Master of Falcon's Head

by Anne Mather

  She had bargained without Ross’s immediate reactions, however, and when he trod on the brakes violently, she was thrown forward, and only narrowly avoided hitting her head. She turned, fumbling for the catch on the door, but Ross leant across her, preventing her from opening it.

  By leaning across her however, it created the situation Tamar wanted most to avoid: that of being placed in close contact with him. As though aware of this, he turned to look at her, his face only inches from her own. His eyes were still coldly mocking, but something else lurked in their depths, something that hypnotized Tamar, so that she could not look away.

  His eyes narrowed, the thick lashes veiling their magnetism, while with one hand he cupped her throat, looking at her more closely now. A pulse was working in his cheek, and he seemed motivated by a desire to hurt her more than anything else. His grip on her throat hurt, and he said:

  ‘I’ve wanted to kill you, Tamar,’ in a harsh voice.

  Tamar moved her neck, trying to free herself, fighting more than Ross’s strength. The weight of his body against hers was doing frightening things to her nerves, and she found she no longer wanted to escape. She wanted to touch him, as he was touching her, and she wanted him to make love to her.

  Releasing his grip on the door handle, he slid his other hand into her hair, grasping a handful, and forcing her head back. But there was a caressing quality about his touch now, and his gaze swept her face and throat and came to rest in the hollow, where the low round neck of the cream dress revealed the gentle swell of her breasts.

  Tamar felt his gaze move to her mouth, and her lips parted, almost involuntarily.

  Then with a groan, he dragged her close against him, and the hard, ruthless pressure of his mouth found hers. He had kissed her before, when she was younger, and although he had been passionate and loving, his kisses had held none of the pent-up animal emotion that seemed to possess her utterly as they did now, so that her arms slid round his neck convulsively, and she responded without any thought of denial. Her fingers tangled themselves in the thick vitality of his hair, caressing his neck, rousing him still further.

  ‘God!’ he muttered at last, dragging himself away from her, and raking his hair back with an angry hand. ‘Is that why you came back?’

  His savage words were like a cold douche of water, and suddenly Tamar came to her senses. She must be crazy! Crazy! Becoming involved with Ross Falcon again! Allowing him to treat her like some cheap flirt! That was not what she had come back for!

  She wanted to hurt him, but she didn’t know how,

  and when she contemplated slapping his face, he said:

  ‘It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?’ with some perception.

  Tamar twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘You’re despicable, Ross Falcon,’ she cried bitterly. ‘Oh - take me home!’

  Ross shrugged and started the car, and Tamar stared broodingly out of the window. She had brought it all upon herself. She was the one who had turned off the ignition, she had practically thrown herself at him. It was degrading, it was humiliating - it was unbearable!

  As they reached the outskirts of Falcon’s Wherry, Ross said:

  ‘Don’t imagine for one moment that - that little scene - meant anything to me! You’re a beautiful woman, Tamar, and even I have my normal quota of sexual urges!’ His words were hard and brutal.

  Tamar gasped. ‘You’re deliberately trying to humiliate me! Why?’

  He halted the car near the gate to the presbytery. ‘I shouldn’t sit too long in the car, Tamar,’ he remarked mockingly. ‘People will talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Our relationship. After all, they’ve expected me to take another wife for long enough, and you were once on the short list, weren’t you?’

  ‘Was I?’ Now Tamar looked derisive. ‘I don’t recall.’

  Ross’s expression hardened. ‘Oh, you recall all right,’ he muttered violently, ‘and by God, before you leave here, I’ll make you pay for the privilege!’

  Tamar’s hand closed on the clasp of the door. ‘And how do you intend to do that?’ she questioned, a little tremulously.

  ‘That’s something you’ll only find out with time,’ he returned derisively.

  Tamar stared at him a moment longer, then opened the door and slid out of the car, hoping her legs would support her. There was so much bitterness in Ross, and despite all that she had learned she couldn’t fathom why she was the brunt of so much hatred. It was awful to have someone feel that way about you, particularly as the sane, logical part of her brain was telling her that she was the fool, she was the one who ought to be hating him.

  She hesitated by the car, holding the door as though she would say more, but Ross leant across and wrenched the door out of her unresisting grip, and slammed it violently.

  Tamar’s anger rose again, but as she turned back to the car she saw a familiar figure approaching down the path from the presbytery.

  ‘Ben!’ she exclaimed in disbelief. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Ben reached her, and seemingly unaware of the interested gaze of spectators, pulled her into his arms. ‘Why do you imagine, angel?’ he asked, enthusiastically. ‘Hell, it’s good to see you again!’

  Tamar couldn’t take it in. Ben here - in Falcon’s Wherry! But he had promised not to intrude unless she sent for him.

  ‘Ben, you promised,’ was all she could exclaim, trying to draw back from his arms without a great deal of success. More than anything she was conscious of Ross’s car still parked by the kerb, and Ross’s eyes surveying this meeting.

  ‘Promised? Promised what? That I’d let you run around loose for six weeks! Yes, well, that was a stupid scheme, and after I’d read your letter I decided I could wait no longer, and here I am! Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  Tamar felt desperate. ‘I - well, yes, of course I’m pleased to see you, Ben,’ she said, somewhat tersely, and as she succeeded in escaping Ben’s eagerness, she heard the roar of the Aston Martin as Ross swung it round in a searing circle and drove away punishingly up the main street.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben watched the car disappear out of sight and then turned and looked rather curiously at Tamar’s tense face.

  ‘Who was that?’ he asked.

  Tamar compressed her lips, lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a casual shrug, and said: ‘Ross Falcon.’

  Ben frowned. ‘I seem to know that name. Could I?’

  ‘If you read historical literature, it’s possible,’ said Tamar tautly, desperately trying to assimilate the situation.

  Ben frowned deeper. ‘Of course. I know where I’ve seen his name. You have some of his books.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Tamar opened the gate to the presbytery, walking up towards the house.

  Ben caught her arm, and linked it with his. ‘Hey, wait! Tamar, what is this? The cold shoulder?’

  Tamar sighed. ‘Oh, no, Ben, nothing like that. I’ve - I’ve had rather a tiring day, that’s all. When - when did you arrive?’

  ‘This afternoon. I’m not alone. Margaret’s with me.’

  ‘Your sister?’ Tamar was obviously amazed. That Ben should arrive unannounced was one thing, that he should bring his sister was astounding! He and Margaret had never been particularly close, she was much too much like his mother, and her apparent surprise showed in her expression, for Ben said:

  ‘I know, I know. You’re shocked. Well, so am I. But Margaret really is responsible for us being here. It was her idea that we should surprise you.’

  Tamar wanted to ask why, but decided this was not the moment. She had the awful suspicion that Ben’s mother was at the back of this. After all, she didn’t like Tamar, and maybe she was suspicious herself of the reasons for Tamar’s abrupt departure from England, and subsequent separation from Ben. Maybe she suspected that Tamar had some unknown admirer, and that by sending Ben after her on an innocent pretext, she might thrust him into a situation which would reveal hidden facets of Tamar’s
character.

  Tamar felt mean and petty. She was allowing Ross Falcon’s bitterness to colour her own thoughts, making intrigue out of the most ingenuous actions. Damn Ross Falcon! Just because he had kissed her in anger a short while ago she was allowing herself to become completely involved, allowing that protective shield she had always thought she had erected to slip dangerously to the extent that she was impatient with Ben, and impatient of anybody who might attempt to intervene. She had been a fool to come here, why couldn’t she accept that, and an even bigger fool to stay when she learned of Ross’s feelings. And now there was Lucy, and Tamar could not desert her. Or was Lucy just another excuse? Tamar felt desperate. What was happening to her?

  In consequence there was considerably more warmth in her voice, as she looked up at Ben and said: ‘Well, you’ve certainly surprised me, love.’

  Ben hunched his shoulders. ‘But not pleasurably.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You just caught me off guard, that’s all,’ exclaimed Tamar, shaking her head. ‘Even so, you said you would wait until I sent for you.’

  ‘I know it. But dammit, Tamar, I’m only human. And when Margaret suggested we bring the car over and motor round a bit, I was pretty keen, I don’t mind admitting.’

  ‘But why Margaret? I mean, I didn’t think you were such good friends.’

  They had reached the door of the presbytery, and Ben sighed. ‘I know, I know. But Mother—’

  ‘Your mother?’ Tamar was abrupt. ‘What has your mother to do with it?’

  ‘Well, nothing really. Except she said she thought coming over to see you was a good idea, and would take Margaret out of herself. She’s been a bit low lately. Her boy-friend has taken himself off to a government job in Singapore, and she’s at a loose end.’

  ‘I see.’ Tamar lifted her shoulders. ‘All right, Ben. I won’t catechise you any more, except to ask how long you are staying.’

  Ben looked flabbergasted. ‘How long we’re staying!’ he echoed. ‘Hell, I should have thought that was up to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I thought we’d all go back together,’ replied Ben, a little belligerently.

  ‘No, Ben, I can’t go back for a while. I - I’ve promised Mrs. Falcon to do something’ for her. And - and I don’t think it’s going to be any easy task.’

  ‘Mrs. Falcon!’ Ben thrust his hands into his trousers pockets. ‘Who is this Mrs. Falcon? Tamar, don’t make a fool out of me!’

  ‘I’m not. Oh, Ben, it’s a long story. Let’s leave it for now. Are you planning to stay in Falcon’s Wherry, because I should warn you there’s no hotel.’

  ‘So your Father Donahue has told me. No, we’re staying in Killarney. There’s a hotel there that’s right on the shores of the lake, and they say there’s plenty of golf and fishing, so I shan’t be bored.’

  ‘Oh. And where is Margaret now?’

  ‘At the hotel. I wanted to meet you alone.’

  Tamar compressed her lips. ‘I’m sorry I was so ill- humoured, Ben. But it hasn’t been easy, coming here, seeing all the changes that have been made. So many things have happened.’ She sighed, and Ben gave her a brief hug.

  ‘Well, anyway, your Father Donahue has invited me for dinner, so I guess we’d better go in.’

  Tamar nodded, and they entered the presbytery. Father Donahue seemed to like Ben, although it was a guarded liking, as though he had little time for city men. At any rate, dinner was a relaxed meal, and Tamar was glad that the priest did not attempt to question her about her day up at Falcon’s Head.

  After dinner was over Tamar and Ben went for a walk, both deliberately avoiding the subject most forward in both their minds, that of Tamar’s return to England. Ben talked about Joseph Bernstein, and television, and Tamar told him she had made some useful sketches which she would be able to transfer to canvas at some later date.

  The tide was out, and they took off their shoes and walked on the mudflats. It was cool and peaceful, and Tamar sighed with a strange kind of contentment. Ben was watching her reactions carefully, and suddenly he said:

  ‘You don’t really want to go back at all, do you, Tamar?’

  Tamar was glad the darkness hid her blushes. ‘Ben! Of course I do! Oh, look, I’ll try and explain.’

  They stopped and Tamar leaned back against the trunk of a tree growing in solitary splendour on the edge of the marsh. Ben offered her a cigarette, and she took one, and allowed him to apply his lighter to its tip. Then she blew smoke into the air and said:

  ‘When I lived here, seven years ago, I imagined I was in love with Ross Falcon. He was an older man, and rather arrogant, even in those days, and I was just - nobody. Anyway, he didn’t want me, so I left, and I think I’ve allowed his image to remain in my thoughts, I was curious about him, and about Falcon’s Head.’ ‘The picture!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘Of course!’

  ‘Yes, the picture. Anyway, I wanted to come back,

  but - things have changed. Ross’s wife - he married soon after I left - is dead, and their child is deaf and dumb.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘How tragic!’

  Tamar nodded, biting her lips. That was how she should have taken the news. How tragic! Just like that. Nothing more. No emotional disturbance, just a casual feeling of compassion for a handicapped child. But instead she felt - involved, as though Lucy’s problems’ were her problems, or of her making, as Ross so cruelly accused in his anger. And Bridget Falcon had lifted the whole weight of that problem and placed it squarely on her shoulders.

  Even so, a small voice argued, you have only to go now, go away with Ben, forget about Lucy Falcon, and Bridget Falcon, and Falcon’s Wherry, and most of all forget Ross Falcon, the bitter master of Falcon’s Head. No one could prevent her from doing that, so why did she stay?

  Ben was speaking. ‘I still don’t see what this has to do with you,’ he said. ‘I mean - you don’t still imagine yourself in love with this man? Or he with you?’

  ‘Ross Falcon?’ exclaimed Tamar derisively. ‘Ross Falcon hates me! And no, I don’t imagine I’m in love with him either. It’s not Ross that keeps me here. It’s Lucy.’

  ‘The child?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tamar sent the butt of her cigarette spinning away into the darkness, its glowing tip providing an arc of fire for a brief moment. ‘Bridget - that is, Ross’s mother, has asked me to try and persuade Ross to let the child go away to school. At the moment, he won’t consider it.’

  ‘But why you?’

  Tamar shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know. Lucy likes me,’ she finished, rather lamely.

  ‘It’s ludicrous!’ cried Ben impatiently. ‘Don’t they know who you are? What heights of artistic merit you might scale?’

  Tamar smiled a little at this. ‘Oh, Ben,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘things aren’t like that here, in Falcon’s Wherry. Of course they know I paint—’

  ‘Paint! Paint!’ Ben clenched his fists. ‘You don’t paint! You create! You’re an artist, not a bloody decorator!’

  Tamar laughed, feeling some of the tenseness leave her body. At least with Ben she could relax, completely.

  ‘Oh, Ben,’ she said, squeezing his arm, ‘you’re so good for my ego.’

  Ben snorted. ‘Well, anyway, I think it’s damn ridiculous, you staying here to try and persuade some stupid village squire to send his daughter to school, just because you knew him years ago, and the kid has taken a fancy to you!’

  Tamar bent her head. ‘He’s not a stupid village squire,’ she said quietly. ‘He has his reasons for feeling as he does. Maybe you’ll meet him while you’re here and discover those reasons for yourself.’

  ‘I gather you don’t intend to tell me what those reasons are?’

  ‘No. They aren’t relevant to us. All you need to know is why I want to stay.’

  ‘You do want to stay?’

  ‘I want to help Lucy,’ amended Tamar, wondering desperately how true that really was.

  It was arranged that Tamar shoul
d spend the following day with Ben and Margaret, in Killarney, and afterwards Father Donahue had suggested that Ben return to Falcon’s Wherry for dinner, as he had done the previous evening, only this time bringing his sister with him. Tamar was reluctant to accept the kindly old priest’s invitation, knowing how small was his income, but Ben agreed, on the condition that he provide at least part of the meal in the shape of a pre-cooked turkey and some fruit and whipped cream for a dessert.

  Margaret Hastings was small and petite, with long dark hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion. She wore terribly mod clothes, pyjama lounging suits and very miniskirts, and usually adopted a rather kittenish attitude towards her good-looking elder brother. Ben tolerated her, but had never before, to Tamar’s knowledge, taken her away with him.

  When Tamar met her the following day in the lounge of the hotel, she was dressed in a scarlet leather suit of waistcoat and skirt, with a very frilly, feminine white blouse underneath. She immediately made Tamar feel tall and unfeminine in the cream-coloured trouser suit she had favoured. But Ben was well aware that despite Margaret’s dainty prettiness Tamar’s slender figure and good bone structure were far more arrestingly attractive.

  ‘Hello, Tamar,’ said Margaret, running her tongue over her red lips. ‘I guess you got quite a surprise when Ben appeared yesterday.’