She had always known Mark resented her, even before his father had married her mother and installed them in his home. A sulky fifteen to her own shy and awkward ten, he had made no attempt to welcome her into his family or even to be friendly. Indeed, while their parents had been away on their honeymoon, leaving Bethan and Mark in the care of the housekeeper at the house in Bancroft Square, he had gone out of his way to make her feel an unwanted outsider, mocking her in front of his friends, only hiding his hostility in front of the staff, and once, when caught out by the housekeeper in one of his calculated humiliations he
had spitefully twisted her arm behind her back until she had fallen on her knees in agony to punish her for the reprimand he had received.
And Bethan had been helpless in the face of his enmity. When their parents had returned home he had been careful to treat her with simulated friendliness in their presence, giving them an entirely false impression that he welcomed a younger sister. Only when his father had announced his intention of legally adopting Bethan had he betrayed his true feelings with a fit of temper, and that he had soon apologised for, to outsiders apparently accepting Bethan's place in his father's affections. But Bethan had never been left in any doubt of his continuing resentment, especially when his father was sent abroad on another assignment and her mother had refused to go with him, preferring to stay in London where her friendships with other men began to cause talk.
She had never been close to her beautiful but shallow mother, and had often wondered what had prompted her to motherhood in the first place when it interested her so little and she was so unsuited to it. Bethan had no recollection of her father as he had died before she was two years old, and she had been brought up by a series of housekeepers while a succession of 'uncles' touched the periphery of her young life.
When Bethan had first been introduced to Charles Latimer she had liked him instantly because he was the first of her mother's men friends ever to take an interest in her, and when her mother had announced they were to marry, she had been beside herself with delight.
Remembering how she had expected they would all live happily ever after, Bethan sighed. She would never understand what had constantly driven her mother to seek male adulation, never understand how she could have thrown aside a good marriage and the love of a man like Charles Latimer in search for new conquests and excitement. And while she could never condone her
mother's behaviour either, she had sometimes wondered if Mark's dislike of his father's remarriage had contributed to its break-up. Certainly when the scandal broke and her mother ran off to America with her film-star lover, Mark had been triumphant, though his triumph had been short-lived when it became clear the mother's sins were not to be visited on Bethan and that Charles Latimer had no intention of relinquishing his adopted daughter.
Mark's fury had been frightening, but he had been eighteen by then and away at university, and Bethan herself was sent to boarding-school, so most of the time she was free of his resentment and spite. And when they did have to spend time together during the holidays, Fraser Laurie had often been around to protect her from the worst of Mark's malice. It was true, though, what Fraser had said this morning; Mark had lost no opportunity to manipulate her into situations that would make his father think badly of her. Even so, she'd had no idea he hated her so much he was prepared to go to such lengths to be rid of her. She made no excuses for her own culpability in sparking off the disaster, but that Mark could have had so little feeling for his father sickened her.
She let her mind go back to that terrible time between the magistrate's hearing and her trial at the Crown Court, trying to remember the details, and realised the clues had been there if only she hadn't been so blinded by her own shock and enormous guilt to see them. It was the guilt that had led her to accept without question Mark's shattering news that her stepfather had done with her. And yet would Charles have telephoned her so regularly at Katy Bourne's cottage in Cornwall if he had been thinking of disowning her? He had been disappointed in her, saddened by the trouble she was in and deeply anxious, but he had never once appeared unforgiving. The loving concern had still been there in his voice, in his insistence that she mustn't let herself
brood over what had happened. Shouldn't she have wondered that it was Mark who had telephoned with the instructions that she was to make her own way to Colchester for the trial, staying overnight there in a hotel instead of breaking her journey in London to stay at the house? Katy had taken the call and had seemed upset when she had called Bethan to the phone, but too wrapped up in her own problems, Bethan had thought nothing of it at the time. Perhaps Mark had broken the news of his father's illness to Katy then, but had asked her not to mention it. If he had already decided to take advantage of the situation, it would have been reasonable to suggest he didn't want Bethan worried before her trial, and he could be fairly certain she wouldn't hear of it from any other source as the cottage was so isolated and Katy, eccentric in her retirement, wouldn't have television or newspapers in the house and rarely listened to the radio.
She should have suspected Mark's kindness during and after her trial too, since it was so uncharacteristic. But again, weighed down by guilt, especially as the mother of the child she had killed had screamed at her outside the courthouse after her release, shocked by her stepfather's rejection and the fact that as none of her friends had been in touch they must regard her as beyond the pale too, she had been too grateful for Mark's sudden sympathy to question it.
And all the time Charles Latimer had been lying there in hospital fighting for his life, asking for her, worrying probably when she didn't come. Tears squeezed between her closed eyelids for the pity of it all, for the hurt her apparent desertion had inflicted on him.
The air was warm in that sheltered spot, the breeze stirring the lilac-tree into a soothing rustle. Worn out by emotion, Bethan slept.
The sudden coolness as a tall figure blocked out the sun jerked her awake and she opened her eyes to see
Fraser standing over her. 'Isn't collapsing from exhaustion enough for you? Do you want sunstroke as well?' he demanded harshly, and it was only then Bethan realised the patch of shade had moved, and she had been sleeping in the full sun.
She struggled groggily to her feet and went to move the lounger, but Fraser beat her to it, the sound of it dragging over the flagstones waking Lorna.
'Oh, Fraser, you've brought the tea out I see. Thank you, my dear. Are you going to join us?'
To Bethan's consternation he readily agreed, and by the time she had poured out and handed him his cup he was sitting on the lounger she had just vacated. 'Don't hover like a moth, sit down.' He patted the cushion beside him.
'I can fetch another chair,' she said quickly, but he grasped her wrist.
'It's hardly worth the effort when you can share with me,' he said lazily, but there was nothing lazy about his increased pressure on her wrist and she reluctantly obeyed, flushing when he added in an undertone, 'You wouldn't want Lorna to think we hadn't settled our differences, would you?'
He stayed for half an hour and although Lorna did most of the talking, Bethan was acutely aware of his braiding presence.
He was at home for dinner that evening too, and there was no Siriol to take his attention, and after they had drunk their coffee in the sitting-room he showed no signs of going out or even retiring to his study. This time the suggestion that Bethan should pit her wits against him at chess came from Fraser himself and not his aunt. She would have liked to refuse but could think of no excuse, especially as Lorna was eager to witness the match, so she had no alternative but to fetch out the board.
At first she was too tensely aware of his nearness across the small table, of the strength of his lean,
tanned hands with their sprinkling of dark hairs to concentrate on the game, but after two foolish moves and his mocking reaction to them put her on her mettle, she found she was actually beginning to enjoy pitting her wits against his, pleased at his surprise w
hen she blocked one of his gambits and at the knowledge that he wasn't having the walkover he expected.
That he was enjoying the battle too was apparent from the frown of irritation on his face when the door opened and Siriol came in with a rush. 'Darling, I thought you were coming over this evening,' she said reproachfully, kissing his cheek as she perched on the arm of his chair.
'I don't remember making any such promise,' Fraser said coolly.
'I—I know you didn't, darling, but I usually see you some time in the evening.' Such an unenthusiastic reception had obviously shaken her.
'I fancied a game of chess tonight and as neither you nor your father play ...' Fraser made no attempt to placate his fiancée, indeed still seemed to be irritated by the interruption.
Bethan might envy Siriol but she couldn't help liking her, and seeing the uncertainty in the younger girl's dark eyes, feeling sorry for her too. 'But now you're here I know he'll find your company much more stimulating than mine.' She smiled at Siriol reassuringly. 'I don't mind packing this up.'
'A tactical retreat? Afraid I'm going to wipe the floor with you?' Fraser's voice was light but the tightening of his jaw told Bethan he wasn't pleased at her abandonment of the game, and Siriol must have realised that too because she said at once, 'Oh, please don't let me interrupt. I can talk to Lorna till you're finished.'
As if to prevent any more argument she went to sit on a padded stool at Lorna's feet. Fraser directed a sardonic glance at Bethan, who glared back at him.
Heavens, but he was arrogant! That was his fiancée he'd just snubbed, the woman he was going to marry! And only this morning
Bethan's face flooded with colour. It was bad enough to remember those moments this morning when she had been anything but reluctant in Fraser's arms, but to remember it in the presence of his fiancée made her behaviour seem all the more unforgivable. Filled with guilty embarrassment she was too conscious of Siriol's light voice chattering to Lorna to concentrate on the chessboard and made a stupid move. Instantly aware of Fraser's sardonic gaze fixed on her flushed cheeks as if he was reading her guilty thoughts, her hands trembled. From then on she didn't even try, throwing the game away because she only wanted it to be finished.
Fraser made no comment until his aunt asked what he thought of Bethan's game. 'Disappointing,' he said forthrightly. 'Oh, she was very promising to start with, but then she collapsed like a house of cards.' He reached down and pulled Siriol to her feet. Perhaps she was feeling guilty at keeping me from you, darling.'
Bethan resented being talked about as if she wasn't there and disliked the accuracy with which he had guessed her motives, but she managed to hide her feelings, saying quietly, 'I think I'm just tired. If you're ready for bed now, Lorna ...'
But tired as she was, Bethan found sleep elusive. She kept seeing again Fraser's brooding eyes on her as she had helped his aunt from the room, leaving him and Siriol alone together. And she couldn't seem to stop herself imagining the two of them after she and Lorna had gone. Had Fraser apologised to Siriol for his lack of welcome? And had Siriol readily forgiven him in his arms? She found herself remembering herself in those same arms and had to roll herself into a ball to suppress the deep ache of longing inside her.
After her restless night she woke very early, her bedside clock telling her it was only six o'clock, but
knowing she would not get back to sleep she rose and dressed, and moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone else she slipped downstairs and let herself out into the garden. The early-morning air was chill and damp, a thick mist hanging over the vineyard beyond the wall but the sun shining with a pearly light through it promised a hot day later on. A rambler-rose climbed up the wall in a sheltered corner, its scent elusive as it waited for the heat of the sun to draw it out. Bethan moved towards it breathing deeply.
A sound broke the stillness and turning towards it she saw Fraser emerge from the summerhouse between the two walled gardens. He wore only minuscule bathing trunks and his tanned skin glistened with water. He was rubbing his hair with a towel as he walked back towards the house, obviously having been for a swim in the pool, and Bethan couldn't drag her eyes away, drinking in every attractive line of his body as if to store it in her memory; the wide, powerful shoulders, the dark hair roughening his chest and veeing down to his flat, taut stomach while long, muscled legs moved lithely from narrow hips.
It was some moments before she realised he had removed the towel from his head and was watching her watching him, and even at a distance she could see the had mockery in his face. She nodded an embarrassed 'Good morning,' and turned away again, pretending an interest in the rose and wishing there were somewhere she could hide herself.
He didn't return her greeting and she thought he had carried on to the house so she nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice right behind her said, It's a very common variety, you know, and hardly warrants such close scrutiny.'
She turned to find him standing so close she could feel his body heat, smell the tang of chlorine still adhering to his skin, and for a moment she was almost overcome by the urge to reach out and touch him.
Moistening her suddenly dry lips she said as coolly as her hammering heart would allow, 'Even a common dandelion would warrant attention in some of the places I've been.'
His mouth compressed and his dark brows drew together as if her remark had angered him, but all he said was, 'You're an early bird. Lorna won't be up for a couple of hours yet.'
'I'm used to getting up early. It's often been the only really comfortable time to work.' Not that it was particularly comfortable right now. The clammy dampness penetrated her thin blouse yet Fraser, disconcertingly naked except for his bathing trunks, appeared not to feel it at all. She tried, not quite successfully, to repress a shiver.
'Cold?' His eagle eye missed nothing.
'Just a little,' she admitted. 'I suppose I'm not fully acclimatised yet.' But it wasn't just the dampness that was making her shiver. She found Fraser's closeness very disturbing and wished he would move away. 'You'll catch cold if you stand around here for long,' she suggested, but he only grinned.
'I never catch cold,' he claimed, and Bethan believed him. 'Anyway it's going to be a scorcher when this mist clears.'
'Yes, I thought it might. Perhaps it'll be hot enough for Lorna to go in the pool. She told me how keen she is to swim when the weather's suitable.'
Fraser frowned. 'I don't think that's such a good idea. I don't like her going in the pool unless I'm there. She finds it rather difficult to get out.'
'But I'll be there to help her.' Bethan's hackles rose at the implication that he didn't believe her capable.
'And if you get into difficulties? Only a week ago you were too weak to get out of bed. No, for the safety of both of you, you won't go in unless I'm there,' he said arrogantly. 'I'll try to spare a few minutes after you've both had your rest this afternoon.'
And having dictated his terms he turned and made his leisurely way back to the house, leaving Bethan fuming.
The weather did turn hot, a real scorching June day without a puff of breeze, and after most of the morning spent in the garden, Lorna elected to take her after-lunch rest in the cool of the sitting-room. Bethan found she couldn't settle and the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea of a swim to cool off became. Fraser hadn't actually said she wasn't to go in alone. It had been his aunt's safety he'd been concerned about. Anyway he need never know. And if she had already had her swim, she could cry off later if he did come back. The thought carried her upstairs to rummage through her drawer for her swimsuit, and while she didn't consciously admit the thought of displaying her scarred back in front of Fraser bothered her, it was there in her subconscious.
Bethan eyed her reflection in the mirror wryly. She was still too thin, though the delicious cooking Molly had been tempting her with the last few weeks had given her back a little of her feminine curves, but the black, one-piece bathing-suit did little to flatter her, being j
uvenile in the extreme. She shrugged, slipping a cation shirt over it, then collecting a towel from the bathroom she left the house quietly and made for the pool.
The water sparkled invitingly in the sunlight and the sense of privacy was reassuring. Throwing off the cotton shirt and dropping it with the towel on one of the loungers, she stood on the edge of the pool for a moment, enjoying the sun on her skin, then with unconscious grace, dived in.
There had been so little opportunity in recent years to indulge in a sport she had loved as a young girl, when in some of the places she had worked enough water to wash in had been a luxury, and she swam with lazy,
unhurried strokes, revelling in the silky coolness against her heated skin. But in spite of the pleasant buoyancy of the water she found she soon tired and rolled over to float on her back, gazing up at the arching sky with only the occasional cotton-wool puff of cloud to break the clear blue. Doves cooed somewhere out of sight and the house-martins that nested in the eaves of the summerhouse swooped twittering after unsuspecting insects. The sheer peacefulness was like a healing balm and Bethan felt more relaxed than she could ever remember.
And then the peace was splintered into fragments by a harsh voice demanding, 'What the hell are you doing? Come out of there, Bethan. This minute.'
Her body jerked with guilty apprehension and she went under, coming up coughing and spluttering to see Fraser poised on the edge of the pool as if for two pins he'd jump in fully clothed and drag her out, every line of his stance betraying his fury.
Feeling suddenly cold despite the heat of the sun on her shoulders, Bethan made for the steps, missing her footing and banging her shin in her haste to climb them before he reached her.
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