'I've been looking forward to meeting you, Liza.'
'Have you?' Liza was bewildered by that. Did Mrs Gifford mean it, or was she just being polite? Keir had made it crystal clear that his family didn't think her suitable for Bruno, so why should Mrs Gifford have looked forward to meeting her?
'Ever since Keir talked to me about you,' Mrs Gifford nodded. 'Tomorrow we must manage to have some time alone, to talk without anyone else around. Maybe we could have tea together? I'll see what I can arrange. Goodnight, Liza, sleep well on your first night under Hartwell's roof.'
She was gone and Liza stood there, completely numb—what had all that been about? What had Keir said to his mother about her? A flush ran up her face— surely he hadn't told his mother how he had been pursuing her? Did men confide such things to their mothers? Even today, in these broad-minded times, Liza couldn't believe any man would cheerfully tell his mother he had tried to seduce some girl. And if it wasn't the truth Keir had told Mrs Gifford, what had he said?
She got into bed, sure she wouldn't sleep because she was so on edge, but she did. Outside the grounds and gardens were very quiet, almost silent except for the occasional sound of a bird or a rustling among undergrowth—a fox, perhaps, or a hedgehog or mouse. It was pitch-black out there tonight and very warm, humid—as if a storm was on the way. If it came, Liza would sleep through it.
She woke up very early next morning; the sky was mistily blue and the birds calling sleepily among the trees. After leaning on her window-sill for some time, Liza decided to go for a walk. She showered, put on lemon cotton slacks and a matching sleeveless top with a white and lemon overblouse, and quietly made her way out of the house. All was silent; nobody was about. They must all be sleeping late, including the servants, Liza thought, until she heard faint muffled sounds from the rear of the house later and realised that there were people working in the kitchens.
It was cooler than it had been; perhaps that storm had broken last night while she had slept? The immaculate lawns glistened with dew, and so did the formal rose-beds; red and white and full-hearted glossy pink. Liza wandered slowly, admiring the velvety flowers, watching a sleepy bumble-bee blundering from one to another on his first run of the day. He was the only bee out gathering pollen; like her he was an early riser, she thought, smilingly watching him.
A gate creaked behind her. She turned, startled, to see Keir coming from another garden. He halted, seeing her, his black brows lifting.
'You're up early!'
'So are you.'
He smiled wryly. 'A boring habit of mine, I'm afraid— picked up when I was a boy. I've never been able to stay in bed once I'm awake, and I'm always woken up by the first light. Napoleon had the same problem; he hated any light in his bedroom, even a candle outside in the corridor could wake him up.'
'Oh, something else you have in common with him!' commented Liza, fondling the soft, long ears of the black spaniels with him and, watching her, Keir looked amused.
'Other than what, or shouldn't I ask?' 'Megalomania?' she suggested demurely and he laughed.
'I knew it would be something like that, but you can't make me angry—not this morning, it's far too lovely.' His eyes slid over her with unhidden enjoyment. 'And so are you.'
She felt her colour heighten and hurriedly turned back towards the house, which stood among its gardens glowing in the early-morning light, the stone given a creamy gold warmth.
'Don't go in yet,' Keir said, catching her hand. 'Come for a walk with me. I haven't had a chance to get you alone yet.'
The back of her neck prickled tensely; he was using that voice which disturbed her, deep, warm, intimate. It made her edgy because she knew it aroused her, and she suspected he knew it too.
'I don't think that would be a good idea,' she said, pulling free and walking quickly across the lawn, but Keir kept up with her and suddenly steered her sideways towards some stone steps leading to a lower terrace.
'Come and see the topiary,' he urged and Liza glanced downwards and was delighted by the yew trees clipped into the shapes of chessmen, peacocks, pyramids.
'How marvellous!' she said, moving towards them, and Keir told her that his mother had been very keen on topiary at one time, but she found it too tiring now and the gardeners kept the yews clipped into shape for her.
He was wearing very casual summer clothes this morning—an open-necked cream shirt without a tie, light blue trousers and some slip-on cream leather shoes that looked hand-made, they were so elegant. He talked about the topiary and his mother, and she listened, but her eyes were busy absorbing everything about him. His black hair gleamed in sunlight like a bird's wing, she thought, dreamily, and her mouth went dry because she knew she was falling in love and she couldn't stop herself. It was like falling down a deep, dark cavern towards the sound of the sea—a dreamlike, inevitable fate which she felt she had expected from the minute they had first met, although she had fought it off with angry reluctance.
'My mother has taken a liking to you,' he said, turning back to look at her after a glance at the dark green chessmen, and he saw that look in her face and bent towards her with a harshly indrawn breath. 'Liza!'
She pulled away and started walking back towards the house, saying unsteadily, 'I'm glad, I like your mother, too.'
'Don't run away,' he said, catching hold of her shoulders and holding her there, against his body, his head resting on her shoulder and his low voice close to her ear. 'Don't be scared of it, Liza. I'm not going to hurt you. You'll never be hurt through me, I promise you!'
'Men always make promises they don't mean to keep,' she said tightly.
'Are you going to waste the whole of your life because one man was a bastard ?' he asked and she felt the bitter tension in the body pressing behind her, his angry breathing as if he had been running. He tightened his hold and whirled her to face him and looking up Liza saw a face which was white and drawn in lines of rage, or was it pain?
'Did you love him that much?' he asked, his blue eyes dark with violence, and she couldn't speak because he terrified her when he looked like that. 'What was his name?' Keir asked thickly. 'I'll find him and he'll pay—I promise you, he'll pay for what he did, Liza.'
She stared at him, stricken dumb, incredulous because she couldn't tell herself any more that Keir was only playing, chasing her for amusement, that he didn't really care about her. There was a fierce emotion in his face and she started shaking as if she was in shock. She was icy cold, convulsively shivering.
'Let me go,' she half sobbed, and Keir's hands released her slowly while he stared down at her pallor and distress.
'What . ..' he began and she didn't wait for him to finish the sentence, she turned and ran across the dew-wet grass, up the stone steps, towards the dreaming house trapped in a sunny web of summer.
She got back to her room without anyone seeing her and sat down on her bed, still trembling and still seeing inside her head Keir's face, the barbaric lines of jealousy and rage bitten into it.
She should not have come to his home; she couldn't keep him at arm's length while she was here, there were too many opportunities for them to meet. And she was rapidly becoming her own worst enemy, because she had begun to care for him; she was in love and constantly betraying herself. Her eyes, her body, were the traitors-she had begun to want him and Keir was far too clever to miss those telltale symptoms. He had seen them at once just now; either reading them in her face or intuitively picking up the vibrations in her body, and he hadn't hesitated in following up that advantage. All men were ...
She broke off, groaning, burying her face in her shaky hands. No, Keir wasn't like all men. She had felt the depth of feeling in his body just as he had felt it in hers. Their senses answered each other; her skin clung to his when they touched, her blood beat to the same rhythm. She must not lie to herself. Keir wasn't lying or deceiving her; it was real for him, too, and that was making her feel weak, helpless, hollow inside. Outside in the sunlit garden she had wanted to s
urrender to that feeling, to him, but she couldn't. She mustn't.
If she got hurt again she didn't know how she would survive it; she was no longer young enough to have the resilience of the first time. She had thought then that she would never get over it; but she had in time, scarred and embittered, but at last free of the pain and the longing.
Now she was safe, on a calm, happy plateau where day succeeded day in the same mood and no violent emotions swept her, there was no pain or fear. She had no highs and lows, but she had sanity, reason, a sense of contentment. She didn't want to be swept away by love again; she wanted her feet on the ground.
She stood up and walked to the window to stare out at the sunny garden—it looked so lovely out there, so peaceful, but the garden was full of predators and dangers; she must not stray into it alone again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was another half an hour before Pam tapped on her door, and by then Liza had herself under control again and was able to smile and talk normally.
'I'm glad you're awake,' Pam said eagerly. 'I've been sitting in my room wondering what to do—I didn't like to go downstairs too early in case nobody was about, but I'm starving!'
Liza laughed. 'So am I, so well go and find some breakfast, shall we?'
There was no sign of Keir, but there was a lady in a blue dress carrying a tray of coffee and toast through the hall, so they followed her into a sunny morning-room overlooking the terraced lawns and found a number of the men sitting at a table, eating breakfast already. The woman was placing toast in front of Nicky Wallis, who was reading a newspaper. His assistant was eating bacon and egg, and Terry Lexington was drinking black coffee. They all looked up and greeted Liza and Pam.
'Sleep well? I slept like one of the dead,' said Nicky.
'It's so quiet here!' Pam said, sounding appalled. 'I couldn't hear a sound and I got real nervous; I kept listening, waiting for something, then I dropped off, I guess.'
'I wasn't expecting to see you up so early,' Liza said to the men, after telling the woman in blue that she didn't want a cooked breakfast, a slice of toast would do.
'We've got a lot to do today,' Nicky informed her briskly, folding his paper. 'We're going to walk around and find some locations. Want to come?'
'Oh, yes, please,' Pam said breathlessly and Liza nodded. She had no intention of being left behind. She was going to keep out of Keir's way while she was here, and staying close to the other men would be the best protection.
Just as they all left the table, Keir arrived with his sister and there was a brief chat, although Liza took no part in that, wandering into the hall and hovering there, waiting for the others. She hoped Keir wouldn't join them and was relieved to see that he wasn't among the group who headed towards the garden a few moments later. He was, it seemed, having breakfast with his sister.
He joined them an hour later and listened with intent interest to the discussions between Nicky and Terry. As those became more involved and technical, Liza discreetly slid away back to the house and found Pippa Morris arranging roses in a bowl in the hall, the deep, rich red of the petals reflected in the polished silver of the bowl. She worked slowly and methodically, her movements graceful, and Lisa watched her for a moment before walking towards her.
Looking up, Pippa said, 'Oh, hello—I thought you were all out in the gardens.'
'The others still are, but I got bored with all the technical details. I always did find them tedious.' Liza admired the roses, 'They're lovely, aren't they? Do you enjoy arranging flowers? I once read a book on doing that; it isn't as easy as it looks, is it?'
'Like modelling, then,' Pippa said drily and Liza laughed.
'I suppose that applies to all skills; whatever you do you have to practise and learn all the tricks of the trade, and it's never as glamorous as it looks.'
'Is it hot out there?' Pippa asked, gathering up the leaves and twigs she had discarded and pushing them into a wicker trug she had ready, i think I may sunbathe later, but first I'm going to have coffee with my mother. Why don't you join us?'
She was being much more friendly and Liza followed her into a small room full of neatly stacked boots and raincoats and sticks. Pippa emptied the trug's contents into a metal bin and stacked the trug among some others, then washed her hands in a basin on the wall opposite the door.
'This is a handy room,' she said and Liza blankly said she supposed it must be, which made Pippa laugh.
'No, I mean that that is what we call it. The handy room—we put all sorts of things in here, mostly to do with the garden. If you don't have somewhere special for them they get everywhere and litter up the place. My mother has a very tidy mind; it was her idea to use this old butler's pantry for all these things. Years ago this was where the butler kept his decanters and decanted the port and stuff like that—there's an old bell up above the door, in case he was urgently wanted while he was in here, which probably means he spent a lot of time in this room. He probably drank the port as well as decanting it, got a little drunk and slept it off! There was once an old armchair in here, but all the old stuff went when my mother had the room redecorated as a handy room.'
She loved the house; Liza heard it in her voice. How had she felt when her family had disowned her because of her marriage? Did she still nurse a lingering bitterness, or had time wiped it out?
They found Mrs Gifford in her private sitting-room, drinking coffee and listening to the radio. She leaned forward to turn it off as they arrived, smiling.
'I was beginning to think you had forgotten, Pippa. Hello, Liza, did you sleep well?' She patted a small, pink velvet chair. 'Sit down. Do you like your coffee with cream or black?'
Pippa relaxed in another chair and took her own coffee, nursing the bone china cup as she told her mother what a lovely day it was, adding, 'Our guests are all outside, exploring the gardens—except Miss Thurston, of course.'
'Liza,' Mrs Gifford said gently.
'Liza,' Pippa accepted, as though she still found it difficult to relax with Liza; she hadn't yet quite forgiven her for Bruno's dismissal to the States. Liza could understand that—mother and son were very close.
'What were you listening to?' Liza asked Mrs Gifford, who said it had been a music programme.
'You're fond of music?'
'Very fond—are you, Liza?' Mrs Gifford watched her with smiling interest as Liza nodded. They all talked of music for quite a while; then Pippa looked at her watch and said she had to fly, she had to meet somebody for lunch and must change.
'See you later, Liza,' she said, in quite a friendly voice, and as she left Liza stirred in her chair, realising that she ought to go too, but Mrs Gifford leaned forward and patted her hand, shaking her head.
'No, don't go, stay and talk to me, Liza. We may not get another chance!' Her smile was mischievous, amused. She had a criss-cross of fine lines in her face; yet her skin had a soft warmth which from a distance contradicted the fact of her age, and her smile was spontaneous, charming. Liza felt her heart contract as she admitted that she liked in Mrs Gifford what she recognised in Keir: the human warmth, the cool, calm intelligence, the charm, the humour. All Keir's qualities were there in the old woman's face; he was very much her son.
'Tell me about your childhood,' Mrs Gifford said, taking her by surprise.
'My childhood?' Liza repeated, eyes incredulous.
Mrs Gifford laughed. 'Don't you think a childhood makes an adult? When anyone talks about their childhood they tell me so much about themselves!'
'How unnerving! I think I'd be wiser not to tell you a thing!' Liza made a joke of it, laughing, but she was half serious—she did not want to betray anything to Keir's mother.
'Are you very secretive?' Mrs Gifford thought aloud, watching her. 'Or just wary of anyone knowing you too well?'
Liza smiled without answering, realising that the other woman was thinking aloud; it was a rhetorical question which needed no reply.
'You never told me which part of Wiltshire you came f
rom?' Keir's mother asked.
'You probably wouldn't know it, it's just a small country town, half an hour away from Bath. Lovely country around there, very hilly; of course Bath is ringed with hills, it's that sort of countryside. You can see for miles from a hill just outside my old home, I used to walk up there on summer days with a few sandwiches and stay all day, lie on the grass and stare out over the woods and fields. They were such different colours; dark green trees and yellow corn and here and there splashes of scarlet poppies—like an enormous patchwork quilt.' She was talking very fast, burying the subject beneath a tidal wave of words, her voice restless, distressed. She hated remembering; she didn't want to think about her home, her family, the past.
'Which do you prefer, living in the town or the country?' asked Mrs Gifford quietly and Liza relaxed a little.
'Oh, the country, every time—that's why I have a cottage down on the estuary in Essex. I have a flat in town, too, but my home is in the countryside and I love it there. I sail and walk and ride whenever I'm at the cottage, but in town the most I can manage is an hour or two in the gym or the swimming pool.'
'Keir says you've been very successful with your agency. Are you still ambitious? Do you want to achieve other things?'
'I haven't really thought about it,' Liza said casually, then got up. 'I 'd better go and find the others again, they'll be wondering where I am. Thank you for the coffee and the chat, Mrs Gifford. I enjoyed both very much.'
Keir's mother smiled a little ruefully, quite aware that Liza was fleeing from her questions. She said nothing, however, merely nodded.
'I'll see you later, Liza.' Her voice was gentle, but Liza was glad to get away. She liked Keir's mother very much, but that firm, insistent questioning was disturbing, and Liza found it hard to be offhand or downright rude to a woman of Mrs Gifford's age. Her instincts were to be courteous and tolerant, but Mrs Gifford had her son's tenacity and his belief that he knew best, and Liza had had to struggle with a desire to tell her to mind her own business several times that morning.
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