A Man Called Cameron

by Margaret Pargeter

  His hand swept down to the curve of her thigh, as if he gave way, momentarily at least, to the throb of temptation. ‘We’ve come a long way, you and I, in the last few minutes,’ he said suavely, and she knew he wasn’t talking about their trip up the hillside. ‘Are you pleading with me to go further?’

  The wind at her back blew her thick lustrous hair back from her nape, exposing the pure line of her head, the coolness of it restoring a little sanity. If the wind wasn’t responsible it must have been what he had just said. Had she really put herself in such an ignominious position? ‘Neil,’ there was a broken little catch in her voice, ‘you’d better let me go.’

  ‘I’m damned if I will,’ he rasped. ‘I like the feel of you in my arms, and don’t try to persuade me you’re entirely indifferent!’

  ‘No ...’ She was thankful she could be truthful for once even if such a confession might spell danger. ‘But that isn’t to say ...’

  ‘Stop talking.’ Relentlessly his lips closed over hers again, careless of the hot, dark tide that immediately flooded over them, sealing them together as he crushed her tightly to him. Petra felt the pain of knowing every hard muscle in his body, but this time she didn’t attempt to evade him. He wound her hair like a silk rope, dragging her ever closer, cruelly bruising with his deep penetration the soft, quivering contour of her mouth. She was trembling like the aspens they stood under when at last he released her and could only stare at him in a kind of childish daze that had nothing really childlike about it.

  As his arms fell away his rejection was so abrupt it seemed to hurt more than his ruthlessness. The unconsciously tragic query in Petra’s wide eyes seemed to drag out an explanation against his will. ‘It would be nice to,’ he said tersely, so that she could never mistake his exact meaning, ‘but it could lead to untold complications. You go to a man’s head like strong wine, Petronella. Maybe it’s the Italian in you, but where you’re concerned I wouldn’t know when to stop. It might amuse you that I’ve only just discovered.’

  Stunned shock running uncontrollably right through her, Petra turned blindly away. Was he right? Never before had she been forced to realise the depth of her own passionate nature. But then this was the first time any man had kissed her, held her like this. Others had tried, but she hadn’t allowed them to get really near her. Neil Cameron was the first but he would never believe her. Although, with his conceit, it might amuse him if she was to confess that for a few minutes, there in his arms, she might have given him willingly that which she had always held sacred. Without betraying herself with another despairing glance she took herself away from him, to stumble down the mountain.

  The next morning nothing seemed any clearer and she could only view Oliver’s next arrival, later in the day, with increasing depression. Oliver, it seemed during the next few days, was contriving to become a constant visitor and nobody seemed inclined to discourage him. Mrs. Cameron said it was only natural that he should want to be with Janey when she had been away for so long.

  Janey, to begin with, seemed very satisfied with Oliver’s increasing appearances, and when Petra pointed out quietly that most men had work to do she got very indignant.

  ‘His father doesn’t mind him seeing me in the least!’ she retorted coolly. ‘He likes to run things his way and it suits him to have a son who’ll let him.’

  ‘Don’t you think sons of Oliver’s age should be given some authority? A chance to assert themselves. It can’t be good for him, surely, to be allowed so much leisure?’

  While Petra hadn’t meant to sound so critical she was startled to hear Janey reply softly, ‘When we’re married that will all change. He needs someone like me to guide him.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’re right,’ Petra said sharply, without thinking. ‘Now if it was me ...’

  ‘But it’s not you, is it?’ Janey’s face had flamed with sudden temper. ‘He loves me, not a little interloper like you. You’d do well to remember!’

  She flounced away before Petra could reassure her, and feeling not a little sickened by Janey’s hurtfully unjust warning, she didn’t bother to go after her. Consequently Janey’s coolness almost matched that of Neil, and, not unnaturally, Petra found herself turning more and more to Oliver although, certainly, with no romantic notions in her head, even though she did sometimes remind herself that he had, in a mistaken moment, asked her to marry him.

  As she had suspected, Janey wasn’t nearly so quiet as she seemed, and she seemed to regard Oliver’s increasing absorption with Petra with mounting suspicion. It took Petra some time to realise he had taken to watching her exclusively, even when the others were around and, impatient of her own carelessness, she took to avoiding him as much as possible.

  Between him and Neil she often felt she was walking a tight-rope above disaster, with Mrs. Cameron waiting with cat-like malice below, gleefully anticipating her fall. The showdown with Neil, Petra knew, couldn’t be put off much longer, but if she had hoped it could be somehow postponed until Janey and her mother had once again departed it wasn’t to be like that at all.

  Since the evening on the hilltop Neil had been distinctly unfriendly, so much so that Petra sometimes wondered if he could be the same man who had kissed her so urgently. She was aware that Janey went to him with tales, but these must merely confirm his already voiced opinions. Janey was adamant that Petra led poor Oliver on and, judging from the dour mood Neil was in, he was only too ready to believe it. One thing he made abundantly clear, his sympathy did not lie with Petra. He regarded her with increasing coldness which Petra often felt she could scarcely bear, even if she didn’t quite know why.

  It should not have surprised her, but it did, that this tense state of affairs should come to an abrupt halt one evening after dinner. Mrs. Cameron had retired to bed, almost following David upstairs, pleading a headache. Mrs. Allen fussed upstairs after her with tea and aspirin, leaving the four younger people sitting in the lounge alone. Oliver, after Mrs. Cameron had departed, begged Petra to play for them and reluctantly, aware of Neil’s raised eyebrows, she obliged. She hadn’t minded playing for Oliver before, but having Neil watch her broodingly was quite a different matter. It wasn’t as if she was particularly good. Her father used to say she was too lightweight and her technique too limited, but then she had never made any pretensions to being professional. She played a little Mendelssohn and Beethoven, which latter Oliver professed to liking, but she felt happy with none of it and as soon as possible gave up. Perhaps it was Janey’s silent antagonism that put her off. Twice she had had to delicately cover a rather clumsy mistake and, if the others didn’t notice, Cameron’s dryly expressive face left her in no doubt that he did!

  Crushed, she drooped her fair head, her glossy hair spilling over her cheeks in silky confusion. She felt vulnerable, completely spent, in no way able to search for the answer to Neil’s almost open derision. It seemed more than likely that some of her own silent despair had come through in the music, a hint of her silent misery and self-disgust regarding the quite insoluble fix she had got herself into. Neil couldn’t know how when she occasionally thought she had succeeded in forgetting for a while it was still there, almost eating her up, like some horrible blight, consuming her mind. She could laugh to recall the mental picture she had had of herself pouring out all her trouble into the ears of a kindly, upright, elderly relation. But now, because of these mistakes she had made all along, there was nothing for it but to bluster her way through to the bitter end. That the end would be bitter she was becoming daily more convinced.

  It didn’t seem possible that with a list of such mistakes to warn her, she should make yet another. Half distracted by the prevailing coldness in his eyes, she turned from him to smile in an over-brilliant fashion at Oliver. Janey, seeing the instant, reciprocal warmth in Oliver’s face, looked ready to burst into tears. Her hands clenched and a small choked sound escaped her as she swung away from them.

  In a flash, so that Petra was scarcely aware he had moved, Neil was
on his feet and at the piano, his hand curving Petra’s slender wrist firmly. ‘If the recital’s over,’ he said smoothly, ‘Petronella and gentle will say goodnight. We have things to discuss and I won’t have time in the morning. You must excuse us.’ He smiled, but it was a mere twist of his well-shaped lips as he jerked Petra none too gently to her reluctant feet and whipped her silently through the door.

  ‘Quite a string of minor accomplishments you have, don’t you?’ he quipped sarcastically, as he guided her relentlessly down the passage outside, ‘and all of them useless.’

  Stung by his curtness, Petra stumbled. ‘I can cook and ride a horse,’ she heard herself protesting incredibly, and she realised none of this might impress him. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked quickly, trying to cover a hot surge of mortification.

  ‘Some place where we won’t be interrupted—or heard,’ he added, ominously, ‘should you choose to make a fuss.’

  Convulsively Petra swallowed, a cowardly fear nearly getting the better of her. He sounded so determined! ‘Wouldn’t tomorrow do?’ she whimpered miserably. ‘You’ve had a long day.’

  ‘Tomorrow never comes, Petronella,’ he replied suavely, ‘and don’t begin searching in that charming head of yours for a contradictory cliché as my patience is rapidly running out!’

  Which didn’t bode well for any kind of discussion, Petra thought bleakly.

  It transpired he was taking her to the office which was right at the back of the house. Petra had only been here once. There was a whole lot of the house she wasn’t at all familiar with as Neil had never exactly encouraged her to explore, and not even when he had been away had she done so. Nervous that she might be accused of trespassing she had decided to wait until he asked her to stay permanently. There would be time enough then. Unfortunately, with the arrival of Janey and her mother, everything seemed to have changed. It didn’t seem likely now that Neil Cameron would be inviting her to do anything!

  Behind her he was closing the office door; it was rather like the knell of doom. There was still a kind of suppressed anger about him that the walk along the corridor hadn’t abated. They were alone and this large room was miles away from the main quarters, for the precise reason that Neil often worked here in the evenings and valued the peace and privacy. Petra found no such reassurance. She felt herself shaking as she watched him turn and stroll over to his desk as if deciding the best way to annihilate her.

  Trying too obviously to postpone the evil moment, she queried desperately, ‘Did my playing annoy you?’

  ‘No.’ His lip curled, as if he realised quite clearly she was playing for time. ‘You haven’t the scope of a more experienced performer, but then I don’t suppose you ever considered making a living from it. It was, like all your other performances, quite eye-catching. I imagine the slight faux pas was merely a reflection of your present state of mind?’

  ‘State of mind?’

  ‘Don’t prevaricate, Petronella.’ His dark blue eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Isn’t it about time we had a frank talk? You come here for a couple of nights and stay weeks. I suggested you go with me to Toronto and you refused. I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but it isn’t convenient for you to stay longer.’

  ‘Because you think I’m after Oliver, I suppose?’ Petra’s nerve seemed to desert her. She hadn’t been going to mention Oliver at all!

  If she had unconsciously sought to divert him, she succeeded, but only briefly. He merely observed coolly, ‘It doesn’t seem worth subjecting Oliver to what looks like becoming a mild infatuation. I also have my sister’s interests to consider.’

  Foolishly she couldn’t leave it alone. ‘If I promised to have nothing more to do with him?’

  He turned on her then, cruelly grasping her slender arm and pushing up the concealing sleeve to reveal dark bruising. ‘Don’t tell me that got there by itself.’

  Pink flooded her pale cheeks guiltily. ‘It—it was an accident.’

  ‘Possibly,’ he rejoined silkily. ‘I’m sure Oliver wouldn’t do it intentionally. But tell me, is this the action of a man without urgent intentions?’

  Stubbornly she shook her head, her mind in such chaos she couldn’t think straight, but she did realise that to have Neil in an antagonistic mood would never get her what she wanted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, trying to look straight at him, ‘but I think you do overestimate Oliver’s feelings.’

  Whether this completely satisfied him or not, she couldn’t say. He remained beside her, even after releasing her arm, nearer to her than he had been in days, and her heart was over-reacting. She could feel it thudding swiftly and rebelled dully that she had a great longing to be in his arms again. Arms which clearly didn’t want her.

  What he said next confirmed it. ‘Supposing,’ he drawled dryly, ignoring her last remark, ‘we get back to the original point—the date of your departure. I think we’ll be able to work better from there.’

  This last enigmatic sentence was lost on Petra. Her head was spinning with a kind of blinding shock even before he reached it. She could only flounder illogically when she had meant to sound very cool and detached. ‘I’m afraid David and I would like to stay longer.’

  He frowned sharply. ‘How long?’

  Petra’s face whitened visibly as she stifled a growing regret that she hadn’t the money to promise they’d be gone in the morning. She couldn’t bring herself, yet, to place all her cards on the table. In a few minutes, if she remained calm, Neil might—he just might ask her to forget everything and stay, thus saving her the utter humiliation of having to beg. Because she had no illusions now that this was what it would be. ‘Surely,’ she tried to speak lightly, ‘you don’t doubt who I am?’

  ‘Petronella,’ he exclaimed, on the fringe of a weary impatience, ‘I don’t altogether doubt who you are. I hardly think you just stuck a pin in a map and landed on me. But how about starting at the beginning? You’ve built something, I think, from some very basic facts, and I want to know exactly what it is.’

  So this was the end. How could she possibly put into words all the maybe unreasonable terrors which had almost driven her here? Once, at the height of her foolish confidence, it had seemed so easy. Would he ever understand? Helplessly she stared down on the wide expanse of office floor, finding little inspiration in the rather threadbare carpet.

  ‘Lost your tongue?’

  It was amazing how such a sarcastic taunt revived her flagging courage. Maybe Neil would call it her impertinence, but his derisive tone did give her the strength to go on. ‘David and I can’t go home,’ she stated baldly. ‘We have no money and no place to go. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.’

  Her young voice, incredibly clear and pure, sounded defiant and for a moment he looked furiously beyond words, utterly astounded. His hands lifted, as if he meant to shake the life out of her, but when she flinched visibly they fell again to his sides, in a kind of helpless anger. Turning from her suddenly, he pointed to a nearby chair. ‘Sit there,’ he commanded grimly, ‘and you’d better be prepared to confess the lot. I want no more half-truths.’ When Petra, after two false starts, began to talk she knew she was putting things badly. Everything just tumbled out, in a most confusing way, guaranteed to impress no one, not even herself. All her carefully rehearsed speeches seemed to have fled. To start at the beginning, as he suggested, not being as easy as one might have thought.

  ‘My father went bankrupt,’ she stated unevenly, her eyes on Neil, blank and dazed with the curious shock of having to put it into words again. ‘There was a fire and he died. Afterwards it was discovered what state his business was in. His London office wasn’t destroyed, of course, and he’d kept his diaries there. He must have been researching for years, so his solicitor said. All the details are there of our family tree. When I was given his personal papers these were among them, you see, and I thought it would be a good idea to come over here and live with you.’

  ‘Just like that!’ Neil spoke so softly she could scarcely h
ear it, but as she caught it faintly, her cheeks flamed. ‘How long since your father died?’ he asked curtly, as if they were discussing a shower of rain.

  ‘Just a little time ago.’ She fancied she had once told him exactly and prayed, if she had, that he had forgotten.

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you that any normal person would have set about earning a living in an orthodox way?’

  She couldn’t tell him what a failure she’d made of that! Better to let him think what he would. ‘It was difficult because of David,’ she faltered, finding in his hard demeanour not one hint of softening.

  ‘I might have guessed,’ he exclaimed, his mouth tight. ‘Maybe I’ve been even more remiss than you. No clothes to speak of, nothing but two pieces of shabby luggage you obviously picked up in a junk shop. And I fell for it! Don’t you know, Petronella,’ he leant over her, breathing fire, ‘you’ve managed to make a nice fool of me, something I’ve never allowed to happen before. My friends might enjoy hearing about it!’

  Feeling faint from the force of his dry anger, Petra stared up at him weakly. ‘I don’t see how anyone could jump to those conclusions.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ his voice rasped. ‘Well, it’s nothing I care to dwell on. Just get on with the rest of your story.’

  ‘You just don’t understand!’ Desperately Petra jumped to her feet, as if standing she might have more impact. ‘I—you have so much while David has so little! You didn’t have to see him, going without, day after day, until I thought he was about to fade away. You don’t know what it’s been like. And those ...’ she had been about to say ‘those men’, but her voice faltered at the last minute. Never could she bring herself to mention them, not to Neil Cameron. ‘If I’d known what you were really like,’ she mumbled unwisely, ‘I would never have come.’