Burning Inheritance

by Anne Mather

  Isabel caught her lower lip between her teeth, still barely convinced that they were alone. But when he went ahead of her, up the curving arc of the carpeted staircase, to stand looking down at her from the galleried landing, she eventually subdued her fears and followed him, shivering at the memories the simple act evoked.

  'Use this room,' Alex said, opening a door along one of the carpeted corridors, which ran in either direction from the head of the stairs, and reluctantly, Isabel stepped inside. It was one of the guest rooms, an attractive apartment, hung with ivory silk and cream damask; it was the room she had used in those traumatic days before she left Nazeby. And as such, no threat to her troubled sensitivities.

  'I won't be long,' he added, as she walked slowly across the carpet, to stand gazing absently from the windows. 'Take off your coat. It's warm enough in here.'

  But when he came back, Isabel was still standing by the window, and he came across the room towards her, dark and disturbing, in a lime-green polo shirt, and cotton shorts. 'No point in getting dressed, if we're going swimming,' he remarked, as her eyes widened. 'Don't worry. We'll find a bathing-suit for you. There's quite a selection in one of the changing-rooms downstairs. Uncle Robert always thinks of everything when he entertains guests.'

  'Yes.'

  Isabel's response was mildly ironic, and Alex grimaced. 'OK, OK, I won't mention his name again. Now,' he took hold of the belt at her waist and tugged it loose, 'are you going to relax?'

  Isabel's breathing had quickened at this unexpected, and decidedly proprietory, display of familiarity. She was not used to Alex touching her, not any part of her, and the brush of his fingers against her waist was much too close for comfort.

  'I—I want to wash my hands,' she said abruptly, slipping off the coat, and dropping it on the floor. 'I'll—I'll see you downstairs. Just give me a few minutes.'

  'As you wish.' Alex bent and picked up her coat and deposited it on the bed. 'I'll be waiting in the conservatory. I thought we could eat there, and antic­ipate our swim.'

  Although Isabel washed her hands twice, they were still sweating when she went downstairs again. She told herself it was being in this house again, with all its hateful memories, but it wasn't true. Nazeby had always soothed her spirit, even in those terrible weeks following her discovery of Chris and Jerrold Palmer in the stables. It was only at the end that she had come to hate it. But that was because it had symbol­ised her helplessness. With hindsight, she could see that the house had not been to blame.

  The conservatory adjoined the morning-room, and at this time of year, it was like an indoor garden. Hanging baskets, spilling over with fuchsias and gera­niums, were suspended from every beam, while tubs and troughs of every kind of flowering blossom rioted in vivid colour across the Italian tiles.

  Mrs Cowie had prepared them a cold buffet, and this occupied a side-table. A mosaic of meats and salads was artistically arranged around a whole dressed lobster, with dishes of fruit and cream to complete the meal. A circular glass-topped table had been laid for two, and beside it, a chilled bottle of hock rested in an ice bucket. It was a display made to fit its surround­ings, and Isabel, who had forgotten how cosseted life could be, pressed a nervous hand to her throat. It was all too disturbingly familiar—and yet, not familiar at all.

  The solarium adjoined the conservatory. Sliding glass screens could be rolled back to open up the whole area, and the pool itself could be either outdoor or indoor, according to the weather. At present, the screens between the pool-house and the conservatory were rolled back but, because of the weather, the pool itself was enclosed by glass walls. There was something rather satisfying about being able to swim whatever the temperature was outside, and Isabel remembered how much she had missed the privilege when she was dogging the agencies, looking for work.

  As she hovered by the table in the conservatory, Alex emerged from one of the dressing-rooms that adjoined the pool, and when he saw her, he grinned. 'I was just checking that we had a swimsuit to fit you,' he called, circling the pool and climbing the two stone steps that led into the conservatory. 'Do you want to swim now, or later?'

  Isabel moistened her lips. 'Oh—later, I think,' she ventured awkwardly, daunted by the prospect of taking off her clothes in front of Alex. Her skin was so pale compared to the darkness of his, the long, powerful legs exposed by his shorts revealing he did not spend all his time in his office. Besides, he had never seen her in a swimsuit before—with her knowledge, that is. Those occasions when he said he had watched her swimming didn't count. She had been unaware of his observation.

  'OK,' Alex agreed now, and picking up the bottle of wine, he filled their two glasses. 'Here,' he said, handing one of the delicate flutes to her. 'To better times, hmm? Drink it. I think you'll like it.

  Isabel did as she was told, the chilled mouthful she took spreading deliciously over her palate. 'It's lovely,' she said, in answer to his look of enquiry. 'This is lovely,' she added, using the colourful buffet to drag her eyes from his. 'Mrs Cowie has gone to a lot of trouble. Did—did she know who you were bringing?'

  Alex took another taste of his wine, and then inclined his head. 'Yes, she knew. And no, she didn't make any comment,' he appended lazily. 'I don't need anyone's approval to bring you here. This is my home, too. I invite who I like.'

  Isabel looked down into her glass. 'And if your uncle had been here?' she queried, and he gave her a wry smile.

  'You wouldn't have come,' he replied, setting his glass down on the table. 'At least, only on sufferance. But if you had been willing, I dare say he'd have survived.'

  Isabel sighed. 'Alex------'

  'Why don't we eat?' he suggested, taking her glass from her and turning her towards the buffet table. 'Help yourself to anything you like. Mrs Cowie will only grumble if we don't do her efforts justice.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  In all honesty, Isabel wasn't very hungry. Her appe­tite had always been dependent upon her disposition and, in spite of Alex's efforts to relax her, she was still extremely tense. Even the careless touch of his hand at her elbow set her nerves jumping, and it was difficult to behave casually when she was so aware of him.

  Two glasses of wine later, she felt much better. She had eaten some of the wafer-thin Italian ham with a slice of melon, and gorged herself on a plate of raspberries and whipped cream, even laughing when Alex wiped a smear of cream from her lip with his finger and then licked it. She felt relaxed and absurdly happy, and only when one of the maids came to clear and recognised her did she remember where she was and what she was doing.

  'Alex,' she probed softly, when the maid had departed again with their dirty plates. 'Why? Why here? You know your uncle won't approve, whatever you say to the contrary.'

  'I think we should take a sauna,' said Alex, without answering her, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. 'I turned on the heater earlier, so it should be pretty hot by now.'

  Isabel looked up at him and shook her head. 'A sauna!' she echoed. 'Straight after your meal!'

  'No better way to cleanse your body of all that alcohol,' he responded, grinning. 'Aren't you going to join me? There's plenty of room.'

  Isabel shook her head. 'I don't think so.'

  'Why not?'

  'Well . . . ' She moved her shoulders. 'It's too humid already.'

  'OK. We'll swim then,' he declared easily. 'The water's fairly cool. Now, don't tell me you need time to digest your lunch. You didn't eat enough to warrant the effort.'

  Isabel bit her lip. 'All right. If that's what you want.'

  'I thought it was what you wanted,' Alex reminded her drily. '1 seem to remember something about a hotel pool . . . '

  Isabel sighed. 'All right. All right.' She got to her feet. 'Which dressing-room should I use?'

  'Whichever you like,' he replied carelessly. 'I left the swimsuits in the first one, but as I don't need one, you can choose another if you like.'

  Isabel grimaced. 'Why should I do that?'

  'I d
on't know.' Alex gave her a considering look. 'You might think I had an ulterior motive for that, too. Perhaps I've got a peep-hole in the wall of that changing-room, hmm?'

  Isabel had to smile at that. 'I won't be long,' she said and, leaving him, she crossed the room and descended the few steps into the pool area.

  The pool itself was just short of Olympic size, with diving-boards and a water-slide, as well as yards and yards of pale green tiles. In consequence, the water looked smooth and inviting, and deliciously trans­parent.

  The changing-rooms were comfortably equipped, and spacious. Each compartment had its own shower and vanity unit, and the pine-panelled walls gave the illusion of being in a cabin. Alex had left the selection of bathing-suits on the vanity table and, looking through them, Isabel realised they were all far more revealing than anything she might have chosen for herself. Still, she reflected, she hadn't bought a swimsuit for over a year, and the ones she had back at her apartment were probably out of date.

  She eventually chose a one-piece maillot, that was mainly black, with inserts of blue and amber. It was the least vivid of all the swimsuits, but the amount of thigh exposed by its cut-away leg-line caused her some embarrassment as she walked out to find Alex.

  He was already in the water. He had shed his polo shirt and was presently perfecting a slow crawl from one end of the pool to the other. But, as if some sixth sense had alerted him to her presence, he lifted his head and saw her and, abandoning his efforts, he swam swiftly towards her.

  'What's wrong?' he asked, as her hands hovered protectively at the backs of her thighs, and Isabel cast her doubts aside.

  'Nothing,' she said, as he folded his arms on the pool-side at her feet, realising she was only drawing attention to herself by behaving coyly. 'What's it like?'

  'Come and find out,' he said, holding out his hand towards her, but she had more sense than to take it.

  'In my own time,' she insisted, sitting down on the edge of the pool and dipping her feet into the water. 'God, it's freezing! I thought you said it was only fairly cool.'

  'It is—once you're in,' he replied, turning on to his back and spreading his arms wide. 'Come on. It's beautiful!'

  Overhead, a watery sun was trying to penetrate the low-hanging clouds, and the pool took on a glittering opacity. Luxury, indeed, she thought ruefully, finding it difficult to believe she was really here. Had she once taken all this for granted? Maybe if she'd been married to Alex, it wouldn't have seemed just a compensation.

  Slipping off the rim of the pool, she allowed herself to slide down into the water. It was deeper than she remembered, easily four feet, even at this, the shallow end. Further along, where the water-slide and the diving-boards were situated, it was almost ten feet.

  She was catching her breath when Alex swam back to her and, ignoring her efforts to evade him, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him towards the middle of the pool. Pretty soon, she was out of her depth and compelled to swim or pull both of them down, and she panted indignantly as the chill of the water penetrated her skin.

  'Are you trying to drown me?' she exclaimed, when he released her, and she was forced to tread water to keep afloat.

  'You forget—I've seen you swimming,' he retorted, unmoved by her protests. 'Now—isn't this good? Much better than languishing in some stuffy restaurant all afternoon.'

  Isabel sighed. 'Is that why------'

  'Just enjoy it,' he overrode her insistently. 'No one's going to hurt you here. Not while I'm around, anyway. OK?'

  It was difficult to do anything else but enjoy herself, with Alex doing everything in his power to help her. Chris had never used the pool much, and even when they were on their honeymoon, he had much preferred to sit at the pool-side bar, drinking daiquiris, to splashing about in the water. But Alex was different. He was an excellent swimmer, for one thing, and he evidently enjoyed the water as much as she did. So much so that the short dip she had envisaged lasted over an hour.

  When she finally protested that she was too tired to swim any more and climbed out on to the side, her legs felt like jelly, and she flopped down on a padded air-bed, uncaring of what she looked like. After squeezing the moisture out of her braid, she rested back on her elbows, drawing up one leg in innocent provocation and tilting back her head to rest her aching muscles.

  'You're out of condition,' Alex remarked, his shadow blotting out the shaft of sunlight in which she was lying. Opening her eyes, she saw he had vaulted out of the pool and was standing looking down at her, the shorts he had worn to swim in moulded to his thighs. 'You notice I don't say out of shape,' he added lazily. 'That wouldn't be true. You always were a beautiful woman, Isabel. On that score, Chris and I were always in total agreement.'

  Isabel's inertia fled. It was the first time he had brought Chris's name into their conversation, and whether it had been deliberate or not, it had immediately destroyed her mood.

  She sat up. 'I think I'd better get dressed,' she said, preparing to get up, but Alex's hand on her shoulder held her where she was.

  'Not yet,' he said, hooking another of the cushioned air-beds towards them. Then, dropping down on to it, he faced her steadily. 'We have to talk.'

  'To talk?' In spite of the water she had swallowed in the pool, Isabel's mouth felt suddenly dry. 'I don't think we have anything to talk about, Alex.'

  'That's not the impression you've been giving me,' he remarked softly. 'You wanted to know why I brought you here. Don't you want me to tell you?'

  Isabel lifted her shoulder to escape his touch, and he withdrew his hand at once, sitting cross-legged on the air bed beside her, apparently indifferent to the water trickling down his chest from his wet hair.

  'I—thought you said it was to erase an unpleasant memory,' she countered tautly. Her lips twisted. 'Don't tell me it was to try and effect a reconciliation between me and Chris.'

  'Why would I want to do that?' Alex was sardonic. 'I'm not that benevolent. Chris had his chance, and he blew it. I don't intend to do the same.'

  Isabel swallowed. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  'Oh, I think you do.' His eyes were disturbingly intent. 'In fact, I think you recognised it right from the beginning. You know, they say hatred is akin to love------'

  'No!' Her heart palpitating wildly, Isabel tore her gaze away from his and scrambled to her feet. 'I don't have to listen to this. I'm going to get dressed.'

  'Scared?' he queried, as she started towards the dressing-room, and because she resented his ability to see right through her, she halted.

  'Not—scared,' she contradicted huskily. 'Amazed, perhaps. I never thought I'd see the impassive Mr Alex Seton reduced to speaking in cliches!'

  His lips twitched, and turning, he rested back on his elbows to look up at her. 'I'm not impassive, Isabel,' he informed her wryly. 'Impatient, perhaps; frustrated, certainly. But not impassive. Not where you're concerned.'

  She gasped. 'I don't believe this!'

  'What don't you believe?'

  'I don't believe you're saying what you're saying. Heavens, two days ago, you practically used court­room brutality to make me look a fool!'

  'Not a fool,' he corrected her quietly. 'Just—ig­norant of the facts, that's all. And I did apologise.'

  'And that makes it right?'

  'No.' He abandoned his lazy stance and sat up. 'It just attempts to explain the—ambivalence of my position.'

  Isabel shook her head. 'Is that how you square your conscience?' she enquired scornfully. 'By calling your position ambivalent?'

  Alex sighed, and with a lithe movement, he got to his feet. 'I couldn't—square my conscience, as you put it, even if I wanted to,' he said, a little more forcefully.

  'And this isn't getting us anywhere------'

  'Us?' she snorted.

  'Yes, us,' he insisted, stepping off the air-bed and coming towards her. 'Isabel, you know what I'm talking about.'

  Isabel took a step backward. 'No, I don't.'

  'Yes, you do.' He
considered his words before adding, 'Ever since I came to your apartment that first time, I haven't been able to touch another woman.'

  Isabel's lips parted. 'And is that supposed to mean something?' she demanded. 'My God! Are you blaming me because you're temporarily impotent?'

  Alex closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, she had put at least another three feet between them. 'Don't be crude, Isabel,' he said wearily. 'It doesn't suit you.'

  'Well . . . ' She moved her shoulders nervously. 'What do you expect? Sympathy?'

  Alex's mouth compressed. 'OK, OK.' He gave a careless shrug and turned away, 'If that's the way you want it, go ahead. Get dressed. I'll take a shower, and drive you back to town.'

  'Wait!' The word sprang from her lips before she could prevent it, and although Alex hesitated, even­tually he turned to look at her again.

  'Well?'

  Isabel licked her lips. 'Why—why did you invite me to have lunch with you?'

  His brows arched. 'Do you really want to know, or are you getting ready with some other clever retort?'

  She tried to control her breathing. 'I—really want to know.'

  Alex stepped towards her. 'Because, in spite of everything I've said and done, you were right all along. I do want you. I think I always did.'

  Isabel trembled. 'You mean—you mean------'

  ‘I mean,' said Alex, removing the space between them, 'that ever since I came into the library here and found you with Chris, my feelings for you have never been ambivalent.'

  Isabel shook her head, the wet braid sending a spray of drops across the tiled surround of the pool. 'But you hated me!' she protested.

  'I said my feelings had never been ambivalent,' Alex reminded her softly, stroking damp strands of hair from her forehead with his thumbs. 'I did hate you then; because you were marrying Chris. I hated him, too, but that I could control.'

  Isabel blinked, looking up at him disbelievingly. 'And—and that evening you drove me down from London------'