Melissa had emerged from her treatment, taken one look at his face and left the salon looking just as tense as she had when she'd entered it. There had been no time for introductions; he had barely allowed his sister time to write a cheque before whisking her away. The only pleasant moment had been when he'd first set eyes on Melissa, and his face had registered momentary surprise at her appearance. The make-up job Grace had done on her had been superb; it was subtle and flattering, bringing out the best in the young woman's features—not that that had been difficult.
Demetrius Knight had been momentarily taken aback, had blinked and muttered something about her looking grown-up. Grace had turned away at that point, not wishing to show her annoyance. Grown-up? Melissa was grown-up, she was eighteen. Oh, she seemed younger than her years in some respects, but she was hardly the child he treated her as, and Grace did not believe she was 'wild', in spite of the loss of her driving licence.
'I'll go and dress,' she told her father. 'What time are we expecting them?'
'Seven for eight, I told you that last night.'
So he had. She sighed inwardly and made her way upstairs. The manor was a large, old house which she loved dearly, every nook and cranny of it. But it was good to have her own rooms, not just a bedroom and bathroom, but her own sitting-room and an office as well. They were decorated and furnished precisely to her taste and were something of a sanctuary to her, especially when her father was in one of his particularly non-communicative moods, like just now. She flipped on a cassette, kicked off her shoes and headed for her bedroom.
She would decide what to wear before she bathed. There was plenty to choose from in her wardrobe, but she wanted something appropriate, something which would be smart but not stuffy.
The telephone rang before she had made a decision. It was Rodney Featherstone, an old friend of her brother's whom she went out with occasionally. She had a date with him for the following evening, he was taking her in to London to see a new musical. Or rather—he should have been.
'You've got to cancel?' She wasn't perturbed, she was sorrier about missing the show than not seeing him.
'Don't sound so upset.' Rodney was laughing at her. 'Anyhow, I'm sorry, Grace, but I have to go to Birmingham for the weekend.'
'Have to, Rodney?' She sank on to the side of her bed, grinning now. 'Who is she?'
'Grace! Would I cancel a date with you for the sake of seeing some other woman?'
'Certainly.' And why shouldn't he? She and he were friends, that was all.
'You wound me. No, it's a party, one I really can't get out of. I'm going with my parents. Somebody's silver wedding.'
She wasn't going to let him off easily. 'That sounds like so much nonsense. Silver weddings are not things which creep up on people, they're planned in advance.'
He was laughing at her again. 'Grace, you are adorable, you know that? I think I love you.'
'Then explain yourself.'
'I was told about it six months ago,' he said, 'and forgot. I didn't put it in my diary because it didn't exactly stick in my mind at the time. But Ma and Pa will be put out if I let them down, we've all known these people for yonks.'
'Humph.'
'Grace? Grace!'
'Oh, all right, all right. Have fun. Ring me next week or whenever.' And with that she hung up, Rodney being instantly forgotten as she went back to her wardrobe.
An hour later she was sitting in front of her dressing-table, putting the finishing touches to her make-up. She had started from scratch, having bathed and washed her hair. It hung loosely to her shoulders, a black sheet moving like silk, shining as the light caught it. She stood and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, aware that she wanted to make a good impression on Demetrius Knight, and annoyed with herself for wanting to. It was just that she wanted to look different, to present a different image from the woman who had been wearing a white overall earlier in the day, the woman he had spoken to as if she were a servant.
Well, she had achieved that. The black cashmere dress clung lovingly to her figure and looked good with the silver belt, high-heeled sandals and silver drop ear-rings. Plain and simple and tasteful, she looked expensive, sophisticated but not severe. Giving the impression of severity had been tempting but not appropriate, considering Melissa, which was why she had left her hair down.
Moving to the windows which overlooked the back of the house, she pulled the curtains aside and looked out. The moon was high and full, the night windy, the sky as clear as ice. In the distance was Colonel Barrington's property—the Knights' property now—but she couldn't actually see it. The woods obscured the view. Nearer home, shapes she could make out were those of the stables where her yearling, Annabel, was housed, and the paddocks and outhouses. She wondered idly whether Melissa could ride. Perhaps they could go riding together?
Melissa and her brother arrived on the dot of seven, and were shown in to the drawing-room where Grace and her father were waiting. Matilda showed them in; these days she was the only staff who lived in, apart from the gardener who had a small cottage on the edge of the property. The cleaning of the manor was done by a local woman who came in from ten till four on weekdays, and Sir Nigel's chauffeur didn't work at weekends.
Seeing Demetrius Knight again was a shock. It shouldn't have been, but it was. There was no stress, no tension in his features now, his face and his entire body were relaxed as he walked into the drawing-room, and Grace couldn't help noticing that he moved lightly, lithely for a man his size. He was big but not as bulky as she'd imagined, now she saw him without his overcoat. Dressed in a light grey, fine wool suit, a pale blue shirt and contrasting tie, he looked undeniably elegant. His height contributed to that impression, he was a good six inches taller than she, in spite of her heels.
Melissa was hanging back a little, looking uncertain, and it was at her that Grace smiled before turning to her brother. Quite deliberately, she asked Melissa to introduce them.
'There's hardly any need for that,' Demetrius intervened, his voice smooth, his unbelievably dark eyes looking straight into hers. 'We've already met, remember?'
'I remember, Mr Knight.' Grace held out her hand, she was going to have this right and proper whether he liked it or not. 'Grace Allinson… at your service.'
'Good God!' Sir Nigel laughed at her. 'You're being very formal, darling girl!'
But the crack had not gone unappreciated. Demetrius Knight was smiling now… and it was all Grace could do to keep her sudden intake of breath silent. Unlike Melissa, he looked Greek; his skin was olive-coloured, making the contrast of white teeth quite startling. Lights of amusement appeared in the depths of his eyes as he took the proffered hand and bowed—formally, mockingly.
Grace's eyes skimmed involuntarily over the bowed head of hair as black as coal, a riot of curls kept very short in an effort to tame them. For an instant she thought he was going to raise her hand to his lips. She was quite wrong about that. There was nothing flowery about this man, not in any way. One dark eyebrow rose sardonically as he looked down at her. 'How do you do?'
Melissa giggled before another word could be said. 'Demetrius was astonished when I told him who you were earlier.'
'I can imagine.' Grace smiled up at him, her sweetest perfect-hostess smile.
'Naturally, I had no way of knowing.'
'But it shouldn't have made any difference, knowing my name. Still, if you had, I'm sure you wouldn't have been so… brusque?'
The lights in his eyes went out, instantly. Only then did he let go of her hand, releasing it abruptly from his uncomfortably tight grasp. 'Clearly I made a very bad impression.'
Sir Nigel stepped forward. 'And you must be Melissa. I've heard so much about you.' He took the younger girl's hand and shook it. Her eyes flitted firstly to her brother and then to Grace, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
'Now you've really worried her, Daddy! Come on, Melissa, sit yourself down and tell us what you'd like to drink.'
She asked for a swe
et sherry, her brother asked for a Scotch on the rocks. Sir Nigel saw to the drinks while Grace plunged into small talk—it was going to be one of those evenings. She felt she had a lot in common with Melissa, more than the men would realise, but nothing at all with Demetrius.
'Melissa mentioned that you moved your head offices to Bracknell recently, Mr Knight. Does that mean you'll be spending most of your time there?'
Several seconds passed before he answered. It was so long a time, so uncomfortable a time because he did no more than look at her, that Grace began to wonder what she'd said wrong. 'Mr Knight?'
'Not necessarily,' he said finally. 'And the name is Demetrius. I'm sure my sister mentioned also that we're half-Greek.'
'Yes, I—she did.' Grace was ruffled. Somehow he had managed to put her down, at least, that was how she felt. He was sitting several yards from her, yet she could feel the irritation emanating from him. She dragged her eyes from his glare and addressed Melissa. 'On whose side?'
'Our mother's. Our father was English.'
'I'm sure Miss Allinson had gathered that much, Melissa.'
'Grace,' she corrected. 'Please.'
'One waits to be invited,' he told her, inclining his head in acknowledgement. 'Does one not?'
Grace was regretting everything she'd said from the moment he'd walked in. She should not have let her animosity show, clever though she thought she'd been with it. He had picked it up all right, picked it up, added to it, and was throwing it back at her now. She would get no change whatever out of this man. For a moment she was stuck for words.
He spoke next. 'You've lived around here all your life, I take it?'
'Give or take a couple of years. I lived in London when I was training.'
'Training? Ah yes, as a beautician.' There was a small smile, just a slight pause before he said the last word.
'A beauty therapist, if you don't mind.'
'Which implies there's a difference?'
There was a difference: a beautician was concerned mainly with surface appearance, hair-dressing, make-up, manicure and so on, while a beauty therapist dealt with much more, with myriad problems, and underwent a very thorough and comprehensive training. 'There is a difference. A beauty—'
'You'll have to explain it to me some time.' He cut her off, turning to accept the drink Sir Nigel was handing him. 'Cheers, Nigel.' He glanced from his host to his hostess, allowing a grin. 'I have to say it came as a surprise today, Nigel, when I learned that your daughter panders to the vanity of women. Tell me, Grace, is it exploitation of the idle, the ugly or the overweight? Or all three?'
Oh, he was clever! Grace was unaware of the way her fingers dug into the arms of her chair. She couldn't believe her ears. He had delivered his questions, his insults, smilingly, smoothly, so casually that he had Sir Nigel laughing, oblivious to his sarcasm, his rudeness.
Melissa leapt immediately to Grace's defence, but the older girl held up a hand. 'Oh, don't worry about that. In their ignorance, lots of men make such silly remarks. If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll see how dinner's progressing.'
Out, she had to get out of the room for a moment. She was fuming. She went into the kitchen, closed the door behind her and just stood there, breathing deeply.
'Miss Grade?' Matilda threw her a look of concern, reverting to the name they had called her as a child. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes, of course, Matty. I—I don't think our new neighbours are going to be the easiest people to entertain,' she added lightly.
'Our new neighbours? Is that who they are? I thought they were people Sir Nigel knew from London.'
'They are. Well, the gentleman is.' Gentleman? The word almost stuck in her throat.
'And they're the ones who've bought the Colonel's house? I know there's been a lot of alterations going on over there.'
'You know more than I do.'
'Oh, yes, I hear they've been knocking walls down and all sorts of things. They're having a swimming pool put in, too.'
It was always like that with Matty. Where she got her information was a mystery. 'Mmm.' Grace turned to leave.
'But—did you want something?' The housekeeper was at a loss. 'I mean, did you want to ask me something?'
'No, Matty. I just came in for a breather.'
She rejoined her guests in the drawing-room, composed again.
Towards the end of dinner Sir Nigel and Demetrius slipped into business talk, about stocks and shares and some company which had just gone bust. Such talk was inevitable, Grace supposed, and as soon as they'd finished eating she suggested that she and Melissa left them to it. 'I'm going to show Melissa around the house, Daddy. We'll join you and Demetrius shortly for coffee.'
They hardly acknowledged her. She turned to Melissa. 'Would you like me to show you around?'
The girl was obviously relieved and not merely being polite, for her eyes lit up. 'I'd love it. I was admiring that panelling in the hall and—have you got a library?'
'You bet.' Grace was amused, but Melissa's interest in the house was genuine. She asked questions about its history and she made intelligent remarks about the place, going on to say what she had planned for her own new home.
'Demetrius is leaving it up to me—more or less. Doing the house over is my project, and I have almost a free hand.'
'Really?' They were upstairs by then, in Grace's rooms. She wanted to show her surprise, but it wouldn't have been tactful.
'I know, it's great, isn't it? I'm enjoying it, I'm interested in interior design. I—' She broke off, her expression changing. ' 'Course, I know why he's letting me do it. It's to keep me quiet. He just wants to keep me out of his hair.'
She looked straight at the elder girl. Her resentment of her brother was evident, but Grace could hardly say what she herself thought about him. It was one thing for Melissa to resent him, quite another to let her own dislike be known. 'Oh, I'm sure you're exaggerating,' she said laughingly.
'I am not! Worse still, now I've lost my licence I'm trapped. Don't you see? I'm going to be a prisoner in that house. It's so far flung I don't see how I'm going to get away without relying on him to drive me. Which he won't.'
There are such things as taxis, you know. Even out here!'
'Do you know what he suggested? That I should get a bike. A bike! Did you ever?'
'What's wrong with that? By the way, do you ride? Horses, I mean.'
'No.' Melissa flopped into a chair. 'Why?'
'Because we keep a couple. I—would you like to learn?'
She brightened, and looked delighted. 'Yes, I'd love to. Demetrius can ride, but he's never offered to teach me.'
Grace had put herself on the spot. She hadn't been thinking of teaching Melissa herself, she'd been thinking of recommending someone at the local stables. Oh, well. Why not? 'All right, I'll give you your first lesson on Sunday—if you're free.'
'What about tomorrow? Do you work Saturdays?'
'The salon's open till lunch time on Saturdays, and we close all day Tuesdays. I don't always go in but—in any case, Sunday would be better for me.'
'No, I didn't mean that. I wondered if you'd like to come over and look at my car tomorrow? In the afternoon?'
'Yes, OK. About what time?'
'Any time after lunch. May I use your bathroom before we go downstairs?'
'Of course. I'll see you in the drawing-room. Can you find your way back?'
'Grace, the house isn't that big!'
Demetrius was alone when Grace went down. Their eyes met and clashed. She lowered herself into a chair, asking what had happened to her father.
'He's taking a telephone call in his study.' There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 'Must be something urgent.'
She shrugged. 'It often is.'
'I suppose you share your father's politics?' He was surveying her openly, his eyes moving slowly over her from top to toe, then lingering on her legs.
'This may come as a shock to you, but I'm apolitical these days.'
Hi
s dark, heavy eyebrows went up. 'This, from the daughter of a Member of Parliament?'
'What shall we say, that I'm the teetotalling daughter of a drunken father, so to speak? I'm not interested any more. All my life I've heard politics, politics, politics and it all seems like a game to me.'
'A very serious game, Grace.'
She tossed her head back, wishing someone would join them, for the two of them had nothing to say to each other. 'I'm coming over to look at Melissa's car tomorrow afternoon. Did she tell you I'm interested in buying it?'
'I'm glad to hear it. It's a good buy. Of course, it's entirely her business.' His face tightened. 'She's responsible for the vehicle.' He paused, shook his head slightly. 'Do you know why it's for sale?'
Grace smiled. 'She lost her licence for twelve months. Drinking and driving.'
'Speeding.' He almost hissed the word. 'Not only was she half plastered, she was doing one hundred and twenty down the motorway.'
It was no smiling matter, Grace knew that, but she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. His annoyance was delighting her. Very lightly she told him, 'Well, we've all been eighteen at some point or other.'
The words had barely left her mouth when she was jumped on. 'Eighteen? Eighteen? When I was eighteen I didn't have a car of my own. When I was eighteen I was not merely earning my own living but running a business. If you think—'
'Demetrius.' It was Melissa, speaking from the doorway. 'I'm back now, so you'd better stop talking about me.'
'Sit down and shut up! Since you managed to get our name mentioned in the newspapers, since your irresponsibility is no secret to anyone, you can hardly complain if I talk about it.'
Melissa sat, her eyes moving to Grace as if to say, 'You see?'
Grace saw. She saw a man who was intolerant, who had no idea how it felt to be eighteen in today's world, and lacking confidence. Pointedly she asked, 'How long is it since your mother died, Melissa?'
'She died when I was twelve.'
'And what happened then?'
'Demetrius put me in a boarding-school. I was living in Greece at the time, but he brought me back here and put me in a convent school in Derbyshire.'
Playing Safe Page 3