It was a beautiful morning. As they drove along the deserted moorland road the air felt soft against her cheeks, full of warm promise, and high into a cloudless sky a lark soared, light as her heart, its trill of pleasure an echo of her own rising excitement. Thor glanced down at her while he drove, his lips quirking as he recognized childish anticipation on her expressive face. 'Pixie face,' he murmured, then at her surprised look he continued on a different tack. 'The thought of visiting town obviously pleases you.' He sighed with mock resignation. 'I suppose I'm to be subjected to the wearisome chore of escorting you around the shops—an exercise in which females seem to delight?'
Blue eyes widened with surprise. 'Oh, no… I wouldn't dream of expecting… anyway, you have business to attend to, you said so.'
His enigmatic smile was as intriguing as his laconic response. 'Why must it always be assumed that business can be conducted only in official places?'
Raine could think of no answer to that, so, sensing he would refuse to elaborate further, she abandoned the subject to confess, 1 am rather looking forward to doing a bit of window shopping, to studying the latest fashions. I'm not a bad dressmaker really, once I managed to copy an evening dress so exactly———' She stopped, conscious of his sudden interest, and the vague memory vanished. Desolation swamped her, all the bubbling excitement she had been feeling, the happiness, the sheer joy of living, fled before the reminder of his doubt about her loss of memory. It would be useless trying to explain to .a disbeliever how these tantalizing remnants of her past could float within reach, then disappear the moment they came within grasp.
Her dejection went so deep she was not aware that he had run off the road until he applied the brake, halting the car with a savage jerk. Even then she did not bother to look up, but waited with downcast eyes for the expected catechism.
'You mustn't concern yourself so much.’ The pity in his voice was 'unbelievable. 'I'm sorry I haven't been of much help:—my stupid blindness to the state of your clothes, for instance—but———'.
'Sorry? Why should you be sorry to see me dressed like the tramp you've always insisted I am?' Dignity lifted her chin and added sparkle to eyes previously dulled.
Conscience caused him to flush. 'I was wrong.' The admission, almost strangled by pride, had difficulty forcing a way past his lips. Thor the master, the self-sufficient, the law unto himself, was not used to unbending, especially not to a woman.
'Over the past weeks I've realized more and 'more the impossibility of your ever filling such a role,' he grated, resentful of having to woo her forgiveness yet grimly set to stay the course. 'In a thousand ways you've impressed upon all of us your inherent good breeding, and though you're no fashion plate,' he -opined bluntly, 'you possess an elegance that enables one to overlook the fact that you're clothed in rags.'
She winced, but quickly reviving spirits tugged her drooping mouth upwards. On a deeply indrawn breath she demanded, 'Are you saying you now believe me?'
'Without reservation,' he amazed her by answering, 'I don't believe you would ever willingly lie.'
As they neared civilization, passing occasional cars, a sprinkling of farms, then a gradual build up of houses, her boyish frame felt barely able to contain a swell of happiness. When traffic became thicker Thor had to concentrate on his driving, so nothing further was said until they reached the outskirts of York where, as they approached, Raine was riveted by the sight of mellow stone fashioning the walls and archways of the ancient fortress city. . 'How wonderful!' she gasped, and was lost for further words as they entered narrow streets where tiny shops, their ancient roofs dipping and swaying, jostled shoulder to shoulder, their medieval frontages vying to catch the interest of passers-by. It took little imagination to picture the cobbled streets ringing to the sound of horses' hooves as carriages deposited crinolined ladies on the very doorsteps of genteel establishments; to drapers eager to display huge bolts of cloth; to candy makers where they could dither over red lips, coconut kisses, humbugs or heart-shaped cachous chosen either for the aptness of their printed mottoes or as a means of acquiring a sweetly-scented breath; or to a milliners to have designed a poke bonnet strewn with ribbons and rosebuds.
She abandoned her fantasies when the central tower of the Minster rose up in front of them, a church of honey-coloured stone built hundreds of years before on the site of a Roman legionary fortress, Thor told her, his words barely penetrating her rapt enjoyment of the magnificent stone edifice sculpted with dragons' heads, gargoyles, pious saints with hands clasped in prayer and windows of coloured glass with heart-shaped tracery showing a knight and his lady come on pilgrimage to St. Peter, the Minster's patron saint.
Realization that the car had drawn to a standstill came as a shock, and for confused seconds she had to fight-her way out of the past in order to make sense of Thor's words.
'Do you intend sitting there all day?' he asked pleasantly.
She scrambled from the car, hopping from one foot to the other while he made sure each door was secure, and felt immense disappointment when, instead of offering to show her around the Minster, he led her firmly in the opposite direction, ignoring the longing glances she kept casting over her shoulders.
'Can't we take just one peep inside?' she begged, dragging her feet.
'Later,' he promised. First of all we must attend to a matter of some urgency.'
Raine trotted to keep up with his giant strides, wondering as she did so why he should consider her presence necessary to the success of his business, and was more than ever puzzled when he .stopped outside of a large department store set in the middle of a shopping precinct. 'This ought to do,' he grunted, edging her through plate glass doors then into a lift that whisked them upwards, disgorging them finally into an over-heated, thickly carpeted department lined with racks of coats, suits and dresses.
'A dress for this young woman,' he instructed an approaching saleslady, hiding his embarrassment under a crust of ill humour. The woman stared at the red-bearded giant clutching the hand of a shrinking figure which at first sight she had taken to be a boy. But when, upon more detailed examination, she glimpsed an eye-catching line of thigh, a suggestion of curves and the promise of a slender waist buried beneath the voluminous sweater she smiled encouragement towards the frightened child. The morning which had began as boringly as any other now seemed to teem with promise. Briskly she escorted them to an isolated corner and after flourishing a curtain across the vision of giggling juniors, waved Thor towards a chair and concentrated her attention upon Raine.
'What sort of dress does Madame require—cocktail, evening or day wear?'
'One of each,' Thor instructed, perching uneasily astride a spindle-legged chair.
When the assistant drifted away, Raine rounded furiously to hiss, 'I don't want you to buy me clothes, I'll wait until I have some money of my own!'
'When will that be?' he returned calmly. 'If our plan is to work you must dress respectably. Britt knows I'm not short of money and would be sure to suspect something was amiss if you continued going around dressed like a scarecrow. Besides,' the fragile chair creaked as he leant forward to stress, 'you've worked darned hard these past weeks without pay, so however much your outfit costs it can come out of your accumulated wages.'
She was given no chance to argue further. For the next hour a bewildering selection of outfits were paraded in front of her, most of them, it seemed to her shocked eyes, being given Thor's nod of approval. Even an evening dress presented by the enthusiastic saleslady, who by now was convinced she was involved in the .choosing of a trousseau, was included among the clothes piled high on one side ready for removal to the car.
When finally he was satisfied they had purchased all she needed, he drew her out of earshot of the inquisitive saleslady and murmured, 'Do you think you can manage on your own for an hour or two? I'll come back for this lot,' he nodded towards the parcels, 'after I've seen to some business of my own.' Seeming in a desperate hurry to be on his way, he-pushe
d a bundle of banknotes into her hand. 'There must be other fripperies you need,' he mumbled. ‘I’ll pick you up outside the main entrance in a couple -of hours.' He was gone before she - could protest, eating up the 'carpet with his rangy stride so that in no time at all his tall figure had disappeared from view and she was left clutching the bundle of notes, her heart overflowing with strange, new, inexplicable emotions.
Undecided, she bit her lip, hovering between a desire to push the money into her pocket in order to return it intact, and the necessity of acquiring fresh underwear—a need even more urgent now that she had piles of new clothes. Still tussling with her conscience, she made her way out of the department, descended a flight of stairs, passed tempting displays without a glance, then was abruptly halted by the absence of an exit out of the department into which she had wandered. She looked around and .drew in an envious breath, her problem resolved. No girl could help but covet the rainbow display of frothing lace, silks and chiffons fashioned into slips, nightdresses and negligees so ethereal a puff of wind could have blown them away.
She reached out to caress with one finger a luxurious sweep of candy-pink nylon and at a touch was lost, overwhelmed by the temptation to feel once again the pleasant stroke of silk against her skin, to feel fresh, clean, feminine! ;
Within fifteen minutes, with, the help of an obliging assistant^ she had purchased all she needed, then flushed with excitement, she gathered up her parcels and made her way back to the dress department to add them: to the waiting pile.
'Does Madame wish to wear one of the dresses now?.' The question, accompanied by a sweeping glance over her dreadful sweater, was. unmistakable in implication.
'Yes… why not?’ Raine stammered, the prospect of surprising Thor with a completely new image heightening the colour in her cheeks. 'Leave out the yellow one,' she decided, full of eager impatience to be clothed in a dress the colour of sunshine.
Her fingers trembled so much she could barely hook up a diaphanous brassiere and her limbs shivered their delight as a silken slip slid across her skin and-settled sensuously around her curves. She could have purred with pleasure. Her heart was racing like a mad thing, her knees wilting, and when finally she pirouetted before a mirror wearing the yellow dress her face was that of a happy pixie, eyes brilliant, her expression full of joy.
'Might I offer a further suggestion?' The saleswoman felt blinded by the brilliance of Raine's smile. 'We have a hairdressing salon here in the store—if you like, I could make you an appointment.'
Raine's hand flew to her tangled mop of hair. 'You're very kind,' she faltered, 'it would be nice to have a hair-do, but my friend will be returning in just over an hour and I mustn't keep him waiting.'
'But there's every chance that the salon will fit you in immediately,' she was assured.
A short time later she was ensconced in a cubicle, squirming under the surveillance of a young man who, if his frown was indicative, did not think much of the challenge that had been thrown his way. As he smoothed a comb through her hair his frown darkened. 'Hmmm… the condition of your hair is good, but the cutting…!' She actually felt him shudder. 'I'll do the best I can, but whoever styled Madame's hair must have used a hatchet!’
She enjoyed the pampered luxury of a shampoo and set, but fidgeted under the drier, barely able to contain her eagerness to see the finished result. When the last roller had been removed the success of the young man's artistry was immediately evident. Carefully he smoothed his comb through a neat black cap that captured perfectly, the elfin quality he had been quick to recognize, feathering strands across her brow and cheeks to give heir the look of a cheeky urchin. He even unbent-far enough to smile agreement when she gasped, 'How clever of you—my hair looks wonderful!'
She was teetering on her toes outside the main entrance of the store, enjoying the pinch of new shoes, when she saw Britt striding in her direction. She blushed self-consciously when his glance flickered over her, then felt humiliated when he passed her by without a word of acknowledgement.� While she waited for Thor she kept sneaking looks at her image reflected in the plate glass windows, feeling mounting excitement at the knowledge that she was looking better than she-had ever looked before. She swung round to scan the crowd and saw Britt retracing his steps, obviously on the look-out for someone. She braced; then when he came within earshot she hailed him. 'Hello, Britt, I had no idea you intended coming to York. Is Vulcan with you?'
To her surprise he seemed disconcerted, his face registering the acute embarrassment of a person at a loss to place the identity of an acquaintance.
I'm terribly sorry——' he began, then in that split second recognition was mutual.
'Thor—you've shaved off your beard!'
'Good lord!' was his blank, stunned reply.
‘I thought you were Britt,' she rambled, weak in voice and at the knees. 'It wasn't until you spoke, your voice is so much deeper…'
'Like a clapped-out fdgh6rri,' he agreed' wryly, without interrupting his amazed assessment.
'Like a rich, resonant bell,' she dimpled, feeling suddenly shy of the handsome stranger who was eyeing her with such approval.
'You have very shapely legs.' He stepped back for a better view, his teasing twinkle adding to her confusion.
Raine fought for composure and breathed a laugh. 'Haven't you seen them before?' A flood of confusion overwhelming her as suddenly she recalled wakening in a strange bedroom stripped of her clothes and wearing an unfamiliar nightdress.
'Once,' he confirmed her worst suspicions, 'but in rather more clinical circumstances.'
He was enjoying her discomfiture, she realized, struggling unsuccessfully to equate the old Thor , with the new. It was as if the barber and shaved away not only his beard but also the scowl that generally accompanied it, and with the disappearance of the two he looked years younger and disturbingly handsome.
He relented, taking pity on the elfin figure, so petite he felt a need to pick her up and put her in his pocket for safe keeping. Gruffly, because the thought amazed him, he reached for her hand and offered, 'I know you're dying to tour the city, where would you like to begin?'
Naturally, she chose the Minster. She would willingly have spent the whole of their allotted time within the awe-inspiring cathedral, revelling in an atmosphere soaked in history, reading aloud inscriptions chased upon stone couches supporting lifelike effigies of those entombed, or simply gazing in silence upon the beauty wrought in glass and stone. But he allowed her only one hour to examine the interior before ushering her towards a spiral staircase cut from stone leading, he informed her, up to the roof.
The steps seemed never-ending hundreds of them, fan-shaped, curling up and up, so narrow in, width that at times Thor's broad shoulders were brushing the supporting walls. Laughingly, he encouraged her when three-quarters of the way up she called a halt, pleading exhaustion…
'Just one final effort,' he urged, propelling her forward with hands that descended firmly around her waist. His touch was electric. Volts of energy tingled along her spine and every nerve was alerted by a vibrancy that flowed upon contact, shocking in its urgency. Her faltering footsteps regained speed as she tried to outreach the hands that were burning an imprint on her skin, but he seemed determined to retain his hold and merely quickened his steps, proving with a chuckle the lack of strain involved in the effort.
The view when they finally reached the roof was well worth the strenuous assent. Alone in their eyes, they looked down upon a toy town populated by pygmies, tiny cars and buses, threaded by rivers, landscaped with inch-square lawns and miniature oak trees. Wind whipped ruffling fingers through her hair, and as she reached up to protect it he captured her hands within his grasp.
'Leave it!' he commanded. 'I prefer it that way.'
She trembled when his fingers began combing gently through the sculptured cap, loosening tendrils that fluttered in a breeze as crazily erratic as her heart. She turned her head aside, pretending interest in the scene below, an
d felt cast adrift on powerful seas when his fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. 'Fey creature,' she heard him murmur. 'Celtic witch! He swooped, crushing her lips beneath his urgent mouth. It was a strange kiss, containing curiosity, an urge to experiment, and an indifference to response that was insulting. Raine fought hard against an instinct to surrender to the man she had come to love—so stealthily that the knowledge came as a shock. She would have given everything of herself had she felt loved, but his actions betrayed mere physical need, his methods barely short of plunder!
Feeling soiled by his touch, she tore out of his arms and employed her only means of defence— scorn—the one weapon guaranteed to scar a man of pride.
'Had I realized the kind of payment you would expect, I would have walked around in rags indefinitely rather than accept your charity!’
He whitened, and for a moment she felt sure he was about to strike her, yet she felt no fear—her feelings were too ravaged to allow further pain. Neither did she feel pity for the man whose chiselled features wore the outraged mask of one whose ego has been flicked raw. How dared he expect to find her willing to fulfil a passing whim!
Making a supreme effort, he weathered the insult, scorning even to deny the accusation flung so bitterly at his head.
'Shall we go?' When he indicated with a curt nod the circular swoop of stairs Raine stumbled towards them wishing, as she began .the long trek down, that she had wings with which to flee the shadow casting fury over her dejected head.
The day that had begun with a jump for joy ended with a feeling that someone had-moved the ground from beneath her feet. Not a word was exchanged between them during the furious drive back to Danes' Dyke. The sun still shone, the sky was just as blue, the birdsong as sweet, but within the confines of the car the atmosphere was explosive enough to be ignited by a single rash word.
The Girl at Danes' Dyke - Margaret Rome Page 7