When the words were out she could hardly believe she had uttered them. Why, when she had lied to Mrs. Armitage about her mother had she told Simon, of all people, the truth?
Simon sat stunned for a moment by her words.
When Jane had begun to think that the silence between them would never be broken, Simon said quietly, "Jane, I'm sorry."
There was no way that Jane could know that his words meant not only sympathy, but a profound apology for the way he had treated her.
She shrugged. She was sorry now that she had revealed so much about herself to him, because she didn't trust him. She never knew what he would do next. "Don't be," she answered lightly. "It happened so many years ago. I guess I told you because it's really the only dramatic thing that ever happened in my life. The rest of it was spent looking after my father, helping him with his work. He needed a lot of help because, I believe now, that he was completely broken by my mother's desertion."
Simon's voice held anger. "But it wasn't fair to you."
Jane turned to him, a smile trembling on her lips. "Oh, you don't understand. He was such a kind, good man. Anyway, it wasn't as if I was making such a sacrifice. I was tall, gangling, very unattractive and not exactly popular."
Simon's voice was husky when he answered, "I don't believe it."
While they ate their lunch their conversation became very impersonal. They discussed some aspects of the research that Jane was doing and she warned him that she was up against a snag that would necessitate a trip to Toronto and a visit to a reference library to iron out.
"Fine," Simon said as he rose. "Any time next week that suits you will be all right with me. Now, I'm off to work and you're off to the thriving little hamlet of Oban. Don't let the local merchants bamboozle you."
Jane's mind was in a turmoil as she navigated her small car over the twists and turns and hills and valleys of the sideroad leading to town. She couldn't imagine what had prompted her to tell Simon about her mother. Because Jane had always been a rather solitary individual, she was prone to self-examination and as she wondered about her motives in this case, she couldn't help concluding that she had been playing for Simon's sympathy, trying perhaps to justify to him some of her actions since coming to work for him. She didn't like this explanation and perhaps that was why, as she reached the crest of a hill, her car was in the middle of the road. As she came to the top of the hill, she was horrified to see, almost in her path, a horse and rider. She immediately pulled over to the side of the road, but the horse had been frightened and shied, his front hooves raking the air. However, the rider managed to stay in the saddle, and as Jane got out of the car he was gently patting the horse and speaking to it soothingly.
"I'm so terribly sorry," Jane said, a frown of dismay on her face. "I must have been day dreaming. Are you all right?"
"Of course, my dear," the rider answered with a smile. "I've been riding all my life, and that's a long time. Heat Lightning—that's this filly's name—is a little skittish, that's all. No harm done."
The rider was a man in his early fifties with an almost military bearing. His brown hair was greying at the temples and his large brown eyes were set in a deeply tanned face. He wore beautifully tailored jodhpurs and despite the heat, an equally well-tailored blazer with a military crest on the pocket. Jane decided that he was the type who would dress for dinner in the midst of the jungle.
He was climbing down from the horse now, still patting and soothing her and Jane saw, as he came towards her, he was about her height. He was holding out his hand to her.
"Name's John Baxter, and if I'm not mistaken, you're either a visitor or a newcomer to Culloden."
"A newcomer," Jane answered, shaking the proffered hand. "I'm working for Simon Wade, doing research for his new book and cataloging his library."
Jane thought she saw a shadow cross his face as she said this, but the next moment he was smiling. "Well, my dear, welcome to the loveliest countryside in the world."
"I can believe that," Jane answered sincerely.
"And where are you off to now?" John Baxter asked.
"Oh, just a trip into town, to look around and to shop."
"Splendid," he answered, "you'll find a couple of interesting boutiques. Look here, it won't take you long to see the whole of Oban. It's pretty small; you know. Why not drop by my place for a drink on your way back? Meet my daughter. She's about your age. Was a friend of the former Mrs. Wade."
Jane's heart lurched at these words, but, she told herself, she had been told to make friends. John Baxter gave her directions. "When you turn off the sideroad to the highway leading into town, my place is right on the corner on your left. Can't miss it. We'll be looking for you."
The village of Oban was in many respects the typical southern Ontario hamlet. There was a Mac's milk store competing with an older established general store, a hardware store, a pharmacy, but there were also differences. A meat market displayed signs offering the choicest cuts and prices that even in the city would have been considered high. And for a village, there was an inordinately high number of smart boutiques. Jane concluded that this centre did not cater to the farmers of the district, but rather to the affluent gentry.
She browsed through several of the boutiques and found the sales people friendly and helpful, but the prices dismayed her. She had to remind herself that she was now earning a respectable salary, and since her room and board was taken care of, she could afford a few small extravagances.
She was particularly drawn to a silver-grey caftan, accordion-pleated from neck to hem, printed with large yellow and white flowers. When she tried it on, the light, clinging material emphasized every curve of her body until it reached her knees, and then swirled out into a graceful circle. She couldn't resist it. She scolded herself about the expense, then reminded herself that it had been a long time since she had spent any money foolishly on herself.
Having made her purchase, she decided that perhaps she should start back before she was tempted into any other foolishness.
She hadn't really taken John Baxter's invitation seriously, but in the lighthearted aftermath of her impulsive purchase, she reminded herself that she had been told to make friends. As she turned off the highway to the sideroad she noticed a sign by the side of the road that said simply, "Baxter Farms." Without pausing to think about it, she swung her car into the driveway and started the long and twisting drive that led to the Baxter house. This driveway did not climb, it simply twisted and turned. It was lined with huge poplar trees, but between them she caught glimpses of white-fenced fields as far as the eye could see and in some of them, the most beautiful horses she had ever laid eyes on. She passed long wooden buildings, painted a pristine white, with red trim and shutters, which could have been an attractive housing unit, but which she decided were barns when she saw several dungaree-clad men leading horses out of one of them.
Beyond the barns she drove through formal gardens, and then beside a huge man-made lake, and just beyond, the driveway circled in front of a three-storey, pillored Georgian mansion. She came to an abrupt stop in front of the house, almost mesmerized at the sight of so much grandeur in the middle of nowhere. Before she could move, the large, baronial door was opened and John Baxter was coming down the stairs, opening the car door and helping her out.
"My dear Miss Sullivan, I'm so glad you decided to accept my invitation. I assure you that it isn't often a lovely young lady like yourself visits me."
Jane looked at him in surprise. She guessed that despite his obvious wealth, he was a lonely man and really happy that she had come. She found herself relaxing as he led her into the marble-floored foyer dominated by a Waterford crystal chandelier and from which a winding staircase led to the floor above.
John Baxter was leading her across the foyer and behind the staircase where a door stood open.
"Come into my study. It's the one room in the house I can stand. All the others make me feel dwarfed. I built this house for my late wife and she e
njoyed it and my daughter still does, but to tell you the truth, I find it far too pretentious."
Jane smiled at the idea of anyone apologizing for such a gorgeous home, but when she stood inside the door of the study and looked around she had to agree that he was right. It was a lovely room, book-lined, with a surprisingly low ceiling, diamond-paned windows and open French doors leading to a stone patio and gardens beyond. There was a huge fireplace and comfortable, chintz-covered furniture. A large, cluttered desk indicated that its occupant did actually work at it.
"Sit down, my dear, over here by the doors. There isn't much breeze, but if any does show up, you'll feel it there. What can I offer you?"
He went over to a side table where an array of bottles and glasses and a large bowl of ice had been set up. Jane was suddenly very glad that she had decided to come. He obviously had been expecting her and had made preparations. A tray of appetizing hors d'oeuvres was also set out.
"Oh, something long and cool, please," Jane answered.
"Ah, I know just the thing. It's an old air force drink. I was in the Royal Canadian Air Force during the last war, and this drink was always a favorite with the ladies. It's called a Starboard Light." He put ice cubes into a tall glass, poured crème de menthe over them and filled the glass with ginger ale and added a cherry. He poured a Scotch and soda for himself and placed the drinks and tray of food on a low coffee table between two chairs facing the French doors and the gardens beyond.
He sat next to Jane and raised his glass to her. "Here's to you, my dear, and a long and happy association in the Culloden Hills."
His obvious sincerity touched Jane and she said, as if the words were forced from her, "How kind you are!"
He looked at her in surprise. "Kind? But Miss Sullivan, you are the one who is kind, taking the time to visit a lonely old man when you must have all kinds of young friends and all sorts of interesting things to do."
Jane again found herself blurting out her thoughts, "I wish you wouldn't call yourself an old man—you aren't old and believe me I have no young friends or anything at all interesting to do."
Before he could answer, a beautiful young girl strode through the door. She was tiny, hardly five feet tall, with long hair so blonde that it was almost white. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and carried a riding crop. She paid no attention at all to Jane, but went immediately to the improvised bar and poured herself a large gin and tonic.
"Dad," her voice was surprisingly strong and imperious for such a tiny thing, "you must get rid of that groom, Jackson. He was positively rude to me just now."
Her father stood up. "Now Daphne, can't you see we have a guest, and a guest that I very much want you to meet. You're always complaining there aren't enough young people out here in the country. This is Jane Sullivan. She's working for Simon Wade."
His last words had caught his daughter's attention and she surveyed Jane with glittering eyes. "Oh, really," she drawled, "in what capacity? I thought Simon already had a housekeeper."
John Baxter flushed. "Miss Sullivan, I must apologize for my daughter. There are times when I have to admit that her manners leave a lot to be desired." And turning to Daphne, "Miss Sullivan is doing research for Simon for his new book and cataloging his library."
"How cozy," Daphne purred, "and are you happy in your work, Miss Sullivan?"
Jane had always been left completely tongue-tied by deliberate rudeness, but when she saw how embarrassed and unhappy Daphne was making her father, she somehow found the strength to stand up to her. She smiled and answered easily, "Oh, yes, Daphne. It's very interesting work. But won't you both please call me Jane?"
Daphne merely shrugged and stood, one elbow on the mantelpiece, her drink in her other hand, and surveyed Jane with such scrutiny that Jane felt herself blushing.
John Baxter tried to cover the awkward silence by jumping up and taking Jane's glass and his own, and as he walked to the bar said, "That's settled then. Now that we are on a first-name basis, let me freshen your drink."
Jane rose. "No, thank you, John, I really must go, but thank you for a delightful visit." She turned towards the small blond girl. "It's been so nice meeting you, Daphne." She was surprised at her own poise, but was determined to carry the situation off as best she could for the sake of John Baxter. He was such a kind, decent man that she couldn't bear to see him embarrassed. How could such a nice man have such a disagreeable daughter?
John saw her to her car. As she started the engine he leaned his elbows on the open window and looked down at her. "Thank you again for coming, Jane. Please come again." The words were simple, but the sincerity in his tone and the look in his eyes as he said them unsettled Jane. Something bothered her, he reminded her of something, of someone. It was just outside her consciousness, eluding her, and then as she drove away and turned to wave, it struck her. His kindness, his quiet strength, the expression in his eyes as he looked at her—he was so much like her father.
Chapter Six
Mrs. Armitage was waiting in the hall when Jane entered the house and Jane guessed that she had been watching for her. One look at Jane's smiling face was enough to reassure her.
"My dear, I can tell to look at you that you had a good afternoon, and you bought something," she said, glancing at the pretty pink box that Jane carried. "Can I see? Oh, you must think me a meddling old lady."
Jane laughed. She was touched by the genuine concern for her that Mrs. Armitage obviously felt.
"Of course, I don't think anything of the kind, and if you'll make me a cup of tea, I'll be glad to show you my foolish purchase and tell you about all the adventures I had."
As the kettle boiled, Jane opened the box and held the caftan up against her shoulders.
"My, that is lovely," Mrs. Armitage said, "the colours are perfect for you, and oh yes, I almost forgot. You'll have a chance to wear it tonight. Mr. Wade told me to ask you if you'd dine with him."
Jane's heart leapt and she could feel herself blushing. She turned away quickly, folding the caftan back into the box. She was angry at herself for reacting so strongly to what was, after all, a very simple invitation. But she was also remembering what had happened on that first evening when she had dined with Simon. She struggled to keep her tone matter of fact as she replied, "Please tell Mr. Wade I'd be glad to dine with him." As they drank their tea, Jane provided Mrs. Armitage with an account of her meeting with John Baxter and of her visit to his home. Mrs. Armitage was impressed. "Do you know, my dear, John Baxter is the wealthiest man in the district, and as you must know, there are a lot of very wealthy people around here. He's also one of the nicest men you could find anywhere. I know his housekeeper well, and she tells me he treats his staff like members of the family. Not like that daughter of his, with her highfalutin ways. She's managed to get more than one of the staff fired because, although her father is the kindest man in the world, he can't refuse that girl anything, especially since his wife died. I guess that's because she's all he's got." And Jane said to herself, yes, just like my father.
Jane took special care with her appearance as she dressed for dinner. Because of the breathless heat, she decided to be very daring and wear nothing under the caftan. The light material clung to every curve of her body, and she had wound her golden hair into a low French knot at the back of her neck. The result gave her an air of cool sophistication, although she had to admit to herself as she descended the spiral staircase that she didn't feel at all cool and certainly not sophisticated.
Simon had made no concession to the heat she noticed as he turned to greet her. He was, as usual, wearing a dinner jacket and a finely tucked dress shirt.
His eyes had that same strange glitter that Jane remembered so well, as he surveyed her. He looked first straight into her eyes and then slowly moved his glance down the length of her body. Despite the heat, Jane shivered.
"You are even lovelier than usual tonight, Jane." His voice had that low, husky quality that made every nerve end in her body jump. "But if yo
u meant that high-necked gown you're wearing to be modest, you have failed miserably."
Jane made a sudden decision, and wondered afterwards where she got the courage to do so. Perhaps from her afternoon encounter with John Baxter, who had made her feel like a person who mattered. She decided that despite the effect that Simon's words and glances and yes, even his presence had upon her that she would stop being the gauche little girl and try to match his bantering tone.
"What makes you think I was trying to be modest?" she asked, with a smile.
For once she had caught him off guard. He made no reply for a moment and the surprise on his face was ample reward for the effort it had cost her to overcome her natural shyness and play his game.
His hesitation only lasted a moment. "My mistake," he said lightly. "Now, what will you have to drink?"
Without thinking, Jane answered, "A martini, please."
He looked at her in surprise. "Are you sure? My martinis can be rather deadly."
"Yes, I'm sure," Jane answered. Having once found herself in command of a situation with Simon Wade, she had no desire to retreat now.
When the cocktails had been prepared he handed her an icy glass and, taking her hand, led her over to the screened door.
"Do you remember," he asked softly, "the first day you came here? I told you of the fascination I have for the changing weather in the Culloden Hills. It reminds me of a woman, soft and yielding one moment, then torn with passion when a storm strikes, sunny and smiling for a short while and before you know it, weeping with despair…" His voice trailed off and Jane held her breath, waiting for him to continue. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She realized how much of himself he was revealing to her, at least about his feelings for women, and about this place that meant so much to him.
He sighed, and went on in the same low, passionate voice. "Look now, and you'll see what I mean."
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