'Do you mind letting go of me?' She attempted to shake off his hand.
'I rather like the feel of you,' he rejoined. 'What do you call that fluffy stuff?'
'Angora wool.'
'Feels real nice.' He stroked her and she very quickly slapped his hand.
'Look, Mr Coltan, I thought I'd made it plain that I don't play your kind of games.'
'Maybe you did, honey, but that was in working hours and now it's time to relax. I thought I made it plain that I like you—you're a girl with class, aren't you?'
'I'm a girl who happens to be particular,' she said frostily. 'I don't wish to lose my job by being caught with you. We both know that Zandra Salvador wouldn't like it.'
'Why should it concern Doña Zandra if I want to talk to you?' There was a wicked glint in his blue eyes as he spoke. 'She's at least ten years older than me.'
'I feel that wouldn't stop you, Mr Coltan, not if you found a woman attractive.'
'I certainly find you attractive, with that chestnut hair undone by the wind.' His hand tightened on her waist and he pulled her against him before she could resist. 'There's to be a party to welcome home the master of the manor and I'd like to share the evening with you. Come on, live a little or you'll turn into an old maid.'
'What a terrible fate,' Debra mocked, pushing a hand against his chest in an effort to lever herself away from him, but he had the strength and resilience of a dancer and she found herself his very unwilling captive.
'Release me, Mr Coltan,' she said firmly.
'You scared of men and emotion?' he asked, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes as they stroked over her face.
'It takes more than someone like you to make me scared!'
'Someone like El Rodare, for instance?'
Every separate nerve in Debra seemed to give an alarming little jump. 'You'd better mind he doesn't hear you calling him that.'
'You sound in awe of him.' The laughter left the vivid blue eyes and they probed her features. 'Relax, kid, he doesn't know you're alive. The girl he'll be squiring tomorrow evening is the daughter of Morton Chandler, one of the Cornish bigwigs. D'you imagine you can compete with her sort?'
'Is her first name Sharon?' Debra asked thoughtfully.
'That's the lady.'
'I had the idea she was Jack Salvador's girlfriend before he met and married Pauline.'
'Maybe she was, but now she has her eye on his half-brother and it's no secret that the Salvadors would like her in the family. She has what they consider the three essentials: face, fortune and finesse. Be warned, Debra, you and I might amuse these people but we don't really fit in. No more than Pauline did.'
'Did you know her?' Debra eyed him curiously.
'Casually,' he replied. 'She danced in the chorus line of a few of the television shows I starred in. Pauline was a climber, but she lacked the streak of ruthlessness that creates people like the Salvadors. Don't pretend you haven't taken a long look at El Rodare.'
'I—I know what you mean.' From the first moment Debra had looked at Rodare Salvador he had seemed to have an almost barbaric detachment from gentle feelings; a high-and-mighty man, proud of his bloodline even if he had forebears who had strayed from the path of virtue. He probably knew that he was the living image of the family founder.
'You and I are amusing outsiders, honey, but that doesn't mean that we have to be subservient.' Stuart Coltan gave a scornful laugh. 'So how about putting on your party dress tomorrow evening and keeping me company?'
'I—I don't know what to say—' Debra was hesitant, and yet something inside her responded to the idea of dressing up and being a person in her own right instead of being the quiet mouse in the den who got on with her work and bothered no one. 'I haven't been invited to the party by Zandra and I'm not the sort to stroll in with the casual assumption that I'm wanted.'
'You'll be strolling in with me,' Stuart said airily, 'and I've handled tougher propositions than Zandra in my time. She isn't as tough a chick as she likes to pretend, you can take it from me.'
Debra felt sure that she could take it that the good-looking and insouciant Stuart could handle most females. 'Won't she want you to keep her company?' Debra asked.
'Sure, she'd like my company, but the producer of our show is invited to the soiree and he'll expect the VIP treatment, which means that she'll have to be attentive to him.'
'I see.' Debra looked directly at Stuart and once again she found herself thinking how attractive he was, and yet he didn't stir her pulses in the least. 'Are you involved with Zandra?—I hope that doesn't sound as if I'm prying but I don't want her thinking that I'm trying to take you away from her.'
'Honey babe,' he drawled, 'you have my permission to take me away from all other women.'
'I bet!' Debra scoffed. 'Seriously, is Zandra attracted to you?'
His smile answered for him. 'I play up to her because I'm ambitious and she has connections in the right places, but the real truth is that I don't feel drawn to thin brunettes who live on cigarettes and salads.' He looked Debra over in his impudent way. 'You're just the right height for me; you come to my shoulder and I bet we'd dance a dream together. Do you dance?'
'As a matter of fact I do.' Her smile was just a little grave. 'My mother always liked to dance and though, after my father died, we never had much money in the kitty she paid for me to have lessons. I started when I was twelve and went on with them until I was seventeen. My interest grew less when I became interested in my secretarial training. I had made up my mind that I wanted to work for a publishing house and I wanted to be good at my work. Yes, Mr Coltan, I dance, but I don't know many of the modern steps. My teacher was more intent on the Astaire and Rogers type of footwork.'
'But that's great!' Stuart's blue eyes burnt with enthusiasm. 'I go for that myself and consider that it beats all the honky-tonk stuff danced at the disco places. That's for kids!'
Suddenly in his enthusiasm he took Debra by the waist and whirled her around the hall. Involuntarily she fell into step with him and there they were, waltzing around the hall of Abbeywitch when the master of the place suddenly appeared on the scene and stood regarding them, his eyebrows raised.
'Stuart—' All at once Debra caught sight of the tall figure who sardonically watched them. 'Please let's stop!'
'Why should we ever stop?' he grinned. 'You dance like a breeze, do you know it? You're good, honey!'
But even as Stuart paid her the compliment, Debra felt herself stumbling over his feet, and although this brought him to a halt he didn't let go of her.
'We're practising for the party tomorrow evening,' he informed Rodare. 'This hardworking kid wasn't given an official invitation to the party so I decided to remedy the oversight.'
But the Spanish gaze was upon Debra's flushed face. 'I had no idea you were overlooked, Miss Hartway. I understood from Zandra that all the young people would be attending the party.'
'It really doesn't matter,' Debra made an effort to pull away from Stuart. 'I didn't expect to be invited, señor, and Mr Coltan is only fooling around.'
'So I noticed.' The dark eyes flashed in Stuart's direction. 'The pair of you dance well together.'
'Kind of you to say so,' Stuart drawled. 'Even though women weigh less than men they aren't always light on their feet, but Debra is like a swan. She's wasted at the typewriter in that mysterious room where she works, but I guess you Salvadors don't regard the feelings of the hired help with much consideration.'
'It's presumptuous of you to say so.' Rodare swept Stuart up and down and his dark eyes held the tempered glitter which Debra had noticed down on the beach. 'It also seems to me that you are putting pressure upon Miss Hartway with regard to the party my sister has arranged.'
His gaze returned to Debra, who had begun to feel like a bone of contention between a pair of bristling hounds. 'Is this young man trying to persuade you against your will?'
'No—that is I'm not sure—'
A black eyebrow was elevated above those glittering eyes. 'You m
ust know one way or the other whether you want his company or not?'
'I suppose so,' she agreed, 'but it's my business, isn't it? I think I'm entitled to decide for myself.'
'Are you now?'
'I most certainly am, Mr Salvador.'
'Look here,' Stuart broke in, 'this kid works all hours, even on a Sunday, so I think she's entitled to a bit of fun.'
'Provided by you?' Rodare spoke curtly. 'I'm wondering at her wisdom in allowing you to provide it.'
'Holy James, you talk as if I'm not to be trusted with a girl,' Stuart expostulated.
'Maybe you aren't, with a good girl.' Rodare spoke quite deliberately. 'If Miss Hartway is stirred by your looks then I have no argument, but I venture to say that you exceed her in worldly knowledge, so be careful, Mr Coltan. I have my eagle eye on you!'
'Who the devil do you think you are?' Stuart demanded. 'Debra's off duty right now and free to be with me if she wants to be.'
'Miss Hartway is a responsibility of mine while she's employed in my house. She isn't here to provide my sister's friend with amusement, and we both know what I mean by that word, don't we?'
'What damned arrogance.' Stuart was almost snorting with temper. 'This isn't Spain, where the girls are kept behind iron grilles and expected to tease but never touch. Debra isn't a Spanish señorita!'
'Quite so.' The Spanish eyes flicked Debra's hair and face. 'But I venture to say that neither is she very experienced where men are concerned. There is a saying, the hand always reaches for the peaches that cling to the tree.'
'Not just my hand, I bet!'
'Meaning?' Rodare thrust lean hands into the pockets of his doeskin trousers and the action opened his shirt a little wider across his chest, the bronzed skin firm against the muscles, holding Debra's gaze until she realised that she was gazing and quickly looked away. Stuart was right, she told herself. The man was arrogant and she didn't really appreciate being spoken about as if she hadn't long left the schoolroom and didn't know why the bee flew to the flower and why the birds built nests in the trees. Peaches, indeed!
'Meaning,' she interjected, 'that I can take care of myself and don't need either of you snarling at each other over whether or not I go to Miss Salvador's party. She hasn't invited me, so I shan't be going.'
'Debra,' Stuart looked annoyed, and also rather crestfallen, 'you promised—'
'I did nothing of the sort and you know it. I'd feel out of place, anyway—'
'And why is that?' Rodare curtly demanded.
'Because as you said, señor, I'm employed here; I'm not a guest like Mr Coltan. It's really of no consequence; I'm quite happy to read a book, and you have an extensive library, Mr Salvador.'
'Books!' Stuart threw up his hands. 'Honey, no wonder you have to wear those owl-rims when you're working. Soon you'll be wearing them all the time.'
'Which should make me safe from the likes of men,' she said rather heartlessly.
'Of course you'll go to the party.' Rodare spoke in his firmly decisive way. 'It was never in question, and I'm merely reminding Mr Coltan that while you reside beneath my roof I act in a guardian capacity and that means that if any harm came to you at the hands of a Salvador guest I would deal with him in no uncertain manner. It's a matter of honour.'
'Holy James,' Stuart exclaimed, 'don't you ever stop being the high-and-mighty Spaniard? Zandra's right when she says you're the image of that ancestor of yours, the one in the big portrait in the hall. You make the rules and crack the whip, but I bet like him you're not above breaking a few.'
'I make the rules that apply to this house,' Rodare declared, 'and if you feel you can't abide by them, Mr Coltan, then I suggest that you pack your belongings and leave, pronto.'
'Of course Stuart isn't leaving!' High heels clicked on the parquet of the hall floor and Zandra joined the trio, her hand reaching out to clasp Stuart by the arm, her fingernails a deep and fiery red. 'He happens to my guest, Rod, so come down off your damned high horse and inform me what he's supposed to have done to make you breathe fire and sulphur.'
'Your half-brother seems to think I'm out to seduce the typist,' Stuart informed her, his eyes cutting like a blue facet across Debra's face. 'All I was doing was asking her to be my date tomorrow evening—'
'Your what?' Zandra asked, with a deadly kind of quietness.
'Now don't you start,' Stuart laughed. 'I've got to have someone to keep me company while you're sweet-talking the producer-man.'
'Is that a fact, Stuart?' Zandra gave him a blazing look which she suddenly turned on Debra. 'And what do you say to all this, Miss Hartway? Are you longing to keep him company while I'm unavailable?'
Debra was longing to dash up the stairs in search of the common-sense company of Nanny Rose.
'I think Mr Coltan is enjoying a joke at my expense,' she said quietly. 'I rarely go to parties and only when I'm invited.'
'I have invited you.' The voice of Rodare Salvador overrode her softer tones. 'I'm perfectly aware of how hard you have been working on my brother's book and I agree with Mr Coltan that you deserve a little fun—so long as he behaves himself!'
'Well, of all the nerve!'
'Rod, you damned well suit your name!'
The two voices blended together in their annoyance with the tall and inflexible master of the house.
'It's all right,' Debra started towards the stairs, 'I wouldn't dream of intruding.' And she ran up the staircase with the fleetness of a young hare, afraid that Rodare might come leaping after her, snapping those white teeth and commanding her to do as she was told. She hurried along the gallery, telling herself that Zandra was a snob and a jealous one, that Stuart was an inveterate girl-chaser, and Rodare a man who liked to impress his authority upon everyone.
When she walked into the nursery her eyes were intensely green and her pulses were leaping with temper. Stuart Coltan was nothing but a nuisance, and she couldn't imagine what had made her think she was falling in love with Rodare Salvador. Lord help the woman who allowed herself to become his possession!
'Hello, my dear.' Nanny Rose was giving Dean his evening bath, her stout figure enveloped in a towelling apron so the boy's splashing wouldn't penetrate to her uniform. He seemed to have a great love of water and bathtime gave him the opportunity to flood the floor and half-drown anyone who came near him.
'Dibby,' he shouted when he caught sight of Debra. He flung a plastic boat at her in his enthusiasm and when water splashed all over her shoes she had to laugh, feeling a sense of release at being here in the bright and soapy atmosphere of the nursery.
'You look all flushed up.' Nanny Rose handed her a towel so she could wipe her legs. 'Whatever's the matter—your hands are shaking?'
Debra could feel the disturbing tremor not only in her hands but in her knees. 'I'm annoyed,' she admitted. 'I don't think I've ever met such a high-and-mighty devil as Rodare Salvador!'
'I see, so that young man has put the green devils in your eyes, has he?' As Nanny Rose spoke she cocked a warning glance at Dean. 'Not again, my lovey, you play with your boaties in the bath.'
Debra sat down in the rocking-chair and broke into a reluctant smile. 'He'd arouse the devil in a nunnery,' she said.
'I daresay he would—going to have a cup of tea with me?' Nanny Rose switched on the kettle.
'I'd love a cup of tea.' Debra spoke from the heart.
'Nothing like it for settling the nerves.' Tea spoons clinked in saucers and from the direction of the bath came the joyous sound of splashing as Dean dive-bombed his boats in and out of the water. A contented child with a caring nanny who had no idea that his young mother was dead and his father perhaps at the other side of the world, licking his wounds.
'I'm afraid, duckie,' Nanny Rose measured tea into the pot, 'that Mr Rodare is the sort who brings lightning in with him. Sometimes in the valleys you come across that sort of man—I was acquainted with one when I was just a slip of a girl. He sang like an angel in the local choir, but was always at the centre of a
ny trouble at the pit. A big, dark-haired chap, with fire in his eyes. Every girl had her eye on him and yet at the same time he scared them silly. Then killed he was, when a gas explosion took place down in one of the tunnels. He could have saved himself, but according to one of the lads who did manage to get out, David bach stayed to try and help the trapped pit ponies and died with the poor scared creatures.'
Nanny Rose opened a tin of biscuits and poured out the tea. 'I see something of his look in Mr Rodare. They are men who play on the imagination. They are men whose words and deeds always seem that bit more significant— so what's he been doing to upset you, my lass?'
'He's been throwing his weight about.' Debra sipped her tea, which was always extra nice here in the nursery because Nanny Rose used good tasty Indian tea rather than the China tea which the Salvadors preferred.
Debra described the scene which had taken place down in the hall. 'Stuart and the señor were snarling at each other like a pair of angry hounds,' she sighed, 'and there I was in the middle of them. Then Zandra appeared and things got bitchy. I took to my heels and scampered upstairs, for the last thing I want is arguments over whether or not I go to this party Zandra has arranged. If she had wanted me there I would have been asked. It was Stuart's fault I got dragged into the argument, and Rodare Salvador obviously felt obliged to issue an invitation . . . along with a strong hint that Stuart behave himself because he thinks I'm too naive to be able to take care of myself.'
Debra broke off in exasperation. 'You'd think I was about sixteen years old and had no experience of life to hear that man issue commands! He made such an issue of it, and it was as if he deliberately enjoyed baiting Stuart.'
'Not going soft over that young American, are you?' Nanny Rose regarded Debra with a frown. 'He's a bit too good-looking and he knows it, flashing those blue eyes of his at every creature in a skirt. He even comes in here with his charm turned on, and I'm old enough to be his mother!'
'Does he often come to the nursery?' Debra looked intrigued. 'I can't picture him being fond of children, least of all a year-old infant such as Dean.'
'You can't always tell about people, as I've learnt over the years.' Nanny Rose went and lifted Dean out of his bath and, wrapping him in a towel, brought him wriggling to her chair, where she sat rubbing him dry.
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