by Penny Jordan
Johnson returned to pour them sherry, his manner stiff and very correct. He would shield Zach like a guard dog, Tamara sensed, and woe betide anyone who crossed him.
‘Mrs Wilkes is ready to serve lunch now, Colonel,’ he informed Zach woodenly, before departing.
‘I think Johnson is trying to tell me that if we don’t sit down there’ll be hysterics in the kitchen,’ Zach commented humorously. ‘Actually I’m very fortunate in having both Johnson and Mrs Wilkes, although they to tend to be rather like oil and water. Johnson, you see, is a confirmed woman-hater, while Mrs Wilkes is, I suspect, looking for a second husband. However, she’s an excellent cook. I saw your fiancé the other day,’ he commented to Tamara without changing his tone of voice. ‘He was out riding with a rather attractive brunette—Karen, I believe he called her.’
‘Yes, that would be Karen Anstruther,’ Tamara replied with commendable composure, refusing to rise to what she knew to be a deliberate taunt. ‘She’s Malcolm’s secretary and her parents are close neighbours of his.’
‘How cosy!’
Fortunately the arrival of iced melon wedges provided a welcome interruption, and Tamara concentrated on the delicious fruit while Nigel skilfully drew Zach out about his novel.
As a bystander Tamara was amused to see how well Zach parried Nigel’s more searching questions, but underneath her amusement lay a pain that shadowed her eyes and brought a hard tight lump of tears to her throat.
Their main course consisted of spare ribs and a delicious assortment of garden-fresh vegetables.
‘I’m afraid it’s only cheese and biscuits for dessert,’ Zach apologised smoothly when Mrs Wilkes had removed their plates. ‘When Nigel told me he wanted to bring his assistant for some reason I expected a man.’
‘No way,’ Nigel chuckled. ‘For one thing no man could possibly be as decorative, but as it happens, Tamara is the best secretary I’ve ever had. How long do you think it will take to get the first chapters done?’ he asked Zach. ‘I’d like to try and bring the book out in time for next year’s Christmas trade, but that will mean a bit of a rush. I’m off to Milan next week—I’ve got a book lined up there. Someone who claims to be in the know about the Italian terrorists—says they’ve got some pretty high-up Government connections. Probably a load of waffle, but one can’t afford not to investigate.’
‘How long do you expect to be away?’ Zach enquired politely.
‘Er … two or three weeks, it just depends. Now, about your novel, how long do you think before you can let me have those early chapters?’
It was plain to Tamara that Nigel was anxious to pin Zach down to a definite contract, and having read what he had done Tamara could understand why.
‘I could probably let you have the first three by the time you get back,’ Zach replied smoothly, ‘provided you’re willing to loan me the services of your assistant.’
There was a sharp clatter as Tamara’s knife fell from nerveless fingers, and then Nigel was saying quickly,
‘Of course I’ll find you a secretary, Zach, there’s plenty of girls in the office who’d be delighted to …’
And just as quickly and far more determinedly Zach was interrupting blandly, ‘That’s very kind of you, Nigel, but I prefer to work with someone I know if possible, and Tamara can’t possibly come with any better recommendation than your own. As you said yourself, you’ll be away, and of course I don’t expect to use her … skill for free.’
Had Nigel noticed the insulting way in which Zach had lingered over those last few words? Tamara wondered, not able to look at either of them.
She knew Nigel must have guessed that Zach was the father of her baby and he had tried to circumvent Zach’s suggestion tactfully.
‘It’s up to you,’ Zach added with a nicely judged touch of boredom. ‘If you want the chapters …’
‘Of course, of course,’ Nigel agreed quickly. ‘Would you mind, Tamara?’
‘I … I don’t see how I could do it,’ she said huskily, ‘I couldn’t possibly commute.’ Too late she realised that Zach would probably expect her to stay with Malcolm’s parents too, but to her dismay he shrugged and said coolly,
‘Of course not, but that’s no problem. There’s half a dozen bedrooms lying empty here, and in point of fact it would probably be more convenient to have you on the premises. I take it that if it’s necessary you won’t mind working some evenings? I’ll make it worth your while, of course.’
With what? Tamara longed to scream at him, hating the insulting way he looked and spoke, but for Nigel’s sake she suppressed the words and merely replied tonelessly, ‘If it means the work can be completed more quickly that will be all the payment I’ll need.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing Zach’s skin darken slightly under his tan, but when he turned aside to say something to Nigel, a wave of nausea suddenly swept her, forcing her to her feet, her lips as pale as her skin as she swayed sickly.
‘Tamara!’ Nigel was at her side instantly. Tamara forced a small smile.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘If I could just go outside for a moment—some fresh air.’
‘Of course.’ Imperturbably Zach led the way to the french windows, opening them and allowing her to precede him outside. Tamara had grown used to feeling queasy first thing in the morning, but this was the first time she had felt so desperately ill during the day. She longed to creep away somewhere and be on her own. To her relief Nigel, sensitive to her distress, drew Zach’s attention to something inside the dining room, and Tamara walked the length of the balustraded terrace, taking deep calming breaths of the pure fresh air. She was just about to venture across the smooth expanse of the lawn when her earlier nausea returned, leaving her retching helplessly, her face pressed to the cool brickwork, while her body shuddered agonisingly.
‘So … An old trick but an effective one. I doubt the Colonel will wish his grandson to be born out of wedlock. But why?’
Zachary was leaning against the balustrade, surveying her wan face with an intensity of anger that almost frightened her.
‘Why what?’ she stammered.
‘Why get yourself pregnant?’ Zach demanded brusquely. ‘And don’t tell me you’re not. Mrs Wilkes would be mortified if she thought that was the effect her cooking had on my guests, but it wasn’t the cooking, was it, Tamara? So I’ll ask you again—why? Frightened you might lose him to Karen after all?’
‘It’s none of your damned business!’ Tamara cried, goaded beyond endurance, almost hating him for suggesting that she had actually planned to become pregnant to force Malcolm to marry her. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that her engagement was over, but if he should then guess the truth and suspect her of engineering him into marriage instead of Malcolm. No, she could not bear that!
‘No?’ There was silky menace in the word. ‘You won’t forget that while you’re here living under my roof, you’re here to work for me, not spend your time with Mellor?’
‘Malcolm is in New York at present,’ Tamara told him curtly.
‘Is he indeed? Does he know yet, or are you keeping it a happy secret until he comes back? You won’t be able to wait much longer, will you?’ he asked insultingly. ‘What’s it going to be? A seven months prem?’
Tamara’s fingers curled impotently into her palms, itching to wipe the sardonic look off the autocratic male face above her.
‘Tamara, are you okay?’
Nigel appeared on the terrace, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘While we’re here, Zach, how about showing us over the main house, and telling us a bit about your plans for it?’
At first Tamara thought he was going to refuse, but then he seemed to change his mind.
‘What gave you the idea in the first place?’ Nigel asked him as they walked through the garden to the drive which apparently led to the main house.
‘Oh, it grew on me gradually. I inherited this place from an uncle—quite out of the blue. The main house had been neglected for years. The old
man had offered it to the National Trust and they’d refused—they won’t take any house without at least some sort of contribution towards its upkeep, but Gerald wouldn’t accept this, and so to punish them he started to let the house collapse around his ears.
‘Fortunately for me the Dower House was tenanted and the tenants kept it in good order.
‘As for turning the main house into a rehabilitation centre—I suppose the germ of the idea was born when I did a tour in Northern Ireland. Those kids don’t stand a chance; from the very moment of their birth hatred of the opposing religion is inculcated into them; they drink it in with their mother’s milk, and it’s much the same over here with the children who eventually become petty criminals and victims of racial violence. What I want to do is to give them a chance—before it’s too late—to discover an alternative way of life, to live not in some approved school or remedial centre but in a place that teaches them self-respect and self-reliance …’ He broke off suddenly. ‘Sorry about that, I tend to let myself get carried away once I start.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Nigel smiled at him. ‘I admire you—and envy you in a way, and I wish you every success.’
‘I’ll need it,’ Zach replied grimly, ‘and my first success must be my book.’
‘I can see why,’ Nigel agreed frankly as they rounded the final bend and the house stood before them, decaying and dismal; a hotch-potch of styles and tastes. Tiles were missing from the roof; windows broken; the whole place had a tired, defeated air that touched Tamara’s heart.
‘What made you go into the Army?’ he asked suddenly. ‘You were at Cambridge, weren’t you?’
‘Yes. In those days I planned to be a writer, but somehow I found myself becoming more and more disenchanted with the privileged world I inhabited. I left Cambridge without my degree and bummed around the world for a couple of years. I got involved with a group of mercenaries in Africa and discovered I had a talent for commanding men. It seemed only sensible if I was going to fight to do so with the best, so I came home and joined the Army.’
Having already learned the skills which must have made him invaluable to the S.A.S., Tamara thought inwardly, suspecting that Nigel had no idea of what Zach’s role in the Army had actually been.
Zach showed them over the huge rambling house, pointing out its possibilities. There was a home farm attached to the estate, on which the boys would work.
‘We can’t be entirely self-supporting, of course,’ he admitted, ‘but the farm runs profitably and there’s still scope for the small specialised engineering units of a type we could set up here. I’ve several ideas in mind.’
It was late afternoon before Nigel and Tamara left. They drove several miles in silence, and then Nigel said softly,
‘That’s him, isn’t it? The man you fell in love with; the father of your child?’
‘Was I so obvious?’ Tamara asked wryly.
‘No. I was just putting two and two together. I’m sorry about landing you with the job of helping him with his book.’
‘There wasn’t any way you could get out of it,’ Tamara admitted wearily. ‘He thinks I’m still engaged to Malcolm—I didn’t tell him the truth because …’
‘Because you don’t want him to guess that the baby is his?’ Nigel supplied gently. ‘He seemed very insistent on having you work for him.’
‘Punishment,’ Tamara explained briefly. ‘He seems to think I’m forcing Malcolm into a marriage that he doesn’t want. He even accused me of becoming pregnant to force Malcolm’s hand.’
There was a shocked silence and then Nigel said worriedly, ‘Tamara, if you don’t feel that you can cope with this. You’ve got the baby to worry about now, as well you know. If you feel he’s going to give you a hard time …’
‘The boot ought to be on the other foot,’ Tamara joked lightly. ‘How times change! It used to be the woman who hated and despised her vile seducer, and now … now …’
A soft white hankie was pushed into her trembling hands. Nigel let her cry for a few minutes and then when she had herself under control and had blown her small nose defiantly, he said, ‘Tamara, are you sure about this, I could tell him you’ve changed your mind?’
And have him find out later from Malcolm that their engagement was over and had been for some weeks, and then possibly guess the truth?
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Living in such close proximity to him is bound to …’
‘Change the way you feel about him?’ Nigel suggested, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think you honestly believe that, do you, Tam?’
‘Stranger things have been known to happen.’
But she knew that Nigel was right and that living in the same house as Zach was more likely to deepen her love than wither it. If contempt and dislike had not killed it, what possible chance had a tepid thing like familiarity?
CHAPTER NINE
‘THIS will be your room—it has its own bathroom, and the Colonel is just down the corridor.’
Johnson was showing Tamara to her bedroom. He had greeted her on her arrival at the house with the information that Zach had gone into Gloucester on business but that he would return shortly.
The bedroom he showed her to was comfortably furnished with delicate French Empire furniture and a soft pearl grey carpet. The bathroom off it repeated the grey and pink colour scheme of the bedroom, and although the decor and soft furnishings had a faintly old-fashioned air, it was plain that they were of excellent quality.
Tamara suspected that the tenants had been an older couple, and this was borne out by Mrs Wilkes when she brought her a tray of tea ten minutes later.
‘I don’t normally come in unless the Colonel is having guests for dinner, but he asked me special like, seeing as this is your first day.’
And Mrs Wilkes had jumped at the chance of discovering what the newcomer was like, Tamara guessed, smiling her thanks.
‘So you’re going to help the Colonel with his book,’ she pronounced, plainly reluctant to leave before her curiosity had been satisfied. ‘All agog, everyone round here was when he inherited the estate. Plans to turn the old house into a centre for wayward boys. That won’t go down too well with some, but then live and let live, that’s what I always say,’ she added virtuously, her arms folded over her ample form. ‘Think you’ll like it down here, do you? The Colonel’s a fine-looking man,’ she added.
‘This tea is delicious, Mrs Wilkes,’ Tamara praised, sidestepping the questions. ‘Just what I needed, but you mustn’t spoil me like this …’
‘Oh, the Colonel’s asked me to come in every day while you’re here, miss,’ the housekeeper surprised Tamara by saying. ‘Says you’ll be too busy to stop and prepare meals,’ she added. ‘Seems like you’ll be working morning, noon and night.’
‘My firm is anxious to get the Colonel’s book into production,’ Tamara explained briefly, ‘and as my boss is away at the moment I’m here to help where I can.’
‘Brought your own typewriter with you, so Johnson says.’
‘Yes, it’s upstairs in my room.’
‘I doubt you’ll need it. The Colonel’s had a fine new electric machine installed in the library for you.’
Zachary arrived while Tamara was still unpacking. She had brought with her the new clothes she had bought for work—trim suits, neat skirts and blouses. Although many of the girls wore jeans for work, she could still not bring herself to totally throw off the habits instilled by Aunt Lilian, and the thought of wearing anything as casual as jeans for work was not her style. She had brought a pair with her, though—tossed into her case at the last minute in case she got the opportunity to explore the grounds. Zach had talked about working in the evening, but surely he didn’t intend to work every evening?
Tamara acknowledged that she was deliberately dawdling over the last of her unpacking because she was reluctant to face him, but at last the moment could be put off no longer. She paused, staring at her refl
ection in the mirror. As yet there was no hint of her pregnancy in her wand-slim body—if anything she had lost weight—but there was a new glossiness to her hair, a subtle rounding of her face and luminescence to her complexion.
Her outfit was another of her new ones, a pale blue skirt with a elasticated waist, and buttons down the front. With it she was wearing a white tee-shirt with a pretty blue butterfly motif. The outfit had been bought from a High Street chain store, but it looked attractive and fresh and was a world away from the dull repressed clothes she had chosen before she met Zach.
Unaware of the fragile vulnerability of her face, she went downstairs head held high, ready to face her tormentor.
Johnson was in the hall and he directed her to the library-cum-study. Tamara knocked and walked in. For a long moment there was complete silence while Zachary studied her slender body, and then with several lithe strides he was at her side, pulling from her hair the pins with which she had secured it on a last-minute impulse.
‘Never let me see you with your hair screwed up like that again,’ he demanded sharply. ‘I may not be your fiancé, with all the privileges that the word implies, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit opposite you day after day with your hair forced into a bun like a schoolmarm!’
‘It’s tidier like that,’ Tamara lied evenly, despising herself for the hurried jump her heart had given at his reference to her hair.
‘Maybe so, but don’t be tempted to wear it like that again, otherwise I might just show you how untidy it could be. Come here, I want to show you something.’
For a moment his abrupt change of front startled her, but when he frowned she hurried to his side, staring in some dismay at the keyboard and V.D.U. unit arranged on a low desk.
