Dark Awakening

by Sally Wentworth

  Sally Wentworth - Dark Awakening

  "Marry in haste, repent at leisure…"

  Minta had never met a man like Dane Fenton, so worldly, so handsome, so…passionate. And for him, it had been love at first sight — or so he claimed.

  But when Minta's father objected to her seeing him, she rebelled she was an adult, fully capable of making her own decisions, she shouted at him on that final night.

  Within a week she was married to Dane and living in his Canary Islands home. The marriage started out fine — until Delia Nelson appeared on the scene, and told Minta a few things about her new husband…

  CHAPTER ONE

  The phone rang just as Minta was leaving the house. For a moment she toyed with not bothering to answer it, but then turned and ran into the sitting-room to pick up the receiver, its bleep too insistent to ignore. 'Hallo?'

  'Minta, I've invited someone back for dinner tonight.'

  'Oh, Dad, no! I've got a date tonight. Can't you take him out somewhere?'

  'Sorry, darling, it's too late; I've already arranged for him to come to the house at seven-thirty.'

  'Oh, lor! Another one of your crusty old customers, I suppose?'

  Her father, who was by no means old himself, sounded amused. 'I wouldn't call him crusty exactly.'

  Minta sighed but said submissively, 'Okay, I'll put my date back a couple of hours. And I suppose I'd better phone Maggie to come and make the numbers up.'

  'Fine,' Richard Tennant agreed. 'I was going to suggest it myself.'

  'You should watch it,' Minta told him teasingly. 'If you introduce your girl-friend to all your rich customers you'll be in danger of losing her!'

  He chuckled. 'I don't think there's much chance of that happening with the man I'm bringing tonight.'

  Minta groaned. 'He must be about ninety, then. What's his name?'

  'Dane Fenton. You won't have heard of him before, he lives abroad most of the time.'

  'A pity he didn't stay there,' Minta muttered under her breath.

  She said goodbye and then made two more phone calls; one to Maggie, a sophisticated and highly successful career-girl, who admitted to being in her mid- thirties, who had her own business and was the latest of her father's many girl-friends. And the other to her own boy-friend, who wasn't very happy about being put off for a dinner guest of her father's.

  'It's only for a couple of hours,' Minta said placatingly. 'I'll meet you there round about ten.'

  After some grumbling he agreed, and she was free to go out, but now her shopping included a trip to the supermarket to buy provisions for this evening's meal. Minta and her father, a merchant banker, lived in a tall Georgian house in a terrace in one of the more exclusive squares near Mayfair. Since his wife's death, over ten years ago, Richard Tennant had employed a very efficient housekeeper, but Minta had taken a Cordon Bleu cookery course and now cooked dinner more often than not.

  She got home before five and immediately set about preparing the meal, nothing too elaborate, and basically English dishes as their guest was a foreigner. At six-thirty she had got as far as she could and went up to bath and change. Bearing in mind that she was going on to a rock club after dinner, Minta put on a pair of soft black velvet evening trousers and a cream blouse with deep ruffles at the neck, which would just have to do for both. Her thick fair hair she brushed into its usual shining, shoulder-length style, and then she did her face, adding green shadow to emphasise her hazel eyes. She was of average height, which she didn't like, so always wore high heels to make her look taller, tonight putting on a pair of black patent slingbacks.

  While she was getting ready, her father came home and called a greeting as he passed her door, then she heard him whistling and singing in the shower, and smiled to herself, glad of his happiness when she remembered the long months after her mother's death when he had been so silent and closed-in within himself. As soon as she was ready, Minta ran down to the kitchen to check on the meal and put the last-minute touches to the dining table. Richard Tennant soon joined her, looking maturely handsome in a wine velvet jacket and bow tie.

  Minta pretended to be disapproving. 'If you're not careful one of your girl-friends is going to snap you up and marry you!'

  He grinned as he put some wine in the fridge to chill. 'I'm not sure, but I think there was a compliment in there somewhere! You don't have to worry, I'm quite safe with Maggie; she likes her independence as much as I do.'

  Minta looked at him speculatively, wondering if he was right—he'd been seeing Maggie for over six months now and she might well become a habit to have around, and also Minta had noticed that Maggie had started to leave some of her things here: a couple of sexy nighties and a change of clothes for when she stayed the night. Maybe this was the first step to establishing a permanent claim. Impulsively she said, 'If I weren't here, would you have Maggie move in?'

  He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. 'Are you thinking of leaving?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Then the question doesn't arise, does it?' But he saw the doubt in her eyes and came over to put his hands on her shoulders. 'My dear child, I'm perfectly happy as I am. No one can take your mother's place, you know that. Maggie's fun and we're fond of each other, but we're certainly not committed to the relationship. So don't go getting any crazy ideas about leaving me a clear field. I need you around. Who else can I get to charm unwilling customers into seeing reason? And besides,' he added as an afterthought, 'Maggie can't cook anywhere near as well as you do.'

  She laughed. 'Now that I believe, but my reputation as a cook will be ruined if you don't get out of the way so that I can put the vegetables on!' But there was relief in her eyes as she moved away. Minta loved her father unreservedly and felt no jealousy of his women. He had been only thirty-nine when her mother died and he had grieved for her sincerely, probably still did, but he was young and vigorous; he couldn't live like a monk and she didn't expect him to. But if he had shown any signs of wanting to marry again and was holding back because of her, then Minta would have moved out, willing to be a little lonely and unhappy herself because she loved him too much ever to become an obstacle to his happiness.

  They kept a special bottle of sherry in a cupboard, and her father went to this and poured out two glasses, bringing one across to her. It was a little habit they had A formed, this quiet drink together before their guests arrived. They were both gregarious people and had many friends, so often had dinner guests or were invited out in their turn, which made this quarter of an hour a special time for shared confidences, for advice and for future plans.

  'What are we having for dinner?' Richard Tennant asked, lifting the lid of one of the saucepans. 'Smells good.'

  'Wait and see. You think of nothing but your stomach,' Minta admonished him.

  Richard Tennant grinned amiably. He began to tell her about his day at the bank, just the general outline; he never discussed the details of his clients' private business with her. 'I was supposed to be having lunch with Fenton, but his plane was delayed and he didn't turn up until three; that's why I asked him to dinner,' he told her.

  'Where does he come from?' Minta asked absently as she concentrated on stirring the gravy.

  'The Canary Islands. He has Spanish connections.' He was about to tell her more, but just then the front door bell rang. 'Perhaps that's him now, I'll go.'

  But it was Maggie, exactly on time for once. She swept into the kitchen in a stunning blue satin dress on a wave of Chanel that almost drowned the cooking smells. 'Hallo, Minta darling. You're looking marvellous. How are things?' She aimed a kiss in the general direction of her cheek and then sat on one of the pine kitchen stools and accepted the glass of sherry that Richard Tennant handed to her. Without waiting for Minta to answer, she
turned to him and began to tell him a funny story about something that had happened to her earlier that day. She had a droll way with words and told the story well, holding his attention and making him laugh in genuine enjoyment. Minta stood by the stove and watched them while she stirred her gravy with one hand and sipped her sherry with the other. Maggie was taller and thinner than herself, with shining red hair that owed much to her hairdresser's skill with the tint bottle, and her features were good with few signs yet of ageing. And she had a vivacious personality that made most people like her at once. As Minta watched her she felt a prick of jealousy for her sophistication and a slight resentment for the way she had come down to the kitchen to join them, as if she was a member of the family, instead of being entertained upstairs as a guest. But then she pushed the thought aside; after all, they had known Maggie long enough now to be on informal terms.

  Five minutes later the bell rang again and her father took Maggie with him as he went upstairs to answer it, leaving Minta free to quickly and expertly do as much as she could in the preparation of the meal and leave it safely simmering. Then she in turn went up to greet their guest, hoping that he wasn't a vegetarian or so old that he didn't have any teeth left.

  Fully expecting to meet some greybeard, she pushed open the door to the drawing room—and stopped in surprise when she saw her father talking to a tall, dark- haired man who, although he had his back to her, had far too athletic a figure to be old or even elderly. The three of them were standing in front of her father's proudest possession, a Turner seascape, which hung over the marble fireplace, and Minta should have guessed from the attention Maggie was paying him that their guest was also good-looking. Maggie liked good- looking men and she liked even more to be seen with them.

  Her father saw her first and turned, a grin on his face at her surprise. 'Ah, there you are. Dane, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Araminta. This is Dane Fenton.'

  The man turned to meet her and Minta automatically held out her hand. He was younger, even, than she had thought, only about thirty, very tanned, with thick dark hair that had a definite curl and pale grey eyes that were looking at her with as much surprise in them as in her own.

  'How do you do, Miss Tennant?' He took her hand in a grip that was strong but didn't hurt, as some men's did who felt the need to exert their personalities. 'I hope my coming here at the last minute hasn't been too much trouble for you?'

  Minta disclaimed, again surprised by his voice, which had a deep, rich timbre and was impeccably English, whereas she had expected at the least a foreign accent. She gave her father a quick, accusing glance and he grinned, glad that his little joke had come off.

  'Cooking is never too much trouble for Minta,' he said, coming to put a proud arm round her waist. 'She's a fully-trained Cordon Bleu cook. I can guarantee you'll enjoy her food just as much as any at a first class restaurant.'

  'Daddy, really! Now what do I do if the whole meal is a complete disaster?'

  'I'm sure it will be delicious,' Dane said gallantly.

  Minta smiled at him. 'You'd better try it first.'

  Maggie, impatient at being ignored, broke in. 'Richard said you lived in the Canary Islands, but he didn't say which one.'

  'Mostly in Gran Canaria, at Las Palmas, but I also have an office in Tenerife and spend a lot of my time there.'

  'Oh, really. What do you do?'

  A slightly closed look came into his face. 'Property development,' he answered shortly, then turned to his host. 'You hadn't finished telling me how you found your Turner.'

  Richard Tennant needed no prompting to finish his favourite story, and then they all talked about pictures in general until Minta stood up and suggested they go in to dinner. She had prepared a basically simple menu of soup, rolled cod with a wine sauce, boeuf en croute with vegetables, then a good variety of English cheeses, and finally a selection of three puddings: sherry trifle, a charlotte russe and a lemon sorbet. Although her carefully chosen English meal seemed somewhat wasted now that it was obvious that Dane Fenton was as English as they were.

  But he was very appreciative, praising every dish just enough for it not to sound like fulsome flattery. He also kept up his end of the conversation, showing an alert and intelligent mind and a comprehensive grasp of contemporary affairs even though he lived so far from the centre of things. She and her father were sitting at each end of the table, their guests between them, the table closed down to a size where they were near enough to talk intimately in twos or generally among the four of them. And there was much laughter, all of them enjoying themselves, and the wine they drank helping to break down any barriers. Maggie sparkled, at her best in this sort of atmosphere, casually flirting a little with both men, but devoting most of her time to Richard Tennant, which left Dane free to talk to Minta, and he seemed to want to know all about her.

  'Do you cook professionally?' he asked, after she had brought in the coffee and they sat drinking it alongside balloons of brandy.

  'Occasionally. For the last couple of years, whenever my father holds an official board meeting at the bank I cook lunch for all the directors. And now word has spread a little and I quite often get asked to cook for similar functions at other businesses.'

  'You wouldn't like to work in a hotel or something, as a chef?'

  Minta shook her head. 'Daddy wouldn't be very keen on my doing that; he likes me to be here to cook for him.' She smiled at him, liking his clean-cut features and the way one of his dark brows rose slightly above the other when he asked a question.

  'And do you look after this place all by yourself?'

  'Oh, no. We have a very good housekeeper; I just do the cooking and she takes care of everything else.'

  'And are there just the two of you, or do you have brothers and sisters?'

  'No, I'm the only one. How about you—do you have any family?' Minta asked as she poured out more coffee.

  Again a closed look seemed to come into his face. 'I have an elder half-brother, that's all.' Then he changed the subject rather abruptly, Minta thought, turning to ask her father a question so that conversation became general again for a while until Dane drew Minta out to talk about her other interests.

  It was almost eleven when the phone rang. Minta had been so absorbed in talking to Dane that she had completely forgotten the time, but now she glanced at her watch and gave an exclamation of dismay. 'Oh, my God, that must be Gerald!' Quickly she excused herself and ran to answer it.

  'I know what you're going to say and I'm sorry,' she said before her angry boy-friend had time to say a word. 'I just forgot the time.'

  'I've been standing here propping up the wall for over an hour,' Gerald informed her heatedly. "There are plenty of other girls around if you can't be bothered to get here, you know.'

  Minta with difficulty stifled an impulse to tell him to find himself one, then, but after all, he did have some reason to be angry. 'I've said I'm sorry,' she pointed out. 'What do you want me to do—crawl?'

  'No, just get yourself over here—fast.'

  Minta suddenly knew that she didn't want to go. 'It is late, Gerald. There hardly seems much point in…'

  But he wasn't going to stand for that. "This place stays open till two, and you can be here in twenty minutes.'

  She sighed in reluctant assent. It occurred to her for the first time that she really would have to do something about Gerald, he was getting to be a bore, even if he was an Honourable and extremely eligible, a fact of which he was only too well aware. 'Oh, all right; I'll be there as soon as I can.'

  Going back into the dining-room, she came up behind her father and put her hands on his shoulders. 'Sorry, Daddy, I shall have to go. I've already kept Gerald waiting for an age.'

  Richard Tennant patted her hand indulgently. 'All right, I understand.' Gerald's father was one of his co- directors at the bank and he, too, thought him a good match for her. 'I'm sure Dane will excuse you.'

  The younger man stood up. 'You're going out? Perhaps I can give you a
lift; I have a car outside.'

  'Nonsense, you mustn't rush off just because Minta has a date. Stay and have another brandy,' her father protested.

  But Dane Fenton declined firmly. 'Thank you, you're very kind, but it's really time I was leaving. It was an excellent meal and I enjoyed it immensely; so much that the least I can do is offer Minta a lift.' He smiled at her, his eyes warm, so that she found herself smiling in return.

  'Thank you; it will save me phoning for a taxi. I'll get my coat.'

  The chill of the November night caught her as Minta waited for Dane to say his goodbyes to Maggie and her father, then the door shut behind him and he came to quickly escort her a few yards down the street to a car parked at the kerb. He helped her in and then went round the other side to the driver's seat. 'Where to?'

  'De Sade's Cellar. It's a rock club near Covent Garden.'

  His mouth twisted with amusement at the name. 'I know the general area, but then you'll have to direct me.'

  For a few minutes Minta felt rather tongue-tied, which was quite unlike her, but alone with him in the car she was very much aware of Dane Fenton, of his strangeness and his masculinity. He was very self- confident, of course, but then most of the young men she knew were; because they came from backgrounds where money and the privilege it brought had always been there from birth. But Dane had much more than that; he had excellent manners coupled with an easy charm that made him immediately likeable, and these, together with his good looks, made a heady combination. Although he was young to be a business associate of her father's, he was at least five years older than the young men she was used to going around with, and it showed in the way he handled himself, speaking to her father as an equal, not as someone in a different generation. And it showed, too, in the way he discussed worldly topics with reasoned out arguments and not set opinions. Also, Minta somehow had the feeling that he would be good at handling women, that in that, too, he would have wide experience.

  'Is this your car?' she asked him, for something to say.