by Anne Mather
‘Oh…’ Sara’s instinctive reaction was overheard, and the woman turned sharply, her homely features adopting a curious smile when she saw the girl.
‘Ah, you must be Miss Fortune,’ she said, and Sara was shocked to hear her name on the woman’s lips. But obviously Michael had considered it simpler to avoid unnecessary explanations. ‘Mr Tregower said you’d slept late. You’re here for a holiday, I gather. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were coming, or I’d have had beds prepared.’
‘That’s all right.’ Sara couldn’t prevent the wave of colour that swept up her cheeks as she considered what the woman must be thinking. She glanced round awkwardly. ‘Er—where is Mr Tregower? I was—looking for him.’
‘He’s outside, I fancy. He said something about not unpacking your car last night because of the rain. No doubt he’s doing that now.’
‘Oh! Oh, thank you.’ Sara could feel the colour draining out of her cheeks again. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Michael would obviously unpack the car. And what would he make of its contents? She hardly felt prepared to contemplate.
Leaving the kitchen, she hurried back into the hall. Sure enough, her suitcases were standing in the middle of the floor, but there was no sign of Michael. However the front door stood open, and responding to the rush of air, which was not as chilly now as it had been the evening before, she walked to the entrance. The scent of the sea was unmistakable, and she breathed deeply, loving the clean fresh fragrance of the ocean after the pollution of the city, and then started back in alarm when her host appeared from behind the Mini. He saw her as he straightened from doing something inside the vehicle, and as he came towards her she saw the puzzled anger in the intensity of his gaze.
‘Tell me something,’ he said, as he reached her, supporting himself with one hand on either side of the doorway, so that she fell back another step. ‘Why would Diane fetch down a sleeping bag and a box of groceries, when she had no intention of spending the night here?’
Sara took a deep breath. ‘If—if you think about that, I—I think you’ll come up with—with an answer,’ she said unevenly. ‘And—and it’s very kind of you to unpack for me, but—but totally unnecessary. I—I shan’t be staying.’
‘Won’t you?’ The words were heavy and loaded with meaning. Then, more impatiently, he added: ‘Who the hell is Sara Fortune?’
‘You—you know,’ she protested, taking another backward step, and he released his supporting hold on the door to follow her.
‘I think you’d better come into the library,’ he said, and with a helpless shrug she complied, no more eager than he was to have their confrontation overheard.
The library was chilly. The remains of the previous night’s fire had not been removed, and Sara thought fatalistically that they epitomised the destruction of her own brief spell of excitement. Michael closed the door, and then, folding his arms, he said harshly:
‘Did Diane send you here? Because I warn you—’
Sara twisted her hands together. ‘Diane—Diane did
send me here, but’—quickly, as his expression hardened,—’only—only in a manner of speaking.’
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Let me explain.’ Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she sought for words. ‘I—I wanted to get away from London for a while.’
‘How convenient!’
‘No, I mean it. I—Diane offered me this place.’
‘Offered it to you?’
‘To stay. To get away.’
‘At exactly this time?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘Well, yes, as it happens. Of course, she didn’t tell me the—the house was occupied.’
‘Occupied!’ The word was a harsh designation of himself. ‘My God! Do you realise what she almost did? What I almost did?’
Sara’s cheeks suffused with colour. ‘I should.’
He paced aggressively across the floor and then turned to face her. ‘So? If I’m to believe you, you’re completely innocent of any of Diane’s tricks?’
Sara shrugged. ‘I didn’t know you were here, if that’s what you mean. If you believe that.’
‘Is it the truth?’
‘Yes!’ Sara gasped indignantly.
‘All right, I do believe you.’
‘You do?’ Sara realised it sounded bad, but after the past few hours she could hardly believe it was over. And without her revealing the truth about herself.
Michael studied her anxious expression for a few moments longer and then nodded. ‘I should have guessed, I suppose,’ he muttered, raking angry fingers through his hair. ‘That—innocence! It was too real to be faked. I must have scared the hell out of you!’ Sara quivered. ‘Not—not altogether.’
He shook his head. ‘But God! Why didn’t you stop me?’
‘How?’
He shrugged. ‘That car out there is a moving vehicle of your identity. Sleeping bag, groceries, a manuscript! Not to mention a pair of walking shoes Diane would probably be found dead in before wearing!’ Sara hesitated. ‘You might have said it was all deliberate.’
‘Food? Diane? No, I don’t think so.’ Then he sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe last night I was a little—mad! Crazy! Not least’—he paused—’because I didn’t honestly want to believe it was true!’
Now Sara’s palms grew moist. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, come on.’ Michael halted in front of her. ‘You’re not that naïve. You proved it just now—upstairs. You knew when I was—touching you last night that there was more to my actions than a lust for revenge. I liked touching you, Sara Fortune. And in spite of everything, you liked me touching you, too.’
Sara stepped back. ‘I—think this conversation has gone far enough,’ she murmured a little chokily. Clearing her throat, she added: ‘As—as the matter seems to have been cleared up to your satisfaction—’
‘Like hell it has!’ he interrupted her angrily, and she blinked at him. ‘I want to know more about why Diane sent you here, how she achieved it. From what I’ve heard of my sister-in-law, it just can’t be a coincidence.’
Sara lifted her shoulders. ‘I told you, I—I needed a break.’
‘But why did you need a break? And why this week? Surely Cornwall in April is not everyone’s idea of paradise?’
Sara frowned. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said: ‘There was—a man—’
‘A man?’ He frowned. ‘What man?’
‘A man I knew,’ she explained defensively. ‘I—oh, I thought he cared about me—’
‘—and he didn’t?’
‘Apparently not.’ She shrugged awkwardly. ‘He—well, we stopped seeing one another.’
‘And I suppose Diane had nothing to do with that?’
‘Diane?’ Sara looked up at him, and then her eyes clouded doubtfully. ‘I—well, only indirectly.’
‘Go on!’
Sara swallowed. ‘I’d rather not.’
‘Sara!’
It was the first time he had used her own name, and on his lips it was a very attractive sound.
‘There was something,’ she confessed. ‘Something Diane—told him. At the time, it seemed coincidental, but now—’
‘Now you don’t think so?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘That makes two of us,’ he growled, pushing back his hair with angry fingers. ‘God, when I think of what might have happened! You may regard me as some kind of stud, but believe me, I’m not in the habit of—of seducing young women!’
‘You didn’t.’
‘No, but I might have done,’ he snapped shortly. Then more angrily: ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you’re disappointed!’
Sara gasped. ‘I—’
‘Oh, all right, all right.’ He sounded driven. ‘I’m sorry. I’m taking it out on you, and it’s not your fault. But good lord, what kind of woman is Diane to send you in her place!’
‘Well,’ said Sara, trying to be reasonable, ‘it doesn’t
really matter now, does it? I—I mean, it’s over.’
‘Is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean—oh, hell! I don’t know. I need to think about this.’
‘You’ll have plenty of time, after I’ve gone.’
‘Gone?’ His brows drew together. ‘You’re not leaving?’
‘I must.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Sara spread her hand helplessly. ‘I can’t stay here now. Not—not now.’
‘Why must you leave?’
Sara could not sustain his disturbing appraisal. ‘I—haven’t you got things to do?’ she ventured. ‘Diane—’
To hell with Diane!’ he declared heavily. ‘I don’t care if I never see her.’ He made an impatient gesture. ‘She must be more astute than I imagined. Right now, all I feel towards her is disgust. Vengeance seems curiously void. You are my concern, not Diane. And I—want you to stay.’
‘I—can’t.’
‘Why can’t you?’ He was brusque again. ‘You said yourself, you’d planned to spend two weeks here. Why don’t you do that? I promise I won’t—make a nuisance of myself. And I think you know—you have nothing to fear from me.’
Sara’s cheeks burned. ‘You don’t understand,’ she began with difficulty, realising her opportunity to be completely honest had come. ‘I—there are things you—you don’t know about me…’
Michael’s surveillance was mocking now. ‘I think I know most of what there is to know,’ he remarked dryly, and then gave in to a curiously tender impulse to stroke her cheek. ‘You’re too innocent to have any great secret. Tell me what it is, then I can decide whether I’m in any moral danger by allowing you to stay.’
He was not taking her seriously, and her desire to confess fled. Why should she tell him, after all? she argued with herself. They were virtually strangers, in spite of the intimacies they had shared. Once she left Ravens Mill she would never see him again. This realisation roused a curious ache in her chest, and this time she sensed there was no physical cause, which was no more reassuring.
Yet, if she stayed here, how could she hope to keep her illness from him? Sooner or later he was bound to discover her taking tablets, or maybe even find the tablets themselves. He was an intelligent man. He probably knew the name of the drug she used, and the reasons why it was prescribed. She dreaded his reactions if he ever found out for himself.
‘Are you afraid to stay here?’ Michael’s expression had hardened now, and he was regarding her with faint contempt. ‘I’ve told you, I won’t bother you—unless you want me to.’
Sara quivered. ‘It—it’s an impossible situation.’
‘Why is it?’
She shook her head, a feeling of apprehension sweeping over her. She could not explain without betraying herself, and she cast about helplessly for an alternative excuse.
‘I—I had intended to work,’ she declared. ‘I—I thought the house was empty. I—needed time alone to—to work on—on my writing.’
‘Your writing?’ Michael frowned. ‘You mean the manuscript I found?’
Sara hesitated, but then realised she would have to tell him the truth. ‘It’s—a novel,’ she replied. ‘For children. I’d planned to—to rewrite it, to shorten it a little.’
Michael shook his head. ‘Well, well. An authoress, no less!’
‘I’d prefer it if you said—writer,’ she amended, and his lips twisted.
‘Women’s Lib?’ he queried. ‘Ms Fortune.’
‘I’m sure it amuses you,’ she retorted stiffly. ‘But I take my work seriously.’
‘Oh, I believe it.’ Michael regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘So—Ravens Mill was to be your—retreat?’
Sara held up her head. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘I see.’ He paused, supporting himself with one hand along the mantelpiece beside her. ‘And my presence—would be a distraction?’
Sara looked into his mocking eyes for a long disturbing minute, then turned and walked back into the hall. She checked her suitcases, giving them her undivided attention when there was no need to do so, and then turned schooled features towards him.
‘I—I won’t thank you for your hospitality. Mr Tregow—’
‘Mr Tregower!’ he snapped irritably. Then he tugged impatiently at the hair growing at the back of his neck. ‘Oh, Sara! Can’t we stop that stupid charade? You know you’re not going anywhere. I can’t—I won’t let you. Not yet, at any rate.’ His eyes swung restlessly round the hall. ‘We need time to talk. For God’s sake, can’t you see?’ His gaze riveted hers now. ‘We can’t just—go our separate ways! I don’t want to.’ He sighed exasperatedly. ‘Please, try and understand what I’m saying. Sara, I want you to stay.’ She trembled, and immediately he covered the space between them, taking her cold hands between both of his, warming them by the pressure.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he muttered. ‘I know I haven’t done anything thus far to warrant your liking or respect, but believe me, I do have feelings, and right now I could flay myself for the way I’ve treated you.’
‘There’s no need—’
‘Damn you, let me decide what need there is.’ He looked down at her trapped hands, and she quivered at the intimacy he could imbue into that small gesture. ‘If you’ll stay, at least I can pretend you—like me a little.’
Sara struggled to free herself. ‘And—and what do you intend to do?’ she demanded. ‘Stay here too? I thought you told me your work was in—in Brazil. When do you plan to go back there? How can you afford to waste so much time in England?’
A flicker of emotion crossed his face at her accusing words, and then he said quietly: ‘Since Adam is dead, Isabella wants me to remain in Portugal. And for the present I have Adam’s affairs to clear up.’
‘Well, surely that means—seeing Diane?’
‘Not necessarily. The Tregower solicitors can deal with all that. If, as you say, Diane is entitled to half her late husband’s estate, then that will have to be—considered.’ He paused. ‘But that has nothing to do with us—with you.’ His eyes seemed to look right through her, dark and penetrating, and disturbingly intent. ‘Stay—I’ll keep out of your way, I promise. I may even have to go up to London for a few days. During the day, you could pretend I wasn’t here. The house is big enough, in all conscience. Give us time to get to know one another properly.’
‘You don’t want to get to know me.’ Sara didn’t know why she said it, but she had to have their relationship clear between them. ‘You expected Diane, and—and I turned up. You don’t owe me anything…’
‘Sara!’ His fingers hurt hers now. ‘What is the matter with you? Why should you imagine I don’t want to know you? Sara…little Sara…’ He raised her fingers to his lips and her heart began its erratic tattoo. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I find you utterly—enchanting. You’re the most attractive woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t just mean physically—although you’re that too.’ His lips twitched. ‘I guess that was why I let you get away with as much as you did. I wanted to believe badly of you, but it was hard—bloody hard, when everything about you—’
‘Oh, Michael—’
‘No, listen to me, Sara. I like you. You have spirit, and I like that. I’ve never met a girl quite like you before. Don’t leave me, Sara. Not until we—know one another better.’
Sara was unnerved by his declaration, unnerved, and yet tantalised. She wanted so much to believe him, she realised, but she knew it was all a charade. He didn’t know her. He only thought he did. And once he found out…
‘I’m sorry,’ she said now, avoiding his gaze. ‘I—I’m flattered, of course, but—’
‘Damn you, can’t you forget what happened last night?’ he swore angrily. ‘Can’t you forget that I thought you were Diane, and understand what I’m trying to tell you? I’m not the kind of man you think I am. I have been a swine, I admit it. But letting you go last night was not in my normal scheme of things, believe me. But
you—well, you made me discover a side of myself I didn’t even know existed. Can’t you let me try and live with that discovery? Let me find out for myself—for both of us—what it means?’
Sara hesitated. ‘I—I think you’re presupposing something here,’ she said carefully, though the words were more painful than any she had ever said. ‘You—you’re presupposing that—that I want to get to know you.’
‘And don’t you?’ he demanded harshly. ‘You’re telling me that response I evoked last night is your normal reaction to a man who’s trying to—ravish you?’
‘Yes—I mean no! Oh, that’s not the point.’
‘What is the point, then?’
‘I—well, you know nothing about me. I mean, I might not be as—as innocent as you think.’ Sara flushed. ‘I mean—’ this was awful, and she hated lying to him, but her position had to be less tenuous; ‘I am twenty-two, you know. I have—known other men.’
His expression hardened at this, but he did not let her go. Instead he said flatly: ‘Well—good. I never did much like virgins anyway.’
She tore her hands from his then, although she suspected their freedom was as much through his choice as her strength. She had never been so shocked, or so exhilarated, but she could not let him go on.
‘I have to go back to London,’ she insisted stubbornly, and saw the look of impatience that narrowed his eyes.
‘I see.’ He flexed his shoulder muscles, watching her intently. ‘And what will you tell Diane? That her little ploy worked? That the dynamite has been defused, and there’s no further danger to herself?’
‘Diane?’ Sara licked her dry lips. In all the excitement she had forgotten the reasons why she was here. Forgotten that Diane had sent her here, uncaring of the effects it might have on her health.
‘Yes, Diane.’ Michael pressed the point home. ‘I should imagine she’ll find this whole incident very—amusing.’
‘Amusing?’ Sara gazed at him, and he nodded.