by Celia Scott
'I'm not part of the world you long for,' he said. He was no longer angry, but deeply serious, and this frightened her more than his fury.
'I don't want that world, either.' Her eyes were bleak with distress. 'I thought I did, but I was wrong. Please, please, Flint! You must believe me,' and when he did not reply, she said, 'at least let me come here and see you. I couldn't bear never to see you. Now I know how you feel about me.'
'But I don't want you here, Polly,' he said, and she recoiled as if he had slapped her. The chickadee flew away into the bushes.
'My bag's upstairs. I'll get it and go,' she said in a small, cold, even voice. She wouldn't beg him any more. She had more pride than that. Besides, she knew him. Knew his stubbornness. To beg would be as ineffectual as pounding her fists against an iron door. And she was damned if she was going to humble herself any more. She wasn't Marjorie Slater's daughter for nothing!
With leaden feet she fetched her bag from the airy blue and white bedroom and returned to the kitchen. He was standing with his back to the room, moodily staring out. He turned when he heard her stop.
'Do you really care for me, Polly?' he asked, and her heart stirred with hope at the naked need reflected on his face, but she hardened herself. He had put her through too much. She wasn't about to throw herself into his arms, no matter how ardently she might long to, so, 'There's no point in discussing it, Flint,' was all she could say. And then, before he could reply, she noticed a faint ribbon of smoke coming out of the oven and was aware of the smell of burning.
'My cake!' she wailed, dropping her bag and rushing towards the stove.
'Polly! No!' cried Flint, but he was too late and her wail turned into a scream as her bare hand touched the hot metal cake tin. She dropped the pan, and burnt sponge cake scattered over the kitchen floor.
'Polly!' His arm was round her waist, supporting her, for the pain was excruciating, and she stumbled as the room started to swim in an alarming manner. He half carried, half dragged her to the kitchen sink and turned on the cold water tap. 'Hold your hand under this,' he ordered, taking her wrist and holding it under the tap. 'That should help the pain and stop the blistering. The important thing is not to let the air get to it.'
The icy water felt horrible at first, and she whimpered through clenched teeth, but in a moment it acted like an anodyne on her burnt flesh, and the pain started to diminish. But she still felt sick and dizzy and, in spite of herself, a sob broke from her, and tears started to roll down her face.
Flint didn't say anything, but gently started to wipe her tears away with his fingers. She jerked her head back and he stopped.
When the cold water had done its work, he wrapped her poor hand in a clean dish towel. 'How do you feel now, Pollyanna?' he asked softly, and she thought that his use of that tender nickname was harder for her to bear than his coldness.
'I'll live!' she replied, and took an experimental step towards her bag. The floor seemed to rise up to meet her, and she nearly fell. He was at her side in an instant, sweeping her up into his strong arms, and she had to fight the desire to cling to him.
'You're still faint, Pollyanna. A little rest is indicated,' he said. He carried her into the den and laid her gently down on one of the large chintz sofas, plumping up a cushion and placing it behind her head. A kiss away. If she was going to faint, thought Polly, it was more likely to be from this proximity than from the shock of her accident. Her breath caught in her throat as he gently stroked the traces of tears on her pale cheeks.
'I can't bear to see you cry,' he said, his voice gruff and uneven. 'I can't bear it.'
Unresponsive to his gentle touch, she willed herself to lie motionless. 'You mustn't let it get to you. You intend to get over me fast and painlessly. Remember?'
He uttered a hoarse sound, a sound like a strangled sob. 'I'm such a fool, Pollyanna,' he said in that strange, ragged voice. 'I could no more get over you than I could get over breathing. You don't get over loving the right person quite as easily as that!'
'I know,' she said, pulling herself into a sitting position.
He sat back on his heels and regarded her through eyes that were dark with emotion. 'I've been in hell these past weeks, Polly.'
Her child's mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. 'I haven't exactly been in Paradise myself,' she said.
'I told myself I didn't care. That you were a silly girl taken in by glitter.' He leaned over and stroked a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead, and this time she didn't draw away. 'But you're not taken in by it, are you?'
'Not any more. Not for a long time, actually.'
'Did you really only take the job with me because you wanted to get to know Dexter?' he asked.
For a second she was tempted to deny it, to save them both pain. But her natural honesty overcame her. 'At first,' she admitted, 'but only at first. I was dazzled— never anything more. I've been so…' she groped for a word, '… so blind. I didn't know what love was. I couldn't understand why kissing Dexter wasn't the same as kissing you.'
'I don't want to hear about you kissing Dexter,' Flint said fiercely. 'You belong to me. No one else.'
'I know that. I think I knew it that night on the island… only I didn't understand it then.' Her beautiful hazel eyes searched his face. 'Does that make sense?'
He nodded, 'I think so. It was the same for me that night. I didn't know what had hit me. I found out pretty quickly though, when you started carrying on with Dexter.'
'I didn't carry on—' she protested, but he continued:
'Carrying on or not, I've never felt so jealous in my life. I knew then that I was in love with you. And that what I felt was something I've never had for anyone else.'
'I had no idea you felt that way, darling,' she told him. 'After all, I thought you and Sable… well, she was living at Crabtree Farm, and…'
He raked his hand through his unruly red hair which, she now noticed, needed cutting, and lay on the back of his neck like a little boy's.
'I was afraid you'd think that,' he said, 'but I couldn't say anything. I'd promised Sable.'
'Promised her what?' Her eyes might still be dim with tears but her heart was flying again.
'Sable's loved Dexter for years,' he said, 'but he never seemed to notice her—not as a woman, that is.' He pulled himself up to sit facing her on the sofa. 'And then, you may or may not recall, he got himself entangled with a redhead for a brief spell.'
'The day I came for my bike!' Polly exclaimed, 'I remember.'
'Yeah! Well, Sable was very upset, so she came out to lick her wounds at the farm. She figured that if she disappeared off the scene for a bit, Dexter might start missing her. Start showing some interest. So she made me promise not to tell a soul how she felt about Dexter. Because she knows him. If the girl plays hard to get, he's keen.'
'Yes,' agreed Polly, recalling her scuffles with the actor.
'Then,' Flint went on, 'he fell for you! We hadn't planned on that!'
'Poor Sable.' Polly's pale cheeks blushed pink.
'Poor me!' Flint growled. 'I was head over heels in love with you by this time. I could have murdered both of you!'
'Hang on a moment!' She drew up her knees and leaned forward. 'I heard you begging Sable to stay on here. How do you explain that?'
He grinned ruefully. 'I needed her here to protect me,' he said.
'Protect you!' Her mouth opened in astonishment. 'Protect you from what?'
'From you.' She stared at him blankly and he gave a low chuckle. 'You still don't seem to realise how attractive you are, Pollyanna,' he said. 'If I'd been alone with you here, I would have wound up making love to you. You're so sexy, honey. Such a woman. I knew I wouldn't have been able to leave you alone, and I was afraid I'd scare you away. Besides, it didn't seem fair. You trusted me and I didn't want to spoil that. So I asked Sable to stick around to protect us. She thought it was a hoot! They don't act like that in the sophisticated world she inhabits.'
'So that's why she calle
d you "old fashioned",' Polly said, a great weight lifting off her heart. 'I thought it was because you didn't want her to pursue a career.'
'I don't care whether she has a career or not, I'm not marrying Sable. I'm marrying you.' Flint laced his fingers through her uninjured hand. 'I am, aren't I, Pollyanna?' he said softly.
She looked up into his irregular, craggy face through a blur of sudden tears. 'Oh, please—yes…' she stammered, unable to say more. Then, 'Oh! But my cooking course! I'm supposed to start cookery school in September.'
'Well, is there a rule that says married ladies can't attend?' he asked. 'It simply means we'll get married this month.' He became serious. 'I don't want to rush you, sweetheart,' he said, 'but I—I need you. I'm only half a person when you're not there.'
'It's the same for me,' Polly smiled. 'I don't mind being rushed.'
He started caressing the inside of her arm and she tingled with pleasure. 'I'm glad you're taking that course, Polly,' he said. 'I hoped you would when I sent that cheque. But please,' he looked at her intently, as if he wanted to memorise her face, 'please try not to rush off the minute you graduate.'
'Darling! Why should I?' she asked, startled.
'Oh, to become a master chef at the Ritz, or take a job in Paris,' he teased. But his eyes were serious.
'I'll settle for becoming master chef at Crabtree Farm,' she assured him. 'It's all I've ever wanted—and children. We will have children, won't we, Flint?'
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. 'A couple, Pollyanna. When we've had a bit of time to ourselves. But we'd better get married first! Perhaps we could be married in England, since I don't imagine your mother's too keen on formal weddings.'
'You can meet all my relatives,' Polly cried delightedly, 'they'll love you.'
'That's nice. But the important thing is—do you love me, Pollyanna? Nothing else matters in the world.'
She stroked his cheek and a tremor passed through him. 'I told you before,' she whispered, 'I love you with all my heart.'
'And you forgive me for being so cruel… when I first found you here?'
'I forgive you, darling.'
'I was mad with jealousy. I—I wasn't thinking straight,' he muttered huskily, and she said:
'Just promise that you won't send me away—ever again.'
Putting his arms around her, Flint gently pushed her back on to the cushions, his mouth claimed hers, and she forgot the ache in her hand, the room, everything except his lips, and the thudding of his heart against her own.
'You do realise that we're alone here?' he said, when the kiss came to an end. 'No Sable to protect you.'
'Come here, you fool!' she whispered, and he stretched out beside her. 'Do you remember, when you first met me you told Dexter you thought I was the type who was hard to get rid of?' He started to say 'Oh, sweetheart…' but she put her fingers on his lips. 'Shh! You were right, I am! You'll never get rid of me now.'
'I think,' said Flint, kissing her between words, 'I think that's an excellent arrangement.'
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Unnamed
