Playing Safe

by Claudia Jameson

  'Which you enjoyed?'

  'Which I hated! I was as lonely as hell.'

  Demetrius rolled his eyes at the expression. 'And much good the convent did you.' He glanced at his watch, a surreptitious glance but Grace caught it. Was he bored to death? Whatever, he dismissed the subject of his sister and Grace assumed he had missed the point she had been trying to make. The girl was still lonely, couldn't he see that?

  When they left at a little after eleven, Grace went up to bed thinking about them, about both of them. Oddly enough, at some point during the evening she had felt a twinge of sympathy for Demetrius Knight, in spite of his hardness. He might not know how to handle his young sister, but he was by no means indifferent to her. He was intolerant, impatient and overly strict, but he did care, that much was obvious.

  On the one hand she found herself wanting to help, if she could, on the other hand she wanted to keep away from them, both of them. It would be wiser not to get involved with her new neighbours. And then she remembered the riding lessons for Melissa.

  It was too late. She was already involved.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'And finally,' Melissa said with a flourish, 'the piece de resistance!'

  'But—this is amazing! I'm impressed, Melissa. Boy, am I impressed!'

  'Do you like it?'

  'Like it? I love it!' Grace spoke truthfully. She gazed around the half-finished pool room, shaking her head in wonder. Melissa had such style, taste, flair, such—imagination!

  The Knights' property was not as old as Allinson Manor; it had been built during the twenties, and it was on three storeys including the attics. Grace knew the building well, although she hadn't actually set foot in it for over two years.

  The room they were standing in was new, part of an extension which would house a swimming pool, a sauna, changing room and showers. As for the rest of the house, it was almost unrecognisable. The work in progress was advanced and, while there was still plenty of chaos, would be completed within a matter of weeks. Grace had been given a tour by Melissa, who constantly rejected compliments and credit by saying how much Demetrius' architect had helped her. Or by saying how quick and cooperative the builders were, men who were her brother's employees in his construction business.

  Nevertheless, the credit was due to her for her vision. It was she who had seen the extension in her mind's eye to begin with, she who had imagined walls knocked through, rooms made bigger, archways in place. And much more. It was she who had chosen the decorations, the carpets, curtains, lighting and much of the furniture which had yet to be delivered.

  Grace had been with her for over an hour. She had seen nothing of Demetrius but she knew he was home. He was in his office, the one room in the house she had not been in. On getting here she had glimpsed his silver Mercedes in the double garage at the back of the house, standing next to the BMW she had come to inspect—which she hadn't yet got round to.

  'Have a look around first,' Melissa had said. 'But we won't go in the office, because Demetrius is in there working. It was the room that got first priority, had to be finished first, even before our bedrooms. Heaven forbid he shouldn't have an office in his home!'

  This room, the pool room, had been last on the agenda and was partly tiled. That was, the tiling in the pool had been finished, in tiny, blue mosaic tiles which had been imported from Italy. The walls were, as yet, half done, the tiling on the floor not yet started.

  'The floor tiling will finish here,' Melissa was saying, moving around and pointing enthusiastically. 'The rest will be carpeted in that blue-grey I showed you on the swatch. Against that far wall there'll be an entire bank of plants, tall, exotic-looking things. We're going to build a bar into that corner, and in this floor space here we'll have— what should I call it? Lounging furniture, something comfy but practical for the surroundings— and that's the one thing I haven't found yet. Beyond the big sliding glass doors, which we can keep open in the summer, of course, there'll be a paved patio with a built-in barbecue and regular sun-loungers.' She broke off, smiling. 'So in the summer, hopefully, we can sunbathe, then nip in here for a dip. I considered an outdoor pool, but decided against it.'

  'And Demetrius agreed with you?' Grace was smiling, enjoying her enthusiasm.

  'Oh, yes. I told you, everything has been given his seal of approval. We agreed it would be much nicer to be able to use the pool all year round. This is England, after all! Our house in Greece has an outside pool, of course, but it's not as splendid as this place—as this place is going to be, I mean.' She smiled. 'So what do you think of it?'

  Grace looked at her, having difficulty equating all she had seen with this eighteen-year-old who had rings on almost every finger, a mop of black curls which looked as if they hadn't seen a comb today, who at the moment was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt and pink velvet trousers tucked into blue leather boots. 'I think it's gorgeous.'

  'What? All of it?'

  'All of it.'

  'But?'

  'But nothing.' Grace couldn't help smiling, Melissa had read something in her eyes.

  'Come on, out with it. Which part did you hate?'

  'It isn't that, honestly.' She laughed and took the plunge. 'It's just that—well, looking at you, thinking about the sort of clothes you go for, the colours and—'

  'Ah! You thought I had no taste.' Melissa was straight to the point, quite unruffled. 'Well, naturally,' she went on, shrugging, hands open, palms up, as if talking to someone a bit dim, 'if this were my house, it would be different.'

  'It would? But it is your house!'

  'No. It's my home, For now. I won't be here for ever, will I?'

  'I—suppose not.' Grace hadn't thought of that.

  'It's Demetrius' house. Oh, he gave me carte blanche, but I had to consider him, his taste, didn't I? Compared to me he's conservative. I only presented him with ideas I knew he would like, you see. There's no way he would have gone for the sort of things I'd have come up with if I'd let my imagination have full rein. I mean, I wouldn't decorate my own place like this!'

  'But—' Astonished, Grace didn't know what to make of her. 'You—you don't like it yourself?'

  'Of course I like it.' There was a hint of impatience now. 'Within its context, for the person who owns it, who will live here for ever—I assume. It's what Demetrius considers tasteful.'

  What Demetrius considers tasteful. Grace considered it tasteful, too. The house, when finished, would be neither modern nor traditional but something in between, smart but extremely comfortable, luxurious but in no way gaudy or overstated, its colourways warm but in no way drab. 'But you don't?'

  'What is taste?' Melissa shrugged. 'Is there really such a thing as bad taste, good taste? Isn't it only a matter of opinion, whatever turns you on? There again, thinking of context, let's take your beauty salon. Now, if I were asked to decorate and furnish a beauty salon, I'd come up with something not unlike what you've done there—all pot plants and pastels and prettiness. But personally,' she added without apology, 'I found the decor execrable.'

  Grace burst out laughing. 'Execrable, eh? But— right for a beauty salon?'

  'Precisely!'

  Grace slipped an arm around her shoulders. 'I think I could use a cup of coffee!'

  They were both laughing as they walked back into the main body of the house, but Grace was also thinking. Melissa was full of surprises and, not only that, she was talented. When they reached the kitchen, she asked her what she planned to do with her future.

  This was met by a blank look. 'My future? I… haven't really thought about it.'

  It was an evasive answer, her eyes had dropped. And then she said, almost inaudibly, 'I hope to marry some day, naturally.'

  There was a brief silence. Grace guessed she was thinking about the boy in Greece, the one Demetrius had forbidden her to see. 'Fair enough—and in the meantime? Haven't you thought about a career? Only I was going to ask whether you'd considered interior decorating.'

  Melissa stared at
her. 'Interior decorating? Me? A career of it?'

  Grace nodded, at a loss to understand this dramatic reaction. 'It was just a thought.' A thought which had clearly never entered the girl's mind. In fact, Grace didn't know whether it was the idea of a career in itself which had startled her or the idea of interior decorating as a career. 'Maybe you'd like to give it some thought?' She added that because Melissa was nodding slowly now, as if she had been inspired. She looked pleased, there was a light in her eyes.

  'Oh. You're still here.'

  Grace bristled at the sound of Demetrius' voice behind her, or rather at his choice of words. So he had been aware of her presence in his house, aware and disapproving, by the sound of it. She turned, her big blue eyes unconsciously challenging. 'Have I overstayed my welcome?'

  'Not at all,' he said flatly, as if he couldn't care less. 'Were you about to make coffee, Melissa?'

  'I am about to make coffee, Demetrius. That is why I am filling the kettle.'

  'Put your knives away, little sister. I come in peace.' Unexpectedly he turned to look at Grace. 'Were you like that when you were eighteen?'

  She kept an impassive face. 'Like what?'

  'Sarcastic. Aggressive. On the defensive.'

  She was about to answer evasively, knowing she couldn't risk taking sides openly with these two people. If she did, the situation would become impossible. In truth, she had been all of those things at eighteen, and at nineteen, especially at nineteen— not that she had been able to see it at the time. The difficulty was that she could see now both their points of view. She had quickly weighed the information she had about them so far, and was old enough and wise enough to recognise something more difficult than a mere generation gap. They might be brother and sister, but they were worlds apart.

  Demetrius was watching her and, unfortunately, misunderstood her hesitation. 'Then it's as I thought.'

  'What is?' She looked at him quickly. 'What do you mean?'

  'I mean you obviously haven't changed.' He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, unsmiling. 'Hence your attitude towards me last night.'

  'My attitude?' She couldn't believe this! 'I would point out that my attitude towards you last night was determined by your attitude towards me in the salon yesterday. I did not care for being spoken to like that.'

  'So you decided to get your own back.'

  'So I decided to make you aware of my disapproval.'

  'Oh! Pardon me, Lady-of-the-Manor.'

  Grace felt a flush creeping up her face. That made two in two days. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. 'It is precisely that that bothers me about you. You simply don't know how to treat me, do you? When you thought I was just a girl behind a counter, you were rude. When you realised who I am, you regretted it. When you realised who I am and what I do for a living, you were full of contempt. And just now, by implication, you're telling me you think I'm a snob. But you're the snob, Mr Knight. An inverted one.'

  He had listened to every word with a frown which grew deeper and deeper, bringing his heavy black brows together until they were almost touching, the intensely dark eyes lit with that curious light which she could have sworn meant she was amusing him. He and Melissa had that particular thing in common. 'What a crazy, mixed-up girl you are, if that's what you think!'

  She had been right, he was laughing at her now, laughing openly, fully, genuinely. It infuriated her even while she was obliged to acknowledge how damned attractive he looked like that, how damned attractive he was.

  'That makes two of you,' he went on, jerking a head in Melissa's direction. 'You and my baby sister.'

  Melissa was glaring at him. 'Demetrius—'

  He ignored her, spoke over her, his eyes still fixed on his neighbour. 'I just hope you're not going to be a bad influence on the little one. God knows, she's had enough of those.'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake…' Grace got to her feet. 'I'm going!' She would have, too, had Melissa not spoken her name in a voice that was almost a wail. It sobered Grace; Melissa had been caught in the cross-fire, which was really unfair on her. Thoughts of walking out of this house, never to return, were quelled. Why should she walk out? And hurt Melissa? And let Demetrius get the better of her, drive her away? No! She was made of sterner stuff than that. Besides, she liked Melissa enormously, it was just too bad that her brother was impossible, hateful. One thing was for sure, even if she had had no opinion before meeting him, she would have come to the same conclusion.

  And yet… and yet, seconds later, she was forced to reconsider. Melissa was shrieking at him and he was saying not a word in response. He was merely looking at her, shaking his head and clearly exercising much patience while she ranted.

  'Don't you dare talk to Grace like that! How can you? But it's typical, isn't it? You do it to all my friends! I have yet to find a friend who meets with your approval, Demetrius. You criticise everyone I like, you always manage somehow to pull them to pieces or frighten them off. There are times when I hate you, hate you, and this is one of them! I'm not going to—'

  'Melissa.' The word came from Grace. It came so quietly that it was heard at once. As if snapping out of a trance, Melissa turned to look at her while Demetrius, still leaning against the wall, merely sighed.

  Grace didn't say anything else, she didn't need to. The younger girl apologised at once, not to her brother but to Grace.

  'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I'll make the coffee. Demetrius, I'll bring yours to your office in a moment, if you want to get on.'

  There was a short, stony silence. Demetrius turned to look at Grace, his eyebrows raised slightly as if she had done something to impress him. Astonishing her, he smiled at her warmly, before leaving the room as quietly as he had entered it. She turned to look after him as he walked away, wondering what that had been about, wondering what he was like when his sister wasn't present. Present to aggravate, albeit unintentionally, most of the time. She turned back to the table, thoughtful, chatting about the decor in the kitchen solely to keep things smooth, to let Melissa know everything was all right again.

  An hour or so later, Demetrius emerged once more and Grace immediately looked at her watch. Was he trying to tell her something? 'I—I'd better go. I've been here too long.'

  He said nothing, he was filling the kettle, his back to her and his sister, who reminded Grace about the car.

  'But you haven't looked at the car yet.'

  'No. I—I'm afraid I've had second thoughts about that.' It was the truth. It had occurred to her that it might not be wise to buy Melissa's car. She was a neighbour and a friend now. If she bought her car second-hand and something went wrong with it… well, she wasn't quite sure what she thought, but better to keep business and pleasure separate.

  'You have?' Melissa was neither perturbed nor disappointed, just mildly surprised. 'It doesn't matter, I've had several phone calls about it already, and I took their numbers just in case. I'll sell it in no time.'

  'Good.' She should have left it at that, she wished she had, but she felt she needed to say something more, to explain. 'To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I can afford it, really.'

  There was a bark of laughter from the other end of the kitchen and Demetrius turned round, a cynical look on his face. 'Can't afford it? Is that the best you can come up with, Grace? Surely you could buy that car with one week's pocket money from your daddy?'

  To her horror, she felt the immediate sting of tears behind her eyes. She quickly glanced down at the table, willing herself not to let them be seen. Demetrius Knight had not angered her this time, he had hurt her. She knew it was stupid to feel like that, when he didn't begin to know her, how her mind worked, how there was a broad streak of independence in her or—or anything at all. Yet she was hurt and very upset. But she was damned if she'd let him know it!

  Very quietly, knowing that she really had to leave now, and the sooner the better, she simply appeared to agree with him because it was the easiest thing to do, the quickest way to shut him
up. 'You're probably right. Anyway, I really must be off now. I'll—ring you later to make arrangements for tomorrow, Melissa.'

  She left, without further ado, without any fuss. She got in to her car and headed down the drive leading to the lane that linked the two houses. There was no short-cut home, their grounds had boundaries on all sides.

  Only when she got to the lane did she stop, to think. She switched off the engine and clamped both hands on the steering wheel. She was breathing deeply again; she had to steady herself, she had to think. The best thing to do, clearly, was to avoid the company of Demetrius Knight whenever possible. Their mutual dislike had nothing to do with his sister, that was also clear. Grace knew, now, what he really thought about her; his last remark had made it very plain: 'You could buy that car with one week's pocket money from your daddy.'

  Obviously he thought her a brat, rich and spoiled. Rich and spoiled and, no doubt, simply amusing herself with her business. A business in which she 'exploited' the idle, the overweight and the ugly. Those had been his words, had they not? No doubt he assumed her clientele were rich people like herself, rich and spoiled. Oh, how little he knew!

  'Damn the man!' The suppressed tears got suddenly out of control, and came streaming down her face. And with them came anger, anger, the likes of which she had not known for five years. How dare he make assumptions about her, any assumptions? So he had 'come from nothing', as her father had put it, while she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. So what? Did that automatically invoke his prejudice? His contempt! Maybe he presumed she'd had no problems in her life, that being born rich meant an easy passage, self-indulgence and fulfilment of—of whims!

  She fired the engine and slammed the gear lever into first. It was no use sitting there, she wasn't going to calm down in a matter of minutes. She might as well go home and work off her anger, clean her bedroom or something.

  It was going to take hours, if not days, to get over her latest encounter with Demetrius Knight.