Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  After bathing, carefully making-up and dressing, Jane surveyed herself in the full-length antique mirror hanging on the door leading to the bathroom. She had to admit to herself that perhaps that someday had come. Despite her reservations about her appearance, she felt that tonight she looked her best. At exactly one minute to seven she carefully descended the spiral staircase, making her way to the living room. The lamps had not yet been lit and the room was ablaze with the sunset. The sky had faded to a pale robin's egg blue and the sun that had just disappeared behind a distant hill had burnished the few streaky clouds around the horizon to shades that changed as she watched from delicate coral to deep magenta.

  Jane had no idea how long she stood there transfixed in the centre of the room taking in the beautiful scene. She jumped at the sound of the familiar voice that seemed to come from nowhere. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" Only then did she notice the figure seated in one of the deep armchairs at the side of the room. He got up then and came towards her. His face was in shadow, but his deep blue eyes seemed to glitter as they swept over her. Jane felt suddenly frightened and shivered a little.

  "You're cold," he said with concern. "Come, sit down and I'll get you a drink, then I'll build a fire." He led her to the chesterfield facing the fireplace, his hand barely touching her arm, as if he sensed that he had frightened her. But even that light touch sent another shiver through her body and Jane began to wonder what on earth was happening to her. He then went without a word to the sideboard where bottles and glasses had been set out.

  "Here's a good honest Scotch and soda. That should warm you up. Now, don't sip it, drink it down. I'll get a fire going."

  In just a few seconds the fire was blazing. He poured a drink for himself and came and sat beside her. The silence between them was like a physical barrier. Suddenly Simon spoke, "This hasn't been easy for you, has it? Coming to a strange place, facing work that is completely new to you, and so soon after your father's death."

  Jane felt the tears spring to her eyes. This was a new side to Simon Wade, someone who could be understanding and compassionate. The sudden change in him was as devastating to her as his brusqueness had been, and she couldn't help thinking to herself that no matter how he treated her, she always ended up in tears. She was saved from having to answer by the appearance of Mrs. Armitage, who announced that dinner was served.

  Jane blinked a little coming from the living room, lit only by the dancing flames of the fireplace, into the brilliance of the dining room. When she looked around she realized that all that brilliance came only from candles. There were candles everywhere, candelabra on the table, stubby candles in antique holders on the chests against the wall, and outside the sliding doors, on the patio tables, a myriad of lighted tapers in hurricane holders provided fire-fly light to the room inside.

  For the first time that evening Jane looked directly at Simon. He was wearing a dinner jacket over a delicate, white shirt with a finely pleated front. His thin, tanned face with the high cheek bones reminded her of a Goya painting. Mrs. Armitage bustling around serving her excellent dinner eased the situation between them somewhat. Jane was painfully conscious of his eyes on her as she ate. His conversation was light and bantering, but his eyes held something else, something that she had never before seen in a man's eyes. She couldn't quite make up her mind if she was glad or sorry that she had bought the low-cut clinging black jersey dress, or whether she had been wise or foolish to let her dark gold hair swing freely around her shoulders.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, Simon said, "I hope you enjoyed your dinner tonight. Once we start work we won't be nearly so elegant. When I'm writing I usually have Mrs. Armitage bring me a tray in my study. She's a good soul and I hope she will keep you company. I wouldn't want you to be lonely."

  His last words were spoken in such a low, intimate voice that Jane felt herself blushing furiously.

  If he noticed her discomfort, Simon gave no sign. He lit a small cheroot and leaned back in his chair, his long, sunburnt fingers toying with his brandy glass.

  Jane struggled to keep her voice casual as she answered. "Please don't concern yourself with that. I'm used to being lonely." She hadn't realized how revealing the words were until they were out and she saw the sharp look that Simon gave her.

  "Don't be silly. How could a beautiful, intelligent girl like yourself ever be lonely?"

  "Please," Jane's voice was almost a whisper. "Don't make fun of me."

  "Make fun of you? Heaven help me, I will never understand women!"

  He was genuinely angry and confused. He rose and strode into the living room and started to poke at the fire as if he could take out his frustrations on the logs.

  Jane sat miserably staring at her empty coffee cup and wondering what to do next. Was she dismissed like a naughty child? Should she go to her room? She had no desire to provoke him further. His anger had frightened her.

  Finally, he came to the doorway of the dining room. "Come and sit in front of the fire for a while." He had regained his composure and his voice was low and casual. Jane would have liked to escape to her room, but she followed him meekly and sat down on the chesterfield facing the fireplace. The room was still in darkness, except for the firelight, and framed in the windows was the darkening sky adorned with the diamond glitter of the first stars.

  He came and sat beside her, leaning forward towards the fire, elbows resting on his knees, his chin in his hands, as if mesmerized by the dancing flames. Jane watched him from the corner of her eye, fascinated by the sight of the classic profile illuminated by the firelight.

  Suddenly he turned towards her, placing one arm along the back of the chesterfield behind her. His eyes, although in shadow, seemed to glitter with a fire of their own, and his voice had that low, pulsing quality that sent a slight shiver up Jane's back.

  "We've started off rather badly, haven't we?" he said. "I have a way of doing that with people, especially women. I apologize." He gave a kind of lopsided grin. "However, you must admit that you are a very confusing young lady. The first time I saw you I concluded that you were a prim little schoolmarm. Then when you arrived today you looked like a teenager and then you turn up to dinner tonight looking like a cool and calculating seductress. You can't blame me for not knowing quite how to handle you."

  Jane was about to retort tartly that she didn't want him to handle her at all, but she stifled the instinct and smiled instead. "If I've caused you that much confusion, I, too, apologize. I'm really not trying to be anything except myself." She didn't yet have enough insight into herself to add that she wasn't quite sure yet exactly what that self was. Perhaps she didn't need to, perhaps Simon guessed this, because he suddenly held out his hand to her. "All right, let's leave it at that. Are we friends then?"

  Jane took his hand and felt again that strange electric feeling that his touch always seemed to produce. "Friends," she answered a little breathlessly.

  "Now that that's settled, let me offer you something that I always offer my friends when they visit—the most glorious view in the Culloden Hills— the view from the edge of the ridge."

  He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  "But you'll freeze in that dress. Let me get you a wrap." He strode off to the hall, opened a drawer in a chest, and returned with a beautiful white, cashmere shawl. Jane wanted to protest that she couldn't think of borrowing such a lovely piece of clothing without the owner's permission, but the thought of who the owner might be stopped her short. She felt instinctively that if she raised that question, the tenuous friendship with Simon might disintegrate again in his anger. He stood behind her and placed the shawl around her shoulders. Jane put her head down and reached back and lifted her heavy gold hair up so that it wouldn't be caught under the shawl. As she did so, she felt his lips on the nape of her neck. A delicious shiver went down her spine and her knees were suddenly so weak that she swayed. He caught her by the shoulders and steadied her, gave a deep chuckle and said quietly, "Sorry, my dear
. I simply couldn't resist such a golden opportunity."

  Jane was speechless with humiliation at her own weakness, and when she had regained some semblance of composure decided that anything she said would only make the situation worse.

  They went out the side door and crossed the small parking area, the lights from the house providing just enough illumination to guide their steps. They passed the windmill, looming protectively above them, a silent sentinel in the night. A rough path had been cut through the tall grass, which danced and sighed in the light evening breeze. The path took a sudden turn and the house and the lights from it were obliterated by a slight rise in the ground. Jane gasped as she found herself in a new world, a jewel-case setting of black velvet ablaze with thousands of twinkling rhinestones.

  "I've never seen so many stars," she cried.

  Simon laughed. "I promised you a view." He took her arm and led her farther along the path until they came to a small clearing. The whole world seemed to stretch out at their feet. As Jane's eyes became accustomed to the dark, she could make out the contours of rolling hills, adorned sporadically with the twinkling lights of invisible houses.

  The lights of the city, which seemed so far away, glowed along the horizon, as if reflecting a giant conflagration. As Jane watched that glow, the thought of how far she had come from her old life in the city overwhelmed her and she shivered. Simon immediately put his arm around her shoulders. Jane's mind had been so far away and Simon's gesture so unexpected that she stiffened automatically.

  Simon laughed huskily and pulled her closer. "Come now, Jane, don't be like that. What are friends for? I didn't bring you out here to catch your death of cold." Jane was trembling now, but not from cold. Simon was holding her so tightly that the whole length of her body was pressed against his. She could feel the animal warmth and the lean strength of his body. The scent of his aftershave lotion was intoxicating. She knew that she should turn back to the house, but it was as if she was paralyzed, as if she never again wanted to move away from the side of this strange, disturbing man. Her feelings must somehow have communicated themselves to Simon. He uttered a sound, almost a moan and turned her around to face him. Both arms were around her now, and all his strength seemed concentrated on pressing her closer and closer to him. He buried his face in her shoulder, his lips were on her neck, her cheek, and then his mouth was on hers, hard, demanding. Jane felt as if her bones had turned to water, she was completely powerless.

  And then, from nowhere, a thought occurred to Jane. Was this the way it was with my mother? Did she feel like this about the boy she ran off with? Is this what makes people break other people's hearts? Am I like her? With a despairing cry she pushed with all her strength against Simon.

  His voice was low and husky. "What's wrong? You must know I've wanted to do that since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

  Jane could only repeat brokenly, "No… no… please, no."

  He covered her mouth with his, stilling her protests and again all strength left her and she responded with a languorous joy and a strange feeling of abandonment to his kiss. The shawl had fallen to the ground and his fingers fumbled with the zipper at the back of her dress. Jane felt as if everything was happening in slow motion. Very gently he caught her hair in one hand and pulled at it until her head was forced back. With his other hand he pushed her dress off one shoulder and his lips caressed it and then moved slowly to the base of her throat. Jane stared at the distant stars which seemed to dance in dizzying circles above her, and felt that she was drowning in a beautiful, warm whirlpool.

  And then, as she closed her eyes she saw, as if imprinted on her eyelids, her father's face, sorrowful and accusing. She didn't know where she found the strength, but suddenly she was pushing Simon away. She heard his voice, as if it came from a great distance. "Jane, dear Jane, what is it?" She found herself saying calmly and coldly, "Let me go, what possible satisfaction will you get from using force on me?"

  He was holding her arms now, his grip like iron and his eyes had the same hard glitter as the stars above them.

  "So, the little schoolmarm-turned-into-temptress has had enough, has she? You know, Jane, there's a name for women like you who like to tease men, and it isn't very pretty."

  Jane was sobbing now and with one last desperate push she was free and running, stumbling along the path back towards the house. When she got to the door she stopped for a moment, struggling for composure, praying that she wouldn't meet Mrs. Armitage. How could she ever explain her tear-stained face, her dishevelled appearance? But there was no one around as she tiptoed along the hall and crept up the spiral staircase to her room. She quickly locked her door and leant back against it, her head back, silent tears streaming down her face. Her mind and body were in a state of churning confusion. She could think only of her mother, the kind of woman she had been, and the terrible words that Simon had flung at her. And yet her body was still suffused with that strange, overwhelming longing, her legs still trembling from the unfamiliar weakness that had enveloped her at the edge of the ridge.

  Chapter Four

  Jane's first night under the roof of the house on the ridge was a restless one. Despite the beauty of the room and the comfort of the bed, she was unable to get to sleep, and when she did finally fall into a fitful doze, strange, disjointed and perplexing dreams haunted her. She wanted to blame Simon completely for what had happened, but she could not dismiss from her mind that momentary surrender that she had experienced at the edge of the ridge. As she gazed into the mirror the next morning, she half expected to find herself changed in some way, but except for the fact that her eyes were slightly red and puffy from lack of sleep, the face gazing back at her was, as she said to herself tauntingly, the same old 'plain Jane.' How Simon must despise her, she thought. He had probably just been trying to flatter her, to make her feel that she was attractive to men, and then when she had reacted the way she had— The face in the mirror blushed at the memory, and Jane murmured despairingly, "Oh, what must he think of me?"

  She turned away from the mirror and started to dress in a pale blue tailored pantsuit, resolutely trying to put such thoughts out of her mind. After all, she had to face the man sooner or later, and thinking about last night wasn't going to make it any easier.

  The man in question was nowhere in sight when she entered the dining room, but an empty coffee cup and plate provided mute evidence that he had already had breakfast.

  Mrs. Armitage bustled in with juice and coffee and a bright smile.

  "There you are, dear. And did you sleep well?" A glance at Jane's face provided the answer to her question, and without waiting for a reply she went on, soothingly, "Well, never mind. The first night in a strange bed is never very restful." She bustled in and out of the dining room, providing Jane with a sumptuous breakfast and a running patter of chit chat, for which Jane was grateful, for very little of it required any response. When she had finished, Mrs. Armitage said, "Mr. Wade said for you to go up to the study when you're finished."

  As Jane climbed the spiral staircase to the study she felt as if she were mounting the gallows. She didn't know what to expect from Simon—cold anger or leering suggestiveness? She made up her mind that if it were the latter she would leave immediately—no job was worth that.

  She soon found that she needn't have worried. Simon, seated behind a large, workmanlike desk, dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting polo shirt open at the neck, was businesslike and impersonal. As she stood across the desk from him, her eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to the brown column of his throat, in which she could plainly see a pulse throbbing. It seemed in her chaotic thoughts as if that pulse was beating at the same rate as her wildly pounding heart. She struggled to concentrate on what he was saying.

  He was explaining the research he wanted her to do for the book on which he was working. "Of course, everything has to be completely authentic. If you make one slip in this job, no matter how slight, some reader out there will spot it and the whole cred
ibility of the book is destroyed."

  "I understand." She tried desperately to match the cool impersonality of his tone.

  "Good." He gestured to several piles of books on a desk across the room. "There are quite a few books there that will be useful to you, but if there's something you can't find it may be necessary to go into town to one of the reference libraries. I want everything you can find on the time of Cromwell in Ireland—the way the peasants dressed, what they ate, what their cottages were like, descriptions of villages, what their churches were like. Since Cromwell burnt most of them down, you'll have to go back a bit for that. Well, start there for now."

  Jane had to admit that this would be an interesting and absorbing project and was grateful for that. She would need something to take her mind off the man sitting so absorbed and controlled across the room from her.

  She did indeed become so absorbed that she was surprised when, after a timid knock, Mrs. Armitage entered the study with a luncheon tray for Simon.

  "Shall I bring a tray for Miss Sullivan too?" Mrs. Armitage asked.

  Simon's answer came so quickly and decisively that Jane felt herself blushing.

  "No!" Then, in a more normal tone, he said, "Miss Sullivan is entitled to an hour for luncheon away from the office."

  Jane meekly followed Mrs. Armitage down to the dining room, where a place was being hastily set for her.

  "Oh, Mrs. Armitage, can't I have my meals with you?"

  "Well, I don't know about that," Mrs. Armitage said doubtfully. "I'm not sure Mr. Wade would like that."

  "But it's going to be so lonely for me," Jane protested, "and after all, I'm just an employee like you. I would much prefer your company to eating here alone in solitary splendour."

  Mrs. Armitage's face softened. "Well now, I'm sure it'll be all right, and I must say I could do with a bit of company myself."

  After lunch, as they lingered over their tea, Mrs. Armitage beamed at Jane. "It's so nice to have company again, my dear. Almost like the old days. Not that any of that bunch would ever take their meals with me in the kitchen, but still, there was always a crowd around. Sometimes I even had to get help from the village, when the former Mrs. Wade had a lot of guests."