ‘I can’t see,’ Petra frowned, hesitating as she tried hard to see clearly, ‘why, if Mrs. Cameron wants this match, she takes Janey away.’

  He swung his head back to her on the straight which ran down to the ranch-house. ‘She can’t help being selfish, I guess. She keeps insisting Janey is too young to settle down.’

  ‘Do you think she is?’

  ‘I’d say a girl should be settled much younger. There are some who are ready for it,’ he said mildly.

  ‘Oh ...’ Petra didn’t care for the way his eyes roamed speculatively over her and she shivered as his hand came out to tuck a thick strand of silky hair behind her shell-like ear, as if to see her properly. The slight smoulder at the back of his eyes confused her. ‘Well, you needn’t think I’m going to throw a monkey wrench in the works,’ she cried rashly, trying to keep her eyes from meeting his, from straying to that treacherous mouth, that had made her forget Oliver Hurd even existed!

  ‘Your kind of looks can disrupt anything, Petronella,’ he smiled sardonically. ‘Of course, I have to remember you’re only a visitor.’

  A visitor! Petra bit her lip, lapsing into a kind of numb silence and staying that way until Neil drew up in front of the house. Was that a hint she had outstayed her welcome? If he was tired of having David and her around already, how would he react to having them around all the time? For some indefinable reason she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be here all the time, now? She had a sudden, irrational craving for a fairy godmother with a magic wand. How nice it might have been to have been able to tell Neil they would be gone tomorrow—to have wished him an extremely polite goodbye!

  As things stood, because he appeared to be waiting for some kind of comment, all she could murmur was, ‘I’m afraid we’ve caused some extra work.’

  ‘If you’re worrying about that,’ he replied, making no attempt to leave her, ‘don’t. Mrs. Allen has plenty help and doesn’t mind extra visitors. She tells me you do occasionally make your own bed.’

  Petra knew she looked guilty. She must try to remember to do this every day in future. Her wrist had been sore, but it was better now, so she had no excuse. It had been so easy to slip back to the old ways of Redwell, to the days when her father had been able to provide servants to do everything. This wasn’t to say she didn’t appreciate everything Mrs. Allen had done and she hoped Neil didn’t think differently. ‘I’m not used to being idle, but I never like to be thought interfering,’ she said, uncertainly.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he agreed smoothly, leaning across her to open her door. The rough feel of his body against hers again sadly depleted her of breath. ‘Run along, Petronella,’ he commanded, when she didn’t move, his mouth twitching as if amused by the too apparent state of her feelings. ‘You’d better go see where David has got to, or the two of you will never make it for dinner.’

  It was really frightening, Petra thought, a day or two later, how the uncertain state of her nerves seemed to be getting her into situations she might be better out of.

  During her discreet searches for the tall cowboy who had rescued her that first day, she had managed to meet quite a few of the other hands. Jake, she discovered, was the real foreman, really Neil’s manager. Washed of mud he was an extremely pleasant, well-educated man, quite capable of shouldering the responsibilities of the huge ranch when Neil had to be away. It was Jake who had eventually confirmed what Neil had told her about the tall cowboy leaving, so putting an end to her suspicions that Neil had just been making it up!

  Unknown to Neil, Jake and she had struck up quite a friendship. It was Jake who had mentioned, when she was wandering rather aimlessly about his office one morning, that one of the younger cowhands was having a sort of coming-of-age party but was disheartened because their one guitarist had gone down with appendicitis.

  ‘Can’t Neil supply another,’ she had asked idly, ‘if one of the other men can’t step in?’

  ‘It’s not all that important, Petra,’ Jake had said. ‘No one else plays and we’ve such a huge staff Neil couldn’t keep up with all their birthdays, although he never objects to them having a bit of a do. When you live as far from town and work as hard as they do, it’s not the birthday so much as an excuse to have a party.’

  ‘What’s the musician supposed to do?’ she had asked carefully.

  ‘Just a few ballads, the odd song. Nothing we can’t do without,’ Jake had sighed. ‘Apart from a few wives, we have no girls here and music helps, somehow, to bridge the gap.’

  Petra had looked at him and been startled to hear herself asking impulsively if she would do.

  ‘You?’ Jake’s bushy eyebrows had risen alarmingly.

  ‘I’ve had lessons,’ Petra had confessed. ‘Of course I’ve never played professionally, but I’ve heard it said I’m quite good. A whole lot better than nothing, anyway,’ she had smiled, while wondering nervously if her old magic was still there. Both her touch and her voice could be sadly lacking in practice. This last year she had only played occasionally, the bleak rooms she had lived in not being very conducive to music in any form. Yet she had still kept her guitar, and when her father had bought it, it had been almost the best that money could buy.

  Jake had looked delighted, then doubtful, then, after another moment, relieved. ‘Neil will be in town tomorrow evening,’ he had exclaimed, as if this explained his various expressions.

  ‘Yes,’ Petra had nodded cautiously, and she and Jake looked at each other, both aware of a kind of pact better not put into words.

  ‘He doesn’t usually get back until late, sometimes not until the next morning, when he has a night in town.’ Jake had supplied the information as if seeking to reassure himself. ‘He often dines with a lady friend.’

  Wondering why this should hurt so much, Petra had said quickly, ‘I’ll be here about ten. After David has gone to bed.’

  It wouldn’t really have mattered about David knowing, she supposed, as she made her way down to the large shed where the party was held the next evening. But he might have told Cameron and, like Jake, she wasn’t sure that he would approve. Neil had left before dinner, his expression rather grim. He had the look of a man determined to seek a little diversion and Petra couldn’t altogether blame him. The running of such a big property couldn’t allow much time for relaxation, even if such responsibilities appeared to sit lightly on his broad shoulders. He was bound to have plenty of women friends only too ready to supply the sophisticated companionship he sought.

  Petra confessed honestly to herself that it wasn’t his disapproval she had feared so much as the possibility of a direct order forbidding her to go. In the mood he had been in she didn’t doubt he might have put his foot down, even though she was convinced Jake wouldn’t have allowed her to take part in anything that wasn’t wholly decent. He was older and entirely responsible and hadn’t he assured her that most of the wiv
es would be there?

  They were—and made Petra very welcome and glad she had been brave enough to come. Their warm, simple gaiety made her realise how starved she had been of young company over the past year and she responded happily. The shed had been swept out and decorated to some extent and was brightly lit. There was a delicious birthday cake and she was given a large slice of this along with some other light refreshments before she was allowed to get out her guitar.

  It seemed silly to hope rather anxiously that she might be pleasing, but she hadn’t the faintest idea, before she began to sing, just how delighted everyone was going to be. She had dressed in her long skirt and a frilly, low-necked blouse, and she stood, a slight figure in the shadows, her hair, as softly shining as a child’s, falling in tumbled curls about her shoulders. She looked like some beautiful young nymph and her voice was altogether charming with a sweet, low-pitched magic, a hint of sensuous huskiness which held her audience spellbound.

  Being slightly out of practice, she had a rest after the first half hour before continuing again. She sang some lilting Gaelic ballads, then some middle-of-the-road contemporary songs, and the next hour flew. As she played on she could almost feel the odd tensions of the last week draining from her, or maybe she relaxed knowing that Neil was in town, two or three hours’ drive away.

  There was unfortunately nothing to warn her that Neil was not. She didn’t see him slip into the back of the shed as she was singing so she missed his narrow-eyed surprise which levelled off after a split second to an expressionless, if keen, surveillance. If she had glanced at Jake’s face she might have guessed there was something amiss, but he failed to attract her attention and he dared not conspicuously interrupt.

  From the contemporary songs, which took on another dimension the way she sang them, she changed to Western ones. She had found some sheets of these arranged for the guitar and to her delight everyone joined in the chorus. She found The Streets Of Laredo and Home On The Range went down well and finished with The Night Herding Song.

  There was much shouting for more but, suddenly, she didn’t want to go on. Her throat had a slight ache to it and she knew it was time to stop, yet in spite of Jake’s protests they wouldn’t listen. The cowboys crowded around her as if they had found a valuable new acquisition and had no intention of letting her go. Petra laughed, but she barely knew how to cope with them when they all talked at once ‘I think the girl has had enough, boys,’ Neil’s voice cut through the chorus of noisy pleading for her to sing again ‘Maybe she’ll oblige another time.’

  ‘Neil!’ Petra’s eyes widened with dismay which, even though she disguised it quickly, must have been obvious to all.

  ‘Yes, Neil!’ he ground out, for her ear alone, as he reached her side, laying a proprietorial hand on her arm. His eyes glinted, but he didn’t seem particularly angry, unless he, too, was disguising things. ‘Put your guitar away, Petronella, and say goodnight.’

  But not even the boss was allowed to escape that easily. Like Petra he was given a drink and pressed to take refreshments. These, she was surprised to find, he accepted, but he didn’t let go of her arm. While he downed his drink he kept her by his side and exchanged a few words with Jake. It was only his fingers digging into her soft flesh which gave her any hint of his true feelings. This subtle cruelty, when he was so charming to the young wives who collected to talk to him, kept Petra almost buoyant with hidden indignation.

  ‘I suppose you just stumbled into that crazy bunch?’ his voice was pitched low as he nodded towards the men as they left a while later.

  ‘No.’ Confession wasn’t easy when she felt so lightheaded, almost as if she had drunk much more than two glasses of that potent stuff they called harmless liqueur.

  ‘Jake’s suggestion?’

  ‘No, he had nothing to do with it. At least,’ she confessed truthfully, ‘he just happened to say that their regular entertainer was in hospital having his appendix removed.’

  ‘So you felt forced to replace him?’

  She hated his sarcasm! She tilted her rounded chin, a small enraged goddess. ‘I didn’t have to do anything. I’d almost forgotten I had my guitar. It seemed silly not to offer, although I’ll admit it wasn’t anything I had in mind. It just sort of tumbled out, but surely there was no harm? They seem a very pleasant bunch.’

  ‘Sure they are, Petronella, but even the nicest men can get indiscreet after consuming too much of that stuff they’re drinking. Their wives know how to manage them, but you don’t. Jake should have known better—so should you. I wonder how you ever survive, having no one to look after you!’

  She subsided, having a faint suspicion it suited him to exaggerate a little, yet there was still a niggling fear. ‘You won’t say anything to Jake? I shouldn’t want him to think I’d blamed him for anything.’

  He ignored this. ‘I’ll certainly have a word with him.’

  ‘Please?’ Her thick lashes fluttering anxiously, she gazed up at him.

  ‘How sweetly you plead, Petronella. It really pains me that the answer still has to be no.’

  Unhappily she subsided. She might as well accept what everyone else did. ‘You’re the boss, I suppose.’ She tried to speak flippantly.

  ‘Never doubt it, lady!’

  How could she when he stalked by her side, as adamant as his towering Rockies! ‘I thought you’d be staying in town,’ she muttered ingenuously.

  ‘Perhaps I suspected something afoot,’ he retorted coolly. ‘I feel there’s a certain telepathy between us, don’t you? A kind of sympathetic awareness.’

  That wasn’t how she would describe it! ‘I wasn’t even thinking about you,’ she said, too quickly.

  He jeered, and with his next words her heart almost failed her. ‘You think of me most of the time, Petronella, if I’ve yet to find out exactly why.’

  She choked, ‘You’re imagining things ...’

  ‘I don’t think so, but as you’re intent on denying it I must just wait and see. You could be right.’

  There was silence as he guided her around a dark corner and with this brief respite from his too discerning tongue her heartbeats slowed. She prayed he might never know why her thoughts centred almost completely on him, but she knew the day couldn’t be far off when she must tell him!

  ‘You play very nicely, Petronella,’ he complimented her. ‘Would you sing for me one evening?’

  Td rather not.’ Just to imagine having his concentrated attention like this made her shake, even noticeably. To refuse might seem ungracious, but she couldn’t help it.

  He halted at the white railings as they came to the house and she seemed to have no alternative but to pause beside him. The air was still warm after the heat of the day and there was a gentle softness about the night, a caressing quality in the wind on her hot cheeks that made her think poignantly of England.

  Suddenly, weirdly to her ears, came the wildly pitched cry of a coyote. ‘Ugh!’ Nervously she stepped nearer the tall man by her side. ‘They startle more than scare me,’ she exclaimed, as Neil laid a lightly comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘That’s sensible.’ He made no effort to remove his arm and a sardonic smile faintly touched his mouth as he turned towards her, his gaze sliding down the low front of her blouse, to where a glimmer of starlight showed momentarily a shadowed hollow. ‘You’re very attractive, Petronella, as I believe I’ve told you before. Maybe you thought to give the men a treat, but the next time you perform for them I should advise you to wear something rather more decorous.’

  ‘You’re beastly!’ She felt it and couldn’t stop herself from saying it. It was Neil who made her conscious of her figure, not his men! Miserably she knew he was right, of course, about the blouse. Like the rest of her wardrobe she had purchased it as it had been a bargain. She hadn’t thought the slightly suggestive cut of it would matter. She hated the way Neil always seemed to manage to spoil everything for her. She could swear he mostly did so deliberately! ‘I hadn’t much left to choos
e from,’ she cried, her cheeks pink as she jerked away from him. ‘I could scarcely go in my jeans! Besides, you make it sound worse than it is. Plenty of girls out for the evening wear much less than what I’ve got on.’

  ‘Ah, yes—the depleted state of your wardrobe.’ He didn’t appear greatly perturbed by her agitation. ‘I’m going to Toronto tomorrow,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘If you’re thinking of going home why don’t you go there with me? I could show you around before putting you on a plane.’

  ‘No!’ Her eyes must have shown some of the panic she felt at his suggestion, but she lowered them swiftly. ‘I mean, would you mind if we stayed here a few more days? David looks so much better.’

  ‘But not you, Petronella.’

  ‘How do you mean ...?’

  His eyes, on her face, moved only slowly, as if examining every feature separately. ‘Daily you’re looking more haunted. Sometimes I’m convinced you have a lot more on your mind than you’re disclosing. I thought perhaps a change of scene, but if you’d rather stay on the ranch—well, that’s up to you.’

  He sounded courteous but restrained, as if this wasn’t what he personally wanted at all. Petra knew it wasn’t really what she wanted herself, now, but it was too late to try to alter much at this late hour. Circumstances were too irrevocably against it. How could she confess she hadn’t enough money left for one fare back to England, let alone two? She realised she couldn’t stay here indefinitely without some sort of showdown. When Neil returned from his visit to Toronto she must put her plans before him. She also realised, having come to know him, that they might not succeed, but she must try. She couldn’t think what she would do if she failed, but surely he wouldn’t throw them out on the street? Once David’s future was settled satisfactorily she would promise to leave and find a job. After David was safe it wouldn’t matter all that much what became of her.