by Penny Jordan
‘Fairly,’ he told her non-committally, turning back to the boiling kettle.
‘You want to live locally, then?’ she pressed him, her suspicions freshly aroused. ‘But surely if your venture isn’t going to compete with my parents’ it doesn’t matter where you live?’
It was the closest she dared come to betraying her suspicions to him. A warning shot across his bows, she decided, not wanting to admit that the urge to fire it had somehow or other been caused by the knowledge that it was he who was responsible for that gleaming computer, that tidy office, that change in the familiar routine of her parents’ lives which had taken place without her knowledge.
‘Perhaps not, but it’s always pleasant to live somewhere where one has friends, family. I like this part of the world. I always have done, and your folks have been good friends to me. Once I get my own place, I know I’m going to be relying heavily on their advice and support.’
And on their business? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she suppressed them. It was one thing to subtly warn him that she wasn’t like her parents, that she didn’t trust him. It was quite another to openly accuse him. No, when she made her dénouement she wanted her parents to be there to witness it. How could he stand here in front of her in their home spouting about how fond of them he was, when he was planning to steal their livelihood? Indignation flashed momentarily in her eyes as she watched him.
‘But you’re a scientist,’ she pointed out. ‘You don’t have any experience of growing things. You’ve lived all over the world. Can you honestly believe you’ll be happy to settle down in one small place?’
‘I’m a biologist,’ he corrected her mildly. ‘And I’ve always been interested in the production of the food chain. A lot of people believe we’ve gone too far in interfering with nature, and in virtually manfuacturing our food with chemicals. There’s an increasing demand for food which is untampered with.’
‘And you want to produce it.’
‘I’d certainly like to give it a try,’ he agreed blandly, ignoring the cynical disbelief of her question. ‘In the meantime, however, it’s time I joined John and helped him with the watering. If you’re ready…?’
Nodding brusquely, Elspeth walked towards the door, and said pointedly, ‘I’ll wait down by the greenhouses for you, shall I?’
The way his mouth tightened sent a tiny frisson of sensation crawling down her spine, an awareness of excitement and danger—although how could anger be exciting? She had never found it so in the past.
As she closed the kitchen door behind her she heard the parrot saying conversationally, ‘Nice chap, Carter.’
‘Rubbish. I detest him,’ she muttered under her breath as she crossed the yard and headed for the greenhouses.
When Carter joined her there five minutes later, he was carrying three mugs of tea. For a moment she was tempted to refuse the one he offered her, but with John looking on she was reluctant to make her animosity towards Carter too obvious.
It had been almost three months since she had last visited her parents. On that occasion, her visit had been a hurried one in the company of Peter, who had been anxious to remind her that they had promised to visit his own parents the following week. In fact he had reminded her of this so often that she had actually begun to feel rather uncomfortable, as though in some way Peter was trying to suggest that their forthcoming visit to his parents was somehow of greater importance than this brief one to her own.
Because of this, on that occasion she hadn’t been able to concentrate as much as she would have liked on her parents’ talk of their plans for extending their operation, but now, as she followed the two men into the greenhouses, she was astonished to see how much had been done.
The area under glass, which she remembered as rather small, now seemed to stretch for three times its original distance, and the scent of growing, ripening tomatoes in this first section under glass was dizzyingly mouthwatering. Her grandfather used to grow tomatoes, she remembered, the scent suddenly transporting her back to her early childhood and the quiet, elderly man who had had such patience with her small fingers and impatient questions. He had died before her fifth birthday, but she was surprised how strong those memories now were, brought to the surface by the familiar and evocative scent of the greenhouse.
‘Your parents are hoping to instal an automatic watering system in here soon. Luckily, between us we’ve managed to rig up something that works almost as well for the moment. Just as long as there’s someone here to turn on the tap. Which is just here.’
Reminding herself that she was here to learn and work, not to indulge in childhood memories, Elspeth concentrated on what Carter was showing her. As a farmer’s daughter she didn’t need underlining what could happen if these growing things were deprived of water. She shuddered a little inside, imagining the havoc which would be wreaked if someone was careless enough to forget to water these precious plants, especially in the present mini heat wave.
‘Some of the big growers actually use computers to control their watering and ventilation. That’s a bit beyond your parents’ resources at the moment, but some day….’
‘What happens about ventilation at the moment?’ Elspeth asked him sharply. They weren’t out of June yet, and despite the heat it was still feasible this far north that they could have an overnight frost.
‘We’ve installed a system which rings a warning bell inside the house if the temperature starts to drop beneath a certain point.’
‘Which means?’ Elspeth pressed.
‘Which means that someone has to get out of bed and come down here, close the windows, and if necessary light the heaters, although hopefully we should be past that stage now.’
By the time they had worked their way through the greenhouse, Elspeth watching sharp-eyed while Carter worked. She had to admit fairly that he was scrupulous about everything he did, checking and re-checking. But that was while she was here. How did she know what he was doing when she wasn’t? Even if he didn’t destroy her parents’ crop by judiciously forgetting to water or ventilate, what was to stop him giving the growing plants a lethal dose of some chemical or other, which would totally discredit her parents as providers of pure, organically grown produce? Once their reputation was gone, it would be impossible for them to retrieve it; who would ever believe that a competitor, especially one as plausible and seemingly as helpful as Carter, could do such a thing?
By the time they had worked their way outside to where the open beds of vegetables and herbs were growing, the sun had gone from that part of the land, leaving it in shadow.
Quickly Carter showed her how to operate the sprinklers and sprayers which carried the much-needed moisture to the growing plants, at the same time thoroughly checking for any kind of infestation which might destroy the crops.
‘Mum told me that she was collecting as many traditional remedies for dealing with bugs and diseases as she could,’ Elspeth commented, her enthusiasm caught, her hostility fading despite her attempts to hold on to it. And besides, concentrating on the crops helped to divert her mind away from the mesmeric sight of Carter’s sinewy arms in his short-sleeved shirt, of Carter’s hard thigh, as he bent down to inspect row after straight row of young green beans, picking one and holding it under the sprinkler before handing it to her and saying with a grin,
‘Go on, eat it—it won’t poison you.’
‘It seems so cruel,’ Elspeth objected, and then flushed in acknowledgement of the childishness of her comment as he laughed. Not at her, she noticed, unable to tear her gaze away from the small lines fanning out from his eyes, the warm and generous curve of his mouth. His mouth… Where did it come from, this yearning to reach out and touch it, to trace its contours with the tip of her finger and then with the tip of her tongue? A sensation like a jolt of lightning twisted through her body.
Carter was still holding the vegetable. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘Just take a bite.’
She reached out for the bean, but somehow or
other her fingers closed instead around his wrist, and she discovered that instead of it being her hand that carried the tender vegetable to her lips, it was his, and that, despite the tight grip of her fingers, there was nothing she could do to stop him. She opened her mouth automatically, biting into the firm flesh of the bean, and then tensing in surprise as she discovered how wonderful it tasted.
‘It makes all the difference in the world when it’s the real thing, doesn’t it?’ she heard Carter saying, and for a moment she didn’t realise he was referring to the bean, but thought—Quickly she swallowed, trying to pull herself together, trying to remind herself why she was here and what Carter was.
It surprised her how long it took to finish all the watering, and that was only a small part of her parents’ day’s work. The neatly organised beds had to be kept free of weeds, the growing vegetables constantly checked, watched over.
‘Your mother talks to them,’ Carter told her as they walked back to the house. ‘She claims that they like to feel loved.’
Yes, she could imagine her mother saying that. Her mother firmly believed that everything and everyone needed love.
‘So who’s telling them that they’re loved in her absence?’ Elspeth asked flippantly, trying and failing to imagine Carter performing such a task.
‘No one as yet,’ he informed her so promptly that she stopped to give him a suspicious and hard look.
‘You’re not suggesting that I should start talking to them, are you?’ she challenged him.
‘Well, you have eaten one of them…and in full view of the others,’ he reminded her seriously. ‘They’re probably too terrified of you to listen to you now. Your mother makes a point of never telling them where they’re going. She says she doesn’t want to frighten the little ones.’
‘You’re making this up,’ Elspeth accused, trying not to laugh.
‘That’s better,’ he told her softly, thoroughly confounding her as he added gravely, ‘Your mouth was made for smiles, Elspeth. Smiles and kisses.’
What was he trying to do? Flirt with her? If so, then it was high time she reminded him that she was committed to someone else—or was he simply trying to make fun of her, to confound and deceive her? Did he really think she was stupid enough to fall into that kind of trap, no matter how temptingly it was baited?
How temptingly? What on earth was she thinking? That it would be heaven on earth to run her fingertip down that bared male forearm and trace the shape of its muscles… For a moment her imagination swung crazily out of control so that she was mentally reliving this morning’s kiss. Reliving it, and actually yearning for it to be repeated.
This was madness, she told herself. Complete and utter madness. She had no idea how it had happened either. One moment she had been sternly and firmly reminding herself that Carter was a devious and dangerous man, the next…the next she had focused briefly on his body and had suddenly been swept away into such dangerous and turbulent waters that she was fighting to find a safe foothold.
Thank goodness she had always been the practical, sensible type, not the type to give in to her own emotions, her own foolishness—that side of her nature was something she had brought firmly under control a long time ago.
As they walked into the yard, the dogs came bounding up to them, giving her a welcome excuse not to make any retort to his extraordinary comment as she bent down to fuss them and asked him as naturally as she could, ‘What about feeding these two?’
‘Yes, I suppose we’d better, and the goats as well. Do you know the routine or should I do it?’
‘I think I can manage,’ Elspeth told him, anxious to be free of the dangerous potency of his presence.
‘Well, if you’re sure… I’ll go in and shower, and then start on supper. Chicken salad OK for you?’
‘Fine,’ Elspeth agreed, too surprised by his offer to make supper to offer any objections. That was something Peter would never have offered to do. In fact Peter’s mother had already made it plain to Elspeth that, despite the fact that she would continue to work after their marriage, it would be her duty to take care of Peter as devotedly as she, his mother, had always done. That had irked her a little, especially when Peter had smugly reinforced his mother’s opinion. But she had decided that it was an issue she would take up with him later, once they were married, gently making it plain to him that they were partners in all things and that included their domestic duties. Now to hear such a male man as Carter calmly suggesting that he make their supper made her blink and stare a little at him.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her quizzically.
‘Had second thoughts about the chicken?’
‘What? Oh, no—I was just wondering about the goats,’ she fibbed quickly. ‘Who’s going to milk them?’
‘Oh, that’s John’s task,’ Carter assured her. ‘There are a good many things I’m prepared to do for your mother, but milking that precious pair is not among them.’
He said this with such feeling that Elspeth laughed. She knew how troublesome and truculent her mother’s spoiled pets could be.
As she heard the sound of her own laughter, she realised how long it had been since she had laughed so freely, since she had felt so…so unconstricted, so free to be herself and not to fall into line with someone else’s image of her. And yet who was it who had forced those images on her? she asked herself frowningly as she left Carter to have his shower and started to prepare the dogs’ food.
It had been herself, surely. She had been the one who had insisted that she wanted a city life, a high-profile career. She had been the one to force herself into that mould, and no one else. But why?
Surely not because a thoughtless, silly, empty-headed girl had made fun of her parents’ way of life. Surely that wasn’t what had made her decide to prove to the rest of the world that, despite her upbringing, she could be just as clever, just as career-orientated, just as successful as someone from a different background.
Startled by the direction of her own thoughts, she stopped what she was doing and stared emptily into space.
But she was happy with her chosen life, wasn’t she? Content with all that she had achieved, all she would achieve, her job, her flat, her relationship with Peter, the life they had planned together?
Would she really prefer to be living here with her parents, sharing their haphazard lives, sharing their hopes and their disappointments, their tears and their laughter?
Something quickened inside her, a feeling that was a combination of joy, pain and regret, and with it came an unwanted recognition that somehow, somewhere, she had perhaps allowed her life to take a wrong turning, that the reason she always felt this odd reluctance to come home, this defensiveness with which she sometimes deliberately shut out her parents, sprang from a very real fear that if she stayed too long, said too much, she might never be able to force herself to go back to the life she had chosen for herself.
As clearly as though they were being spoken now beside her, she heard the high-pitched, cruel words of that girl she had brought home with her.
‘Her parents are complete country bumpkins. You wouldn’t believe it, honestly… And the house—my dears, I don’t think her mother even possesses a vacuum cleaner, never mind knows how to use it. There were actually animals wandering around in the kitchen—imagine! The lack of hygiene… And she’s just the same, for all that she pretends not to be. One morning I actually found her feeding a lamb with a bottle. She was nursing it on her knee while she ate her own breakfast at the same time. The germs! My dears, my skin was positively crawling when I left. You just can’t believe…’
And on and on it had gone, until she hadn’t been able to endure any more. And yet now, replaying those words, listening to them with the ears of maturity, she heard more than their surface cruelty, saw more of what might have lain behind them. Sophy had come from a broken home. Her parents were divorced, her father remarried with a much younger second family, her mother living somewhere in America. Neither of them, it se
emed, wanted to know about their shared daughter. Sophy’s background couldn’t have been more different from her own, and she, like the credulous fool she was, had been impressed by the other girl’s stories of her parents’ seemingly exciting lives, not realising until it was too late how little of that excitement Sophy herself actually shared… How much her own parents’ love and care was to be valued and cherished.
Was it really for that, for the desire, the need, the thirst to prove something to someone who had been little more than a lonely child crying out for love and attention herself, that she had redirected the whole course of her life?
But she was happy, wasn’t she? Wasn’t she? She couldn’t possibly want to change things—could she? No—no, of course not. Of course she couldn’t, she told herself quickly. What she was doing was just indulging in a fit of nostalgia for the country. It was a very fashionable pastime these days. Once she got back to London she would laugh at herself for what she was feeling now. Of course she would. Of course she would… Wouldn’t she?
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SUPPER won’t be long.’
As she opened the back door, Elspeth saw that Carter was standing in front of the sink washing a lettuce. He had obviously had a shower because, rather disconcertingly, he was barefoot and barechested, wearing only a pair of clean, worn jeans, his hair still damp and slicked back off his face, but the smile he gave her as she came in was casual and easy, completely free of any kind of sexual undertones.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to analyse why instead of reassuring her this should make her feel slightly piqued.
‘I forgot to mention it earlier,’ he added, ‘but tomorrow is one of our days for getting orders ready for collection, which means a very early start, I’m afraid. Watering at five, picking at six. There’s no need for you to get up if you don’t feel up to it, but I’m just warning you in case I disturb you and you wonder what on earth’s going on.’
The moment he suggested that she need not get up, Elspeth felt her ire rising. She wasn’t a visitor here, to be cosseted and indulged. She was family. He was the one who was the outsider, not she.