Eventually the path she had taken led down to the narrow road, bordered on one side by the May Brook which rattled its shallow way over stones to debouch into the sea.
She was alone on the windswept ochre sands, and she slipped off her high-heeled shoes, dumping them behind a rock, turned her back on the tiny harbour, and strode towards the foaming water-line.
She had walked for over a mile before she managed to get the worst of her anger under control. For the first time since she had known him she felt respect for Norman withering away. And without their respect for each other, she realised, their relationship was bankrupt.
Had he categorically stated that he was unprepared, ever, to move from The Laurels, then she would naturally have been disappointed but she would have respected his viewpoint, would have accepted it. Where one lived was, after all, less important than with whom one lived.
But he hadn't done that, and he'd only agreed to her putting in a bid when he'd realised his cousin wanted the property. Nor was Luke the type of man to stand aside and allow someone else to take what he wanted. Norman had been well aware of that!
She pushed her fingers through her vivid hair and stood at the water-line, staring out to sea. The water was sparkling, little lights dancing on the tumbling surface, and she sighed, dragging the sharp, clean air into her lungs.
Norman was weak, she acknowledged now. He was content to stand aside and allow Luke to snatch away one of the things she'd wanted most in the world, while letting her believe he was on her side! He had given her hope where he'd known there had been none, and had promptly absented himself so that he wouldn't have to witness her disappointment. He had even asked Chris to look out for her afterwards—so sure had he been that Luke would outbid her!
She wasn't sure if she could ever forgive him for that. So she would face him with it and see how things went from there. She wasn't sure if she could marry him now, spend the rest of her life with a man she couldn't really respect.
Her mouth tightening, she turned and began to walk back, her lips pulling down cynically as she wondered how Norman would react if he discovered that Luke had had ideas of seducing her right under his nose! Would he fight for her, fling his cousin out on his handsome head—or would he simply close his eyes and pretend not to notice?
Not that it would come to that, she reassured herself firmly, as the very thought of being seduced by Luke, under Norman's nose or not, made her feel hot and peculiar. For one thing, she comforted herself, Luke would be leaving, probably today, since there was nothing to keep him here now that Monk's Hall was his. And, for another thing, she wouldn't allow it to happen. She had successfully kept him at bay all week.
Except for this morning, a tiny, unwelcome inner voice reminded her. Except for this morning. And her response to his kiss, to his voice and his wicked hands, hadn't been exactly reassuring from her viewpoint!
So the sooner he left, the better, she conceded honestly, then dragged in her breath because she could see a lone figure walking towards her. Distance in no way diminished that potent male charisma. Horribly, her skin tingled and her heart lurched—and there had to be something very potent indeed about a man who could do that to her at a distance of several hundred yards.
Gritting her teeth, she walked steadily towards him, because there was nowhere else to go unless she turned and ran. And that no man alive could make her do!
He was just standing now, totally relaxed, waiting for her to reach him, the slight breeze from the sea lifting the dark softness of his hair. I'll shoot when I see the whites of his eyes, she thought grimly, because no way would she have allowed him to see how he'd hurt her. He had taken Monk's Hall and she was aching inside.
Still walking steadily, she gathered her mental resources until, still a couple of yards away, she fired her first shot.
'Congratulations. You've acquired a beautiful property.' She carried on walking, not deviating from her path by an inch, and would have passed right by him, a slight smile fixed painfully on her face, but one strong hand lazed out and caught her arm, pulling her to a reluctant and undignified halt. Annie swallowed an unidentifiable lump in her throat and said frigidly, 'Please let me go.'
'In a moment.'
Both hands were holding her now and he might as well have said, 'When I'm good and ready,' because that was what he'd meant. She could read that much in the steady blue glint of his eyes.
Masking her feelings, she glared haughtily back at him. She would have died before she allowed him an inkling of the havoc he was creating inside her. The mere touch of his hands set her on fire. She could feel every one of his finger-ends through the stuff of her suit jacket; the awareness unnerved her.
'Annie… I'm sorry about Monk's Hall,' he said softly. If she'd been an idiot she might have believed him, because the hard, sometimes mocking lines of his face had softened to something resembling compassion. But she wasn't an idiot and this man had a thousand faces, all of them devious, and if he thought that a little soft-soaping from him, a spurious regret or two, would get her melting into his arms—and thus round off his stay here nicely— then he had another think coming!
'I know how you'd set your heart on living there with Norman, but don't you see—' his fingers tightened fractionally as he drew her closer to him '—it would never have worked? I've known him all my life, on and off, and he hasn't changed. He likes his comforts and he likes them to be functional.
He'd have been out of his depth, rattling around Monk's Hall.'
'Are you trying to tell me that you bought that place—and paid way over the odds for it, too— merely to save Norman from a horrid fate?' she said grittily, emphasising her scorn with a look that would have withered any man but Luke Derringer.
'No, I didn't say that.'
His air of patience was galling, raising her temperature, and she growled, 'Then save your sympathy; it's not needed. You beat me over the house, but it's not the end of the world.'
'No?' His eyes softened with a misty pity that made her spitting mad. She didn't want anyone's pity, least of all his. 'Then why the long solitary walk?' he questioned astutely. 'You had too many things to do to have lunch with me, so why the sudden urge for time-wasting solitude? I saw you from the grounds of the Hall. I knew you had to be hurting. I came to sympathise.'
'How gracious!' Annie snapped her teeth at him, her eyes dark with a fury she feared she would not be able to contain much longer. She jerked her arms, but his grasp was unwavering. 'Didn't it occur to your monstrous ego that I would make any excuse to get out of spending time with you? Now let me go!'
'Of course.' To her secret amazement he released her arms, his eyes suddenly bleak.
Amazement? she questioned a reeling brain as she strode away as quickly as her narrow skirt would permit. Regret might have been nearer the mark, she decided with an honesty that had her near to loathing herself. She had fully—and not without a strange, wild inner excitement—expected him to repeat the kiss of this morning!
He was an opportunist of the most selfish kind, and the fact that he had simply released her without taking what he had openly admitted he wanted was totally out of character.
But they were both behaving out of character, she admitted wryly. It wasn't her nature to allow casual sexual excitement to take over. She had more respect for her body than that. Not that it had taken over, of course. Not yet, a small inner voice said snidely. Not yet.
Finding the rock where she had left her shoes, she stuffed her feet into them and only then permitted herself to look round. Luke was not following her, as she had apprehensively anticipated, but was moving away down the beach, his easy stride taking him far away.
Hopefully, that would be the last she would see of him, she thought with weak relief. This afternoon she would be taking herself off for what remained of the weekend. She needed time to calm down before she tackled Norman over the way he had so sneakily manipulated her over Monk's Hall. Their whole future together was on the line, and she had
to think sensibly, to get things into perspective, before she tossed it aside in a moment of anger.
'Where on earth have you been?' Joan shot out of the front door as Annie parked the runabout. 'The auction was over hours ago!'
Reluctant to face Norman while she was still in an evil mood, Annie had taken her time. She had driven into town and phoned Cassie from a call-box. Her friendship with Cassandra Wilkes went back years. They had shared a couple of rooms in Clerkenwell while Annie had been at secretarial college.
At nearly eighteen Annie had plucked up the courage to tell her mother that she was leaving, striking out on her own. She had been tired of the enforced role of number one fan and ego-booster, of being carted around from one glitzy hotel to another, rarely staying anywhere longer than it took for a film to be shot or a play to complete its run. Tired of being pushed into the background because she had suddenly developed a beauty of her own and Willa Kennedy didn't like to have beautiful women around her—and that included her own daughter.
At that time Annie's new-found independence had been a bit scary, her veneer of self-confidence wafer-thin. And Cassie, older by four years, had been just the sort of friend she had needed. Cassie still worked and lived in London, now having an apartment in Chelsea, where Annie knew she was always welcome.
But when she got through to her friend on the phone, Cassie had said, her voice distorted by static on the line, 'Come by all means. Only I'm off on holiday—you only just caught me. But if you want a day or two in town you're welcome. I'll leave the key with the guy downstairs, but next time, buster, make sure you come when I can enjoy your company!'
Annie had been disappointed at first, but soon realised that it might be better to spend the short time available on her own. Together, she and Cassie tended to sit up half the night, giggling and gossiping and catching up on all the news. Time was short: Annie needed to be back in Seabourne on Monday morning when she and Norman were due to spend a couple of days interviewing Professor Rhys and taking the photographs needed to illustrate that section of the book.
Aware now that Joan was regarding her with cold impatience, Annie walked reluctantly towards the bungalow. She would simply tell Norman she fancied a day in town—no need to tell him that Cassie would be away, and that she'd be spending the time trying to decide if marrying him was the right thing to do. Until today she'd had no significant doubts at all.
'You certainly know when to make yourself scarce!' Joan's mouth was a disapproving slash, but her eyes were glittering with something that looked remarkably like excitement. She made no move to let Annie pass; it was almost as if the older woman were barring the way, refusing to let her over the threshold.
'Why, have I missed something?' Annie spoke tartly, in no mood at the moment for Joan's antics.
Ever since she and Norman had become engaged she had worried over Joan's suddenly antagonistic behaviour. Now she had far more important things to occupy her mind and she said, 'Excuse me, Joan,' trying to walk past the housekeeper's solid figure, but stopped in her tracks when Joan answered, sounding almost triumphant, 'There's been an accident.'
'Norman?' Annie's face went pale, the faint scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out starkly. 'What happened?'
She had spent the afternoon grumbling at him in her mind—when she hadn't been mentally occupied with Luke! And all the time he had been…?
'He hurt his back.' Joan folded her arms in front of her, standing her ground. 'We came back from shopping and while I was washing up after lunch he went in the garden. The next thing I knew he was calling for me. He'd tried to move the garden seat and cricked his back. Dr Beddowes doesn't think it's a disc, but he's ordered him to bed, flat on his back for the duration. It's been all go, I can tell you.'
'It must have been,' Annie agreed drily, relieved that it was nothing worse. She pushed past Joan, but the housekeeper's voice stopped her.
'I wouldn't disturb him if I were you. He's asleep. After I'd called the doctor out, and he'd examined him, I managed to get him to bed. The poor soul was in agony, couldn't even bend to take his own shoes and socks off!' Her grey eyes taunted, but Annie shrugged coolly.
'I'm sure you made him as comfortable as possible. Thank you.'
Joan nodded, her posture important. 'If you want something to eat, there's some salad. Help yourself—I'm going to unearth the sunray lamp, and I sent Luke to the chemist for something for me to rub on Norman's back.'
She bustled away, and Annie thought, You'll enjoy rubbing his back, won't you? And fussing around him and making yourself indispensable. And she was more than ever sure that she'd been right in thinking that Joan had been in love with Norman for years and that jealousy had turned a kindly, cheerful woman into a shrew.
And why was Luke still hanging around? She had imagined he'd be eager to get out of this one-horse town to hand the planning and development details of Monk's Hall over to his hirelings. She wondered if he'd bother to say goodbye before he finally left, and hoped he wouldn't. Even so, there was a stupid ache just beneath her breastbone at the thought of never actually seeing him again.
Her perverse thoughts both surprised and dismayed her. Her fiancé was lying in bed, probably in pain, and she had carelessly handed his care over to Joan, without one qualm, and had immediately turned her entire attention to the hateful Luke. There had to be something very wrong with her!
Perplexed by her own contrary attitude, and determined to do something about it, she went to her room to comb the tangles out of her hair before looking in on Norman. She decided she wouldn't mention Monk's Hall until later, until he was over the shock of being confined to bed, and she would sympathise with him over his accident, because she owed him that, at least. And then she would have to cancel the interviews with Professor Rhys, and she wouldn't avail herself of Cassie's flat because she could do whatever thinking she had to do here.
She was calmer now, and her initial fear that Norman's accident had been something far worse than a cricked back had brought home to her just how fond of him she was.
They were fond of each other, but was fondness enough? She caught sight of her reflected frown and sighed. She simply didn't know any more. And she had been so sure. They had both agreed that passionate love had no place in their lives, and that a marriage based on mutual fondness and respect, on compatible interests, on a normal need for companionship and children—when Annie felt ready for motherhood—was far more sensible than a union based on the transitory lusts of the flesh.
Norman's biggest regret was that his first wife hadn't been able to give him children, and Annie wanted a family of her own to love. But was Norman the right father for her children?
The doubts simply wouldn't go away. Did she really want to spend the rest of her life with Norman? Or would she always be looking for strengths in him she now knew he didn't possess? And would even the simplest display of honest-to-goodness emotion be forever taboo?
Norman was lying flat on his back, looking sorry for himself.
'I'm sorry you lost Monk's Hall,' he said.
Despite her good intentions, Annie bit out tersely, 'Are you? Are you really?' Then she tacked on sincerely, 'And I'm sorry about your back. Does it hurt?'
'If I try to move, yes. According to Beddowes, I've wrenched some muscles and the only cure is lying here.'
He had dismissed her questioning of the veracity of his statement over her loss of Monk's Hall, she noted drily, as she pulled up a chair. He had a talent for ignoring what he didn't want to see or hear. Only now was she beginning to realise how self-centred he was. And this was the room she would share with him if they married. It depressed her utterly. But now wasn't the time to think about future colour schemes, about replacing the heavy, ugly nineteen-forties furniture with something else. She said optimistically, 'Perhaps it will only take a day or two.'
But Norman grumbled, 'Beddowes mentioned four to six weeks. If you'd been around we would have moved that seat together and this
wouldn't have happened. Where were you?'
Wondering if we ought to call the marriage off, Annie thought, but she said, 'You should have waited. That seat's heavy—it could have been shifted any time.'
'I distinctly remember asking you to help me with it this afternoon.'
And she thought, And I distinctly remember thinking there'd be no need because we wouldn't be living here much longer. But you knew better, didn't you? You knew Luke would outbid me.
If Norman hadn't been in pain nothing would have stopped her from speaking her thoughts out loud. As it was, she merely said, 'I'll phone Professor Rhys and cancel our visit,' and brought a hornets' nest around her ears.
'You can't do that!' Norman snapped, struggling to rise but falling back on the mattress with a yowl of pain. 'It will be weeks before I'm fit to go. I can't afford to waste that amount of time.' Annoyed, he showed a purple face and Annie stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. He had never had occasion to be anything other than pleased with her before now. 'You must go on your own,' he told her firmly. 'You know what I'm looking for. The book was your idea in the first place.'
'Well, I would, but—'
'No buts, please. Joan can look after me perfectly well, if that's what's worrying you.'
It wasn't. And Joan would like nothing better than to look after him for the rest of his life. Annie opened her mouth to explain her problem, but Norman shot at her accusingly, 'In fact, she's been a marvel. I don't know what I'd have done without her this afternoon. And when you get back from Wales we can go through the notes together, make a start on the relevant chapter.'
His blunt features looked pinched with the discomfort he was experiencing. She knew how important his work was to him, and she was his research assistant, after all, but she could see a problem.
Passionate Awakening Page 4
