'It's ready?' His query was a light mocking drawl, and she stiffened imperceptibly.
'Yes.'
He drained the remains of his glass in a single long swallow, and Stephanie mentally shuddered, imagining the unpalatableness of jaw spirit coursing down his throat.
His smile became vaguely cynical. 'Have I suddenly grown horns?'
She met his dark gaze and held it, then offered politely, 'The soup will be getting cold.'
His head inclined in a mocking slant. 'Ah, the soup. By all means let's observe the conventions.' His arm swept out in an arc as he stood to one side. 'After you.'
Stephanie was aware of him walking behind her, and to her chagrin she felt all her nerve-ends tingle damnably alive.
The dining-room table was oval in shape, and she had deliberately set a place at each end. The soup tureen reposed in the middle, and she reached for the ladle.
'For God's sake, sit down,' Jake instructed brusquely. 'I'm not exactly a guest. I can easily serve myself.'
She drew in a deep breath, then expelled it slowly. 'I'm merely extending you the same courtesy I would my father.'
He took the ladle from her nerveless fingers, then leaned forward and picked up her plate. When both plates had been filled he ventured matter-of-factly, 'I take it you switched the phone over from the clinic?'
Almost on cue, it rang. 'Does that answer your query?' Stephanie asked, getting to her feet to answer it.
'Is that you, Stephanie?'.. Ian queried, and she felt inclined to snap that it was hardly likely to be anyone else.
'We're in the middle of dinner,' she said smoothly. 'Can I ring you back?'
'Actually, I thought you might like to ask me over.'
With no need to ask the reason why, she decided ruefully. 'Not tonight, Ian. I have rather a lot to do.'
'Just for an hour or so,' he inveigled. 'Please!'
She released an expressive sigh. 'I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow?'
His response was eager. 'Invite me for dinner?'
Oh, hell, she groaned inwardly. Having to field a conversational gambit with Jake Stanton was bad enough—Ian's presence would only serve to heighten a difficult situation. Yet Ian was a regular weekly visitor at their dinner table, and she could hardly hurt his feelings by suddenly refusing to invite him. Aloud she said brightly, 'Sure, why not? Around six? Now I must go.'
'Boy-friend?'
Stephanie shot the owner of that soft mocking drawl a defensive glance and decided a little subterfuge wouldn't do any harm. 'Yes,' she acknowledged briefly, picking up her spoon. 'He's coming to dinner tomorrow night.'
'Is that a subtle hint for me to absent myself from the house?'
Her eyes flew wide, and their depths held sparks of anger. 'Of course not. I've known Ian practically all my life.'
'I see.'
Incensed, she demanded, 'What do you see, Mr Stanton?'
'Jake,' he insisted quietly, and she inclined her head with exaggerated mockery.
'All right—Jake.'
One eyebrow lifted as he regarded her silently, then he queried with a silkiness that smothered any further retort, 'Shall I get the next course?'
Sheer bravado was responsible for her holding his gaze for a further heartstopping few seconds, then she conceded defeat by returning her attention to her partly filled plate. It's in the oven.'
Jake stood to his feet with an easy litheness that denoted physical fitness and moved towards the kitchen, returning within minutes with both plates, placed hers within reach and then resumed his seat at the opposite end of the table.
Stephanie finished her soup and looked at the succulent steak and accompanying vegetables with something akin to distaste. If she ate it, the food would surely stick in her throat.
'Are you going to eat it, or simply look at it?' Jake queried dryly, and she glanced up to see that he was waiting for her to start.
'Do go ahead,' she said quickly: 'Besides, I'm not hungry.'
He shot her a dark level glance, then returned his attention to the food on his plate. 'I'd like to go over tomorrow's appointments and check out the respective files. I imagine your filing system is straightforward?'
She prided herself on its simplistic accessibility, and resented his sardonic inference that it might be one only she could understand. 'Up until now no one has had any problems with it.' She directed him a tight smite, offering sweetly, 'However, there's always a first time.'
His lips curved into a wry smile. 'Point taken.'
It was a relief when the meal was over, and Jake's departure from the house soon afterwards made it easy for her to restore the kitchen to its pristine state. There were countless chores to catch up on, and she set about them with contrived enthusiasm. A phone call to the hospital elicited the news that Edith James was as comfortable as could be expected, and a message was left to the effect that Stephanie would visit the following evening.
At nine-thirty she connected the electric kettle and made herself some coffee. Satan, the black and tan German Shepherd, whined at the french doors, and she rose to let him in. His soulful eyes cast a sweeping search of the room, then he slumped down at her feet in mute despair.
'I know,' she consoled, bending down to scratch behind his ears. 'We're all alone, aren't we?'
Her eyelids began to droop, and she forced them wide in an effort to stay awake, then became cross with herself. Why should she stay up, for heaven's sake? Standing to her feet, she crossed to the phone and lifted the receiver.
It rang twice, then Jake answered. 'An emergency call?'
'No,' she said shortly. 'I'm going to bed. There's some coffee on the stove, and I've left some biscuits, if you want them.' She hardly paused, giving him no time to comment. 'Everything is locked except the side door. Goodnight.'
The insistent peal of the alarm penetrated Stephanie's subconscious, and with a groan she rolled over and reached out a hand to switch it off. Six o'clock. It was still dark, but as she swept open the drapes the sky was tinged with the first opalescent tinge of dawn, and even as she watched the horizon began to lighten, bathing everything beneath it with a shadowy glow. There was a curious stillness in the air, a sort of waiting expectancy for the birth of a new day. Trees glistened, their leaves dew-kissed, and she spied a large spider's web in the garden below, crystallised in symmetrical splendour against a backdrop of dark foliage. A light breeze stirred softly along the ground, lifting the fallen autumn leaves and swirling them into strange eddying patterns.
A faint whicker from the direction of the stables indicated that Clara, the elderly mare, was on her feet and ready for an early morning trot round the paddock.
Scrambling into jeans and a thick woollen jumper, Stephanie made quickly for the bathroom, sluiced water over her face and cleaned her teeth, then dragged a brush through her hair before running lightly downstairs.
It was more than an hour before she re-entered the house, having fed and exercised Clara, fed the three dogs, four cats, checked the aviary, moved Siegfried the goat to a fresh clump of long grass, and mixed the mash for the assortment of poultry and collected their eggs. As was his usual custom, Satan had ambled at her heels, showing patience as he skirted the recalcitrant rooster who provided her with a battle of wills on every occasion she stepped into his territory. Now she took food from the refrigerator and set it on Satan's plate, then did likewise for Sasha the house cat.
It was after seven, and she'd just have time for a quick shower before making breakfast. Of Jake there was no sign, and she stifled a wry grimace.
Somehow he didn't appear the type to oversleep, and even as she dismissed the thought his bedroom door opened and he stepped out into the hallway.
'Good morning.' His greeting was polite, his smile little more than a slight twist of his lips. Levi's hugged his lean hips, and a workmanlike sweater in fine black wool stretched itself over broad shoulders, accentuating a goodly share of muscle and sinew.
Her acknowledging nod was tempered with a faint
frown. 'I'll be down to make breakfast in about ten minutes. Have you any preference? Or is steak and eggs okay?'
'I'll fix it myself,' said Jake, and her eyes were remarkably clear as she met his gaze.
'There's no need.' She gave a light shrug. 'I always cook Dad's breakfast. Why should cooking yours make any difference?'
His eyes ran sharply over her appearance, his gaze swift and all-encompassing. 'Do I have to repeat myself? I'm not a guest, and don't intend being treated as one. From the look of you, you've already attended to the animals. I'll take a turn tomorrow,' he finished curtly.
'Why?' she demanded simply. 'I always do it.'
'Do you enjoy being a martyr?' he queried cynically, and she returned hotly, 'You've been employed as my father's locum— not a general helping hand!'
'Tell me,' Jake drawled, 'are you always so damned argumentative?'
She took a deep breath and endeavoured not to lose her temper. The clinic opens in just over an hour. I haven't got time to argue.' Her eyes became deep blue chips and her lips tightened. 'Make your own breakfast if it's that darned important!'
His mouth slanted into a sloping smile. 'Is the boy-friend aware you're something of a shrew this early in the morning?'
'He doesn't rile me the way you do!' Stephanie flung incautiously, and without a further Word she brushed past him and swept into her room.
It was a hollow victory, and when she thought about it, no victory at all. With angry actions she discarded her, clothes and slipped beneath the shower to emerge minutes later, then towelled dry, she slipped quickly into fresh underwear, pulled on her dressing-gown and returned to her room.
There she donned a warm skirt and jumper over which she slipped a pale blue shortsleeved nylon uniform. She left the buttons undone, then quickly made her bed, straightened the covers and crossed to the mirrored dressing-table where she applied moisturiser, a touch of eyeshadow, and ran the brush through her hair.
Downstairs she crossed towards the kitchen and breathed in the mouthwatering aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Satan was lolling on the floor, his head between his paws, and he looked up soulfully as she swung open the door.
'Yours is in the warming drawer of the oven,' Jake declared from the table. 'There's plenty of toast, and at least two cups of coffee left in the pot.'
'I usually have fruit and cereal.'
'And it would be impossible to vary it, I suppose,' he queried dryly.
'Not at all.' Her smile was very sweet, although her eyes held no hint of humour.
'Do you have any objection if I skim through the paper?'
'By all means,' she agreed magnanimously, glad of the opportunity to eat without being aware of his watchful scrutiny, and crossing to the oven she extracted the plate and placed it on the table.
After five minutes, Jake drained the last of his coffee and stood to his feet. 'I'll go and open up the clinic.'
Stephanie didn't bother to comment, and barely resisted the temptation to poke out her tongue at his departing back. Alone, she picked up another piece of toast, buttered it and spread it with jam, then poured herself a second coffee, A sudden thought came to mind and she muffled an unladylike curse., Lunch—she had a casserole to put in the oven. And Ian was coming for dinner.
It was almost eight-thirty when she walked through the clinic door, and Michael glanced up from speaking on the phone and pointed silently to his watch.
, Slipping behind the desk, she pulled forward the appointment book and noted that the morning's allocation of files were already arranged in order. A faint grimace creased her features. Jake, no doubt, was responsible. Instead of being grateful, she felt annoyed and elected to think he hadn't bothered to return them after his perusal the previous evening.
There was a brisk number of calls throughout the morning, of which two were from employment agencies. One told her they could supply a daily help as from the following week, the other was slightly better in that they had a woman on their books who was. prepared to start the next day. As to her request for someone to live in, both declared they had conducted a thorough check of their files and made numerous enquiries, without success. Rather wearily Stephanie instructed the second agency to send someone the following day. At least it would ease the situation considerably having household chores and meals taken care of, she decided philosophically.
Jake was called out just before lunch and she extracted sufficient for herself, then returned the casserole to the oven. Caught up in a flurry of activity during her customary break, she decided she had to be mad letting Ian come tonight. There was hardly any time to prepare a satisfactory meal, and she still hadn't rung the hospital to enquire about Edith James. A frown creased her forehead, then disappeared. Ian could drive her up there tonight. It would give her an excellent excuse to get out of the house.
The clinic waiting room bustled with departing and arriving patients, the noise at times reaching ear-splitting velocity as various animals elected to assert their individual authority and vie for supremacy.
It was well after five before she was able to leave, and in the house she went straight to the kitchen to prepare vegetables, then while waiting for the saucepans to boil she extracted veal slices for schnitzel from the refrigerator, then quickly set the table. There was sufficient soup to heat as a starter, and she quickly took a frozen fruit pie from the freezer and popped it into the oven. Within minutes everything was under control, and she literally ran towards the stairs with the intention of taking a record-quick shower. If she hurried, she could be ready in ten minutes.
Except that a solid muscular wall somehow got in the way somewhere between the dining-room and the foot of the stairs. 'Oh!'
Strong hands closed over her shoulders, steadied and removed her to arms' length. 'Do you always run?' Jake demanded dryly, and she gave a wry smile.
'Not usually. Except when I'm in a hurry—like now.'
'Ah—I see. The boy-friend is due to arrive, and you have yet to make yourself beautiful,' he drawled sardonically.
Her gaze was remarkably direct. 'Why do you always resort to sarcasm?'
One eyebrow rose in quizzical amusement. 'Are you aggrieved because I implied you have to resort to cosmetics?'
'I don't stand in front of a mirror for hours studying my appearance,' Stephanie snapped, hating him afresh. 'If you don't mind?' she continued, giving him an arctic glare, then glanced pointedly to where his hands still grasped her arms.
'By all means,' he slanted mockingly, releasing her easily.
She moved past him, head held high, and as she reached the top of the stairs she hugged her arms across her midriff, aware of a strange tingling warmth where his hands had touched her skin. Her eyes closed momentarily. She must be going mad!
Jake Stanton was the epitome of everything she hated in a man—cynical, world-weary, and arrogant. Yet there was some magnetic pull of the senses, an elusive physical chemistry that could rob the breath from her throat and quicken her pulse—often both at the same time! It was almost as if some tiny devil was urging her to goad him in an effort to force a confrontation.
Suddenly she shivered. He was a million light years ahead of her in just about everything. It showed in his eyes, the arrogant indolence he wore like a mantle, and undoubtedly countless women flocked around him like bees to a honey-pot. A cynical smile tugged the corners of her mouth. Word had already escaped that there was an attractive man in town—today the clinic's appointments had doubled! Yet honesty forced her to admit that he didn't deliberately cultivate an image. If anything, he counteracted an undoubted appeal with studied mockery, thus arousing an instinct to hit rather than kiss him!
Damn—this idle reflection wouldn't gain anything! She should be showered and slipping into . fresh clothes instead of standing here daydreaming!
Ten minutes later, she entered the kitchen, conducted a quick check of everything on the stove, then took bread rolls from the freezer and placed them ready to pop into the oven when needed. A curso
ry glance over the table ensured everything was as it should be, except for the .carafe of wine chilling in the refrigerator, when the doorbell chimed.
Stephanie reached the hall just as Jake answered the door, and even from a relative distance she could sense Ian's composure had suffered a setback at the other man's appearance. Consequently her welcome was warmer than usual, although heaven knew what prompted her to reach up and bestow an affectionate kiss on Ian's cheek. Protectiveness, reassurance—she really didn't want to analyse it!
'Darling, let me introduce you,' she greeted with a smile. 'Jake Stanton—Ian Bryant.' Tucking her arm through Ian's, she urged him towards the lounge, aware of Jake's studied gaze and uncaring what connotations he placed on her actions. 'We've time for a drink first, or there's wine to go with the meal. Which would you prefer?'
'Oh, a drink,' Ian murmured abstractedly, then let his voice drop to a low undertone. 'He's making himself at home, isn't he? Answering the door as if he owns the place!'
'He was closest, that's all,' she soothed, then attempted brightly, 'How was your day?'
'The usual. Busy right through,' he responded without enthusiasm, and she inclined her head absently, knowing how much he disliked managing the family business. Selling books was far removed from his first love of mechanical engineering, yet being the only son, he had been thrust into managing the shop on his father's death over a year ago, Mrs Bryant helped out for a few hours each day, but Stephanie could appreciate how difficult it must be for him.
In the lounge she crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured his usual sherry, then handed him the glass. Jake, darn him, had followed them in, and politeness demanded she offer him something.
'Scotch, ice—no water,' he returned with urbanity, and the look she cast him would have quelled a lesser man. All it achieved was a raised eyebrow, then he lifted his glass and offered a mocking salute, 'Here's to health.'
Her own drink was an innocuous concoction which she sipped without testing, and suddenly aware of the acute silence, she rushed into speech with the first thing that entered her head. .
Sweet Tempest Page 3
