A Durable Fire

by Robyn Donald

  Surprisingly he was an excellent teacher, extremely patient and careful, quick to praise and never losing sight of the fact that she knew not even the most rudimentary thing about riding.

  Under his tutelage and with Tessa’s co-operation, she learned how to mount and dismount, the correct grip for the reins and how to adjust the girth and stirrups.

  ‘Yes,’ he said coolly, watching as she walked the willing Tessa around in a circle. ‘You have excellent hands. I thought you would. That’s enough for today. You can come with me down to the paddock and I’ll show you how to take the bridle and saddle off.’

  Both were silent as they rode past the homestead. Even at the paddock conversation was held to strictly practical subjects.

  But when at last Tessa was released with a last affectionate stroke on her soft muzzle Kyle asked, ‘Do you want to come into the village with me?’

  Arminel’s first instinctive shake of her head caused a lifted eyebrow.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t—well, there’s nothing for me to do there.’ It was a clumsy answer, but how could she say that the thought of sitting beside him for the half hour or so it took to get to the village was totally intimidating?

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said coolly, taking her arm to turn her back towards the house. ‘I’ve never yet met a woman who didn’t like shopping.’

  Obviously he had no intention of accepting an excuse. Rather desperately she said, ‘But Rhys—’

  His fingers tightened on her arm before he released her ‘But Rhys—?’

  Her tongue tied itself into knots. ‘He said he’d take me,’ she finally said, lying.

  ‘Ah, but we all know that you’d rather go with me.’

  This was said with such bland assurance that for a moment the meaning didn’t register. When it did she stumbled, her feet symbolising the shock his words caused.

  ‘Well?’ Kyle asked softly.

  She shook her head, not daring to look at him in case he saw the confirmation of his remark in her face.

  He laughed. ‘As it happens, you can do something for me. I have a young cousin who must be about your age and I want to get her a birthday present. Mama’s ideas run to the conventional, but Katie is a very modern young woman.’

  ‘So you want me to choose?’

  ‘Is that so surprising?’ His voice was smooth as cream. ‘You have natural good taste, as I’m sure you know. Your clothes are very carefully chosen to emphasise your attractions.’

  It was a compliment, two compliments in fact, so why did she feel as though he had slapped her in the face?

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with stiff politeness.

  He chuckled, infuriatingly, and mocked, ‘Hard to please, aren’t you? I don’t go in for flattery, Arminel.’

  No, and he didn’t go in for pleasing, either, he was too arrogantly confident to worry about buttering anyone up. So why, when she was so suspicious, did she find herself meekly agreeing to go with him?

  ‘Because,’ she told her reflection in the mirror, ‘you are an idiot.’

  It seemed as good a reason as any. As well as the overmastering physical pull that basic antagonism was still there, even though he hid it under this new relaxed attitude. Probably he had assessed the situation between her and Rhys and what he saw had caused him to subdue his hostility. He wouldn’t have to be very astute to wonder why, if she was in love with his brother, she had responded with such ardour to the pass he had made up on Te Nawe.

  And he was an extremely clever man, worldly and knowledgeable with a brain like iced quicksilver. She was afraid of him, and not only because she hungered for his lovemaking with every fibre in her being. Davina might call him a darling, but some instinct in Arminel saw deeper to the tough uncompromising core of his character. He would be as unsparing and as exacting with himself as with others; a man to fear.

  She ran her suddenly damp hand down the seam of her tailored shirt jacket, aware that the sand colour repeated and emphasised the apricot of her slacks. Her fingers trembled as she tugged a little fretfully at the collar of the cream blouse she wore. Davina dressed exquisitely in silks and fine wools and linens, expensive materials crafted by famous names. Typists couldn’t afford such clothes, but within her budget she did rather well, Arminel decided.

  The village was a small collection of shops and houses beside a little harbour. In bad weather boats clogged the wharf and during the summer visitors flocked to the beaches. It was a busy, cheerful place, centre for a large, wealthy farming district, so the shops were good.

  ‘Just prowl,’ Kyle told her laconically as he got out of the car. ‘You’re bound to see something. I’ll be an hour or so.’

  ‘Where—’

  He grinned. ‘The dentist.’

  ‘Oh, poor you!’ For the first time ever in his presence her laughter was clear and untrammelled, although her sympathy was warmly evident.

  ‘I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s so funny,’ he complained, his eyes roving her face. ‘I’m terrified!’

  ‘You look it.’ But she composed her expression into one of more seemly gravity. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Why, thank you, ma’am.’ He bowed, did it superbly too, then walked away from her down the street, as beautiful in his own way as his horses were, a delight to the eye.

  Arminel turned, pretending to stare into a window, but her eyes followed his reflection, noting the smooth grace of his stride, the lean, powerful body held with the controlled confidence of a superbly fit animal.

  People looked at him, most smiled and received smiles back. A cold pang of envy tore into Arminel’s heart. She would give anything to be a friend to him. But even as the thought entered her mind she rejected it. No, she had something of him which none of these kindly people possessed. Dislike her as much as he did, whenever he looked at her he wanted her, and she would not exchange that for all the friendship in the world. It hurt that there had been other women who had aroused him; she knew that there would be others in the future. But at the moment she was the one, the focus of his attention. And there was nothing his cold, clever brain could do about it.

  Watching him, she felt something expand within her and suddenly the day was glittering, as filled with colour and glamour as a soap bubble.

  Twenty minutes later Kyle found her in a gift shop, touching with tender fingers a burnished green and copper pottery bowl.

  From then on the day became like something out of time. He teased her and made her laugh, insisted on buying her lunch in the town’s one and only restaurant, and though it was a little public, as everyone knew him and came up to pay their respects, it was exciting, too, for between them the awareness glittered and spun, an almost tangible tension, exquisitely thrilling.

  They argued amicably over a gift for his cousin before finally agreeing on a cobwebby shawl in the palest smoky-mauve, spun and knitted by a local woman.

  ‘But is it fashionable?’ Kyle objected.

  ‘It doesn’t need to be fashionable.’ Arminel touched it gently. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  His glance lanced through her as though he was trying to see into her soul. Faint colour touched the high, beautiful curve of her cheekbones.

  ‘O.K.,’ he said with an abruptness which sparred uneasily with his relaxed mood of a moment ago. ‘May I quote you on that?’

  She smiled as she was meant to, but said uneasily, ‘You know her, Kyle. If you don’t think—’

  ‘My dear, I’m sure your taste is impeccable.’ He turned and the woman of the shop came up eagerly at the subtle summons. ‘We’ll take this,’ he told her, all charm.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ She was curious about his companion, but only a quick look revealed it.

  When the parcel had been wrapped she said, ‘Thank you, Kyle; I’ll tell Mary Hobday that you liked it.’

  Once out in the car he said, ‘Now, tell me the meaning of that rather peculiar look you gave me.’

  Before she could reconsider Ar
minel said, ‘Oh, just— well, I’ve never shopped with anyone whose approval would make a craftsman as happy as she thought Mary Hobday was going to be. Kyle Beringer, patron of the arts and an occasional craft.’

  ‘That was a rather cynical remark,’ he said, apparently amused as he set the car in motion.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ Some tinge of the chagrin she felt when they discussed things she had no knowledge of made her say wryly, ‘I’m out of my depth, I suppose.’

  ‘But fast learning to swim.’

  From the village the road climbed a steep hill; it had been several days since the last rain and behind them dust collected in a great cloud, but the big car was so well engineered that not even a faint taste of it touched her lips.

  ‘No answer?’ Kyle asked lightly.

  She shook her head. ‘There is no answer to that.’

  ‘Then tell me whether you like Davina.’

  After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘I doubt if anyone could dislike her. To use her own words, she’s a darling.’

  ‘Yet you don’t mind hurting her?’

  His voice was almost remote as though he was speaking of cold abstractions, not a woman’s heart.

  Wretchedly Arminel drew a deep breath. ‘I—yes, of course I hate hurting her.’

  ‘You’re just not prepared to do anything about it.’

  She stared down at her hands in her lap, concentrating fiercely on keeping them still. It hurt to find herself flung back into warfare and she found herself wondering miserably if he had used his considerable charm to soften her up for this confrontation. She cursed herself for being so stupid and she hated Kyle for being ruthless enough to force the issue just now, when she had been so happy.

  ‘I can’t—Kyle, it’s not fair to try to push Rhys into something he doesn’t want! It’s not fair to him and it’s certainly not fair to Davina.’

  ‘If he really didn’t want it there would be no hope of pushing him into anything,’ he said implacably. ‘He’s weak, but not that weak.’

  ‘But if he was persuaded into marrying her how long do you think it would last?’

  ‘As long as any other, longer than most.’

  He should have needed to keep all his concentration on the narrow, winding road. On one side the sun shone in tiger-stripes through a row of huge macrocarpa trees, dazzling the eyes and making it hard driving.

  But Kyle continued his attack. ‘With you out of the way he’d very soon realise that he’s been in love with Davina for years. You have the novelty of a willing disposition and provocative beauty, but as you pointed out a few minutes ago, you don’t belong. And Davina does.’

  Deep inside her heart something snapped. Words would not come. She stared down at her hands, trying to tell him—what? Nothing. There was nothing she could say in her own defence. The past couple of weeks had convinced her that Kyle was right, that Rhys loved Davina without realising it, but she could not—would not say so. Kyle didn’t care how much he hurt her, his whole sympathy was for Davina, who belonged.

  At last she said in a tight voice, ‘Time will tell.’

  ‘Time? How about money?’ And when she didn’t say anything he continued calmly, ‘How much, Arminel? What would it be worth to you to pack up and go, leaving the field open for Davina?’

  The insult left her quite literally breathless. When she could breathe it was to an intolerable stabbing pain and she looked, horrified and shaken, down at hands that had formed themselves into claws.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said with the cold despair of hopelessness, ‘nothing that you could give me will persuade me to go.’

  ‘He won’t marry you,’ he said, almost casually.

  ‘Then why are you so eager to get rid of me?’

  ‘So you do think you might pull off a marriage.’ He ran the car into a layby, a curve which had once been the road but was now cut off by a new line of survey.

  It was overhung by a woodlot of tall, thin, carefully pruned pines. Closer to the road was a small forest of tree-ferns, their rough black trunks a harsh contrast to the silver reverses of the huge scrolled leaves.

  Kyle said cruelly, ‘You’ll never do it. When it comes to the crunch Rhys won’t stand up for you however good you are in bed. He wants a wife he can be proud of, not one he’d have to apologise for.’

  The colour had fled from her face, leaving it chiselled into cold pride, the only colour the pink curves of her mouth and the deep navy-blue of her eyes.

  ‘That’s my business,’ she said, and by some act of kindness from a gentle genie, her voice was as level and steady as his.

  ‘And mine,’ he said, watching her from beneath partly lowered eyelids. He smiled suddenly and reached out to trace the outline of her lips. They trembled beneath his fingertip. ‘Be sensible,’ he said, his tones deepening. ‘I don’t blame you for using your face and that delectable body to improve your prospects, but one thing adventurers should learn is when to cut their losses. Rhys is a loss. You don’t love him and what he feels for you is infinitely more basic than love. It’s Davina he feels protective towards, Davina he jokes with and teases and talks to, not you.’

  ‘I hate you!’ she choked, twisting her face away from the soft torture of his finger on her mouth.

  ‘Because the fact that you want me gets in the way of all your plans?’ he taunted.

  As she watched, fascinated and unable to move, the pale blaze of his eyes darkened. Releasing his seatbelt, he leaned towards her, not stopping until his mouth was resting as light as a feather’s kiss on hers.

  ‘Because you do, don’t you, Arminel?’ he said, very low, and kissed her, his mouth moving sensuously over hers as if she was the one person his body and mind craved. Arminel jerked away, but he followed her down, forcing her head back into the headrest while he openly demonstrated just how much power he possessed over her.

  For only their mouths touched. He did not have to hold her. Yet she could not move, or do anything but respond with all the fiery abandon he had woken to life in her.

  When at last he lifted his mouth he looked down into her face with cold hostility.

  ‘I want you out,’ he said, each word icily distinct. ‘You’ve caused enough havoc. Make your excuses tonight and get out tomorrow. Or I’ll use the other weapon I’ve got.’ His finger flicked her mouth, slightly swollen in the pallor of her face. ‘And I’ll enjoy that,’ he said, and it was a threat.

  Not another word was exchanged until they got home. Then he said, ‘Remember, Arminel.’

  What she might have answered was never said. Probably it was just as well. Arminel was so confused, so racked by anger and a kind of sick, cold desolation, that she might have lost her head completely.

  But at that exact moment Mrs Beringer and Davina arrived home, so she was forced to appear as normal as possible. Both possessed a sharp pair of eyes, both watched her constantly even when Rhys was nowhere in sight.

  When at last she made it to her bedroom the solitude she thought she craved was intolerable. She did not want to have to face Kyle’s betrayal just yet. Betrayal? A bitter smile made her expression suddenly cynical. He at least knew exactly what he felt for her. He had made no attempt to pretty up that basic lust with emotions he didn’t feel. And now he had delivered the ultimatum she had been subconsciously dreading ever since she had arrived at Te Nawe.

  The bright sensuous room mocked her anger and self-contempt. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a jersey and went out across the lawn and down through the drifting petals of the flowering cherries to the farthest part of the garden, a glade beneath the unfamiliar trees of the New Zealand bush, darkly foliaged, lush, with three silver ferns rising in spiral symmetry towards the sky.

  She dropped on to the rustic seat beneath a tree with small chocolate flowers so heavily perfumed that they tormented her nostrils, the sensual scent contrasting piquantly with the cool fresh evening air.

  For a long time her head drooped as she stared unseeingly at the smooth grass be
tween her feet. Her thoughts were inchoate, painful with forbidden hungers, needs which only her will-power prevented from overwhelming her. So she was half in love with Kyle— no, she fancied him like mad. Love was too fine a word to dignify the way he affected her. She wanted him. Just that, no more. He was too hard, too self-sufficient, too calculating to love. Physically he was all that a man could be, possessed of a rare sexual tension which made him intensely attractive.

  During a self-indulgent moment or two she allowed her mind to fantasise before grimacing and dragging it back on to proper paths. Just because he was tall and lean and bronze-skinned, just because he had features which formed a hard mask of perfection, just because his eyes made it only too obvious that when he looked at her he wanted to take what he saw—these were potent weapons in his armoury, but she must fight them. For he had the power to strip every vestige of self-respect from her, and he knew it. If she gave him the opportunity he would take her, carelessly, with superb skill, and then discard her just as carelessly. And that could break her.

  For the first time she admitted that her defences were so fragile that he would have little difficulty in breaching them.

  He knew that, too. In the car he had delivered his ultimatum with imperious confidence, very sure of his ability to enforce it. The cool inflexible voice had made it quite clear that if she didn’t leave he had every intention of making love to her with a ruthless passion that frightened her—and yes, it must be admitted— excited her too.

  ‘I must be mad,’ she said beneath her breath, but she knew her skin had heated at the thought of discovering just how good a lover he was. Pictures slid into her mind, and she bit her lip, banishing them with a fist pressed into her mouth. Above it her eyes were desperate, large and glittering as though she suffered a fever.

  That was all that it was, of course. A fever in the blood, but it ached through her body, drawing her breath in short shallow panting movements, until she said again, ‘I must be mad,’ and jumped to her feet, running back through the quiet afternoon as though she had seen a dark angel beneath the silver ferns.