Running From the Storm

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Filled with gladness, she threw her arms around his neck and, drawing him down to her, she kissed him.

  ‘Hmm …’ he murmured, his lips brushing hers. ‘A response like this is worth a moment of doubt.’

  Between kisses sweeter than wine, he whispered how lovely she was, how much she entranced him, how wonderful it was to make love to someone who was like an eager flame in his arms.

  Unbearably moved, she said a shade mockingly, ‘How very romantic.’

  Playfully, he nipped her ear lobe between his teeth. ‘So you prefer a more down-to-earth approach? In that event, get yer kit off and give us a kiss.’

  She gave a little choke of laughter. ‘Fool!’

  He sighed melodramatically. ‘Some women don’t know what they do want. How about handcuffs and a whip?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she declined hastily. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with something a shade less, shall we say, exciting.’

  ‘Such as good, honest, joyful sex?’

  ‘Suits me fine. And I’ve really no objection to a spot of romance. In fact, I rather like it,’ she added demurely, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  It was his turn to laugh. ‘Then never fear, I’m sure I can oblige …’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THAT afternoon, after eating an excellent lunch and spending a fascinating hour watching the beavers building their dam, they set off back down the track.

  Their decision to stay for the week made it necessary to go to Hallgarth to fetch Caris’s things. That being the case, when they had returned the picnic basket, they went straight back to Owl Lodge instead of carrying on with their planned trip to see the Lion Rock.

  The car keys in his hand, Zander asked, ‘Do you want to come with me, or would you rather stay here?’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she answered without hesitation, and earned herself a kiss.

  The journey was a pleasant one, but by the time they reached Hallgarth it had turned seven-thirty and they were both hungry.

  ‘As far as I can see we have two options,’ Zander remarked. ‘We can either have a leisurely meal here and stay the night, or we can start back at once and stop for a meal on the way. Which do you prefer?’

  Unsure which he would prefer, she thought for a moment. He didn’t look tired so, taking a gamble, she admitted, ‘I’d sooner start back at once.’

  She knew by his face that she had made the right decision, even before he said, ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I’ll

  just put your things in the car and we’ll get straight off. We can stop for dinner in Daintree; it’s only about half an hour’s journey and a relatively short detour from our normal route.’

  After a very good meal at Daintree’s White Bear, it was quite late when they got back to Owl Lodge. While Zander threw logs on the stove and locked up for the night, Caris went straight to bed.

  She had intended to stay awake until he joined her, but she slept the instant her head touched the pillow, and when he got in beside her and gathered her close she just sighed in her sleep and nestled against him.

  The days that followed were exciting and blissful—the nights even more so—and, as the hot weather they both loved turned into a heatwave with soaring temperatures, they made the most of it.

  They ate al fresco, went on trips by car and boat, took morning swims in the lake, rode Ben’s horses and, the moment her ankle would allow, walked for miles.

  Sometimes they talked, sometimes they remained silent, but always the warmth and closeness, the harmony of companionship, was there.

  Each morning, sitting on the swing seat on the front porch, they drank their coffee and made plans for the day while the lake stirred into life.

  Each evening, entwined in each other’s arms, they sipped wine as they watched the play of moonbeams across the water before going to bed.

  Caris had more than once imagined how wonderful and romantic it would be, but she was forced to admit that the reality was even better.

  The heatwave brought along with it a warm summer wind and, taking full advantage, they went sailing on The Loon for an hour or so almost every day.

  When Caris took to sailing like a duck took to water, Zander was delighted and started to teach her how to handle the boat.

  As the days slipped past she learnt a lot about him, about what kind of man he was, and liked what she learnt.

  Though he was anything but soft—in fact in some ways he could be quite formidable—he was kind and compassionate, with a strong sense of justice and fair play.

  Good-tempered and well-balanced, he had a spiky sense of humour, an endless patience and a zest for life that was invigorating.

  All in all he was exactly the kind of man she had been waiting for, and each day she fell a little more in love with him.

  She recognized with a quiet happiness that what she felt for Zander was nothing at all like what she had felt for Karl.

  The passion and sexual chemistry was incredible, and mingled with those emotions was a steady warmth, a genuine affection, a liking, which she now realized was as necessary as the loving.

  She was made even happier by the growing certainty that Zander felt the same way about her, and she gave thanks for those sunny days together. Days that she never wanted to end.

  But Sunday brought the realization that their idyll was almost over; early the next morning she would have to go back to Albany and her everyday life.

  Unwilling to blight their last day, however, she tried to push the thought to the back of her mind.

  After a lovely day spent in Ticonda, they decided to take one of the town’s specialities back with them and eat on their own porch, instead of having dinner in a crowded restaurant.

  As they waited in the open air for the spit-roasted chicken to finishing cooking, a stray cloud drifted over and some heavy spots of warm summer rain started to fall.

  Zander handed Caris the key to the car which was parked close by and suggested, ‘Why don’t you put the roof up and wait in the car?’

  Reluctant to leave his side even for a moment, she hesitated briefly before obeying.

  When he joined her a few minutes later carrying a neatly boxed chicken under his arm, his shirt was damp and his fair hair darkened by the rain.

  Sliding in beside her, he gave her a smile and, leaning over, kissed her as though he had disliked that briefest of partings as much as she had.

  The rain was short-lived, and by the time they got back to Square Lake the air was clear and golden, the evening perfect for eating on the porch.

  It wasn’t until the meal was over and they were sitting looking at the lovely view that Zander broached the subject of going back.

  His arm tightening round her, he said, ‘Though there’s nothing I’d like better than to stay here indefinitely, tomorrow we shall have to return to the real world …’

  Listening to the strange, eerie cry of the loons echoing across the water, and watching the black shapes of bats flitting about in the balmy twilight, she agreed with a sigh, ‘Yes, I know.’

  He seemed about to say something else, something of importance, but when he did speak it was only to ask, ‘Ready for bed?’

  When she nodded, he rose to his feet with her in his arms. But instead of going straight inside he paused for them to take one last look at the serene, shining lake and the blue mountains with skeins of silver-edged, purple cloud gathering on their peaks.

  Overnight the heatwave broke, and by dawn the mountains were obscured by fine veils of rain that drifted over the lake and shrouded the trees.

  Waking to the realization that their time here was over, Caris felt a wrenching sense of loss that something beautiful, something that could never be recaptured, was coming to an end.

  Watching her transparent face, Zander drew her close and kissed her, before making love to her with an urgency that seemed to echo that feeling.

  Afterwards they showered and ate an early breakfast by the f
ire, then Zander packed the car, and all too quickly they were drawing away from Owl Lodge and leaving paradise behind them.

  ‘Sorry to leave?’ he asked as they crossed the shallow creek.

  Too choked to speak, she nodded.

  One hand left the steering wheel to give hers a comforting squeeze. ‘We’ll be back.’

  Though she desperately wanted to believe it, a kind of premonition made her unable to.

  As she surreptitiously felt in her bag for a tissue, he asked, ‘Do you want me to take you back to your own flat?’

  She blew her nose. ‘Where else could I go?’

  He said what he had been afraid to say the previous night. ‘You could move in with me …’

  Taken completely by surprise, she gaped at him.

  ‘Unless your father would disapprove?’

  ‘I’m nearly twenty-four and my own mistress,’ she pointed out. ‘In any case, as long as I do my work, my father has no interest in my private life.’

  ‘Then, to borrow a phrase from Marlowe, “Come live with me and be my love …”‘

  Her heart swelling at his words, and swamped by a blinding wave of love, Caris leaned her head against his shoulder.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ he asked. Feeling her nod, he turned so that his lips touched her hair. ‘That’s good.’ He added a shade huskily, ‘I really don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.’

  Floating on cloud nine, she made an effort to bring her feet back to earth, by asking, ‘How long does it take to drive from Hallgarth to Albany?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of living at Hallgarth during the week; it’s a bit too far to commute comfortably. That’s why I decided to buy the apartment for when I’m working in Albany. I dislike staying in hotels.’

  ‘Too much like a busman’s holiday?’

  ‘Exactly. But the apartment’s quite small, really just a pied-à-terre, so we’ll need to start looking for something bigger.’

  But as far as Caris was concerned, wherever he was would be akin to paradise.

  One unexpected stumbling block, however, had been her father’s reaction. She had presumed he wouldn’t care what she did but, having learnt her intention, he’d demanded, ‘Who the devil is this man? You can’t have known him very long?’

  When she’d admitted she hadn’t, he’d gone through the roof. ‘Have you gone absolutely mad! After the way you’ve worked, how can you risk jeopardizing your entire career for someone you don’t really know?’

  ‘It won’t make any difference to my career,’ she pleaded. ‘I intend to keep on working.’

  ‘You’re talking like a fool!’ he stormed. ‘You can’t possibly give your mind to your work when some man is taking over your life. I thought you’d have more sense than to let sex—’

  ‘It isn’t just sex,’ she broke in determinedly. ‘We love each other.’

  Yet even as the words passed her lips she wondered, did Zander really love her? He’d said he wanted her, said she was special, but he had never actually said he loved her …

  But her father was going on. ‘Apparently he doesn’t love you enough to want to marry you, so why throw everything away you’ve already achieved?’

  Seeing the stubborn set of her chin, he added furiously, ‘You’ll never be given a partnership if you don’t get rid of him and concentrate one-hundred percent on your work …’

  But for once in her life Caris chose to defy her father. Eager as a young Juliet, she left the furnished apartment she shared with Mitch and moved her relatively few personal belongings into Zander’s.

  At his suggestion, she gave her old car to her ex-flatmate and started to use one of his.

  For a while, in spite of her father’s bitter and continued opposition, she was deliriously happy. Then, right out of the blue, things started to go badly wrong …

  A loud crack of thunder and a fresh flurry of rain lashing Gracedieu’s leaded windows.

  Caris looked up with something of a shock to find that Zander was watching her intently.

  Beyond the range of the fire-glow the room seemed dark and chill, but within the semi-circle of warmth and light it was comfortable—cosy, even.

  But in spite of the ease and intimacy suggested by the proximity of the two chairs the atmosphere was still taut, and she jumped when Zander remarked, ‘You’ve been miles away. Reliving the past?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘I try not to think about the past. It’s over and done with. Dead.’

  ‘Now there we disagree. The past is never really dead. It makes us what we are today.’

  As he spoke, blue-white lightning flashed, illuminating the room, while wind beat against the windows and howled in the chimney like a banshee.

  Desperate to change the subject, she said quickly, ‘I’m really sorry about the weather.’

  ‘Though you have a lot to answer for, I can hardly blame you for the weather.’

  Pierced to the heart, she asked hoarsely, ‘What do you mean, “a lot to answer for”?’

  ‘I mean the way you ran out on me.’

  She felt a quick surge of relief that it wasn’t the accusation she’d been most afraid of.

  ‘How do you think I felt when I got home that night and discovered you’d packed your things and left without a word?’

  Though he spoke quietly, it was obvious that he was struggling with some powerful emotion.

  The breath caught in her throat. She realized that she had been quite wrong when she had thought him indifferent. His feelings were clearly very strong, but whether it was anger or hatred he felt she wasn’t sure. Both, perhaps.

  Suddenly it was all too much. More than she felt she could bear.

  But she had to bear it. She had no choice. Somehow, having got into this predicament, she had to carry it through with as much composure as she could muster.

  Taking a deep breath and doing her utmost to sound cool and businesslike, she said crisply, ‘I really can’t stay here any longer. I ought to be showing you the estate. After all, that’s what I’m here for.’

  When he merely looked at her, she went on, ‘I admit that the conditions aren’t good, but if we just drive round it’ll give you some idea.’

  Making no comment, he stayed where he was, lounging back in his chair, appearing at ease, totally relaxed, master of the situation.

  But on closer observation she noticed a latent tension she’d missed at first glance. Her eyes moved to his handsome face and she saw he looked drawn, tired to death.

  Rising to her feet, she urged jerkily, ‘Shall we get on? The storm seems to be easing off a little.’

  Another bright flash of lightning and a further onslaught of rain against the windowpanes gave the lie to her words.

  ‘That sounds remarkably like wishful thinking,’ he observed ironically.

  ‘I suppose it does,’ she was forced to admit. ‘It’s just that I should be working.’

  ‘Think of this as working.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘Isn’t keeping a prospective buyer happy an essential part of your job?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘And, in view of the amount of money involved, I imagine I rate as a fairly important buyer?’

  There was no need to answer.

  ‘That being the case, presumably you came hoping to clinch the deal?’

  Knowing it was useless to deny it, she agreed reluctantly, ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, to have any chance of succeeding,’ he told her, raising an eyebrow, ‘You’ll need to pander to me.’

  Registering the expression of mingled dismay and vexation on her face, he went on, ‘So for heaven’s sake stop hovering. Sit down again and try to relax.’

  Seeing nothing else for it, Caris did as she had been bidden.

  She was afraid he would bring up the past once more, but he seemed in no hurry to break the silence. While she waited for the storm to subside, she simply sat and gazed into the fire.

  The deep p
ile of glowing embers, the leaping flames, the bright sparks that flew upwards when one of the logs settled, proved to be almost hypnotic.

  Tired after the previous night’s disturbed sleep and emotionally drained, she felt her eyelids begin to droop.

  Watching her, Zander thought she was even lovelier than he remembered. Then, her beauty had been fresh and untouched, that of a girl. Now it was that of a mature woman, with a sadness, a vulnerability, a poignancy, that was haunting.

  Realizing that she was in danger of drifting off, Caris stirred herself and glanced up to find that Zander was watching her through half-closed lids.

  The expression of mingled pain and longing on his face made her catch her breath but in an instant a shutter came down, hiding his emotions.

  Disturbed afresh, she moved restlessly.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I was just wondering how much longer it’ll be before we can go.’

  ‘Hard to say. We could be here for hours yet.’

  ‘I certainly hope not!’ she exclaimed with feeling. He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘That’s a black mark against you.’

  Then, with mockery in his green eyes he went on, ‘As a valuable potential buyer, the very least you could do is pretend to be enjoying my company.’

  Realizing he was out to rattle her, and knowing the only way she could hope to win was by playing him at his own game, she retorted with saccharine sweetness, ‘How could you doubt it?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Then why sound as if you couldn’t wait to get away?’

  She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘It’s just that I’m dying for a cup of coffee.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘If you can rustle up some coffee, I’ll give you full marks. But in my opinion you’ll need to be a miracle worker.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t claim to be that. But we do have running water and—’ he leaned forward to poke the fire, sending the orange flames leaping ‘—a good, hot stove to heat it on.’

  ‘So all we lack is the coffee,’ she murmured drily.