Rosanna swallowed a great lump in her throat. ‘That smile,’ she said huskily, ‘was for Harry.’
Ewen nodded. ‘I know. At first I felt like a voyeur, but once I started reading her letters I was hooked. I just had to know what happened. Damn silly, really. I knew perfectly well there was no happy ending, but I wanted one. Badly.’
‘I know just what you mean. It felt like trespass when I opened Grandma’s trunk yesterday.’ Rosanna sighed. ‘Her diary cut me to pieces in places. Harry Manners was obviously the love of her life. And by his letters she was very much his, too.’
‘And yet she married your grandfather.’
Rosanna nodded, her eyes sombre. ‘Yes.’
Ewen pushed his chair away slightly so he could turn to look at her. ‘You resemble her so closely it’s a pity old Harry never met you. And yet not. It would probably have been too painful for him.’
‘You think I really look like that?’ she said doubtfully, eyeing the photograph.
‘You’re her image,’ he assured her, looking at her so objectively she suddenly felt jealous, stung by the idea that it was Rose he was seeing. Not Rosanna Carey, her flesh-and-blood grandchild.
‘There’s a fleeting similarity, I suppose,’ she said, so furious with herself her tone was distant, and Ewen got up, quick to sense her change of mood.
‘I’ve taken up too much of your time. If I could use your phone I’ll call a cab.’
‘Of course. There’s a list of numbers on the hall table.’
After Ewen made the call he came back into the kitchen. ‘May I take your box with me? I promise to take care of it. Or if you prefer I could just take the contents—’
‘No. Keep the letters in it, but I’ll keep the diary until tomorrow. You can have it then, when you go through the other things. There are later photographs of Rose, and letters to her from her family, and newspaper cuttings.’ Rosanna preceded him into the hall to wait for the taxi. ‘The cuttings are mostly about military events. Rose must have been following Harry’s career.’
Ewen put the rosewood box in his briefcase. ‘I’ll go through these tonight, and bring it back as soon as possible. Is tomorrow any good? Would your mother mind if I came round in the evening? Or will you be back in your own place by then?’
Rosanna hesitated. ‘A friend’s using my room in the flat because I’m house-sitting,’ she said reluctantly. ‘My father’s been away for the past month, doing consulting work in Saudi Arabia. My mother’s gone to meet up with him at my brother’s place in Sydney.’
‘Australia.’ He looked at her levelly. ‘You were afraid to tell me that before.’
‘Of course I was. I didn’t know you!’
‘You do now.’
‘Do I?’ she countered lightly.
‘Of course you do, Miss Carey.’ Ewen took her by the hand, turning her to face the large mirror on the wall. ‘We’re the descendants of two people who loved each other with a very grand passion indeed,’ he told her reflection. ‘We could hardly fail to know each other. Besides, having seen the portrait of Rose, I knew you the moment I set eyes on you.’
Rosanna eyed his reflection analytically. ‘You don’t look much like Harry.’ She smiled a little. ‘But I feel I know him a lot better than you.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve read his letters!’
Ewen turned her to face him. ‘Thank you for giving up your evening, Rosanna.’
He retained her hand, and Rosanna stood very still, her pulse quickening as his thin, strong fingers closed over hers. ‘I enjoyed it. I’ve never met a celebrity before,’ she said brightly.
He shrugged, his smile more crooked than before. ‘No celebrity. Just a journalist who got lucky.’ He looked down at her intently. ‘I’ll bring the letters back tomorrow night, then.’
Rosanna nodded, wishing he’d release her hand. ‘All right.’
‘This time have dinner with me.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
‘I see.’ Ewen dropped her hand. ‘Right. I’ll call round after dinner, then. Or before. Whatever.’
His expression was suddenly so aloof, Rosanna felt chilled. But not enough to agree to a meal together. She never accepted dinner invitations. Nor wanted to. But to her astonishment she wanted to go out with Ewen Fraser so much she had to force herself to refuse. ‘After dinner. If you like,’ she added casually.
The warmth returned to his eyes so suddenly it kick-started her pulse again. ‘I do like. Very much. Tomorrow at eight-thirty, then.’
‘Come a bit earlier than that—if you want to get to grips with the other stuff, I mean,’ added Rosanna gruffly, and bit her lip.
Ewen grinned. ‘Men usually beg you for more time, of course, not the other way round.’
‘I wasn’t begging,’ she said indignantly.
‘I know.’ He picked up his briefcase. ‘You just want to get everything finished and be rid of me.’ His eyes danced, the overhead hall light picking out flecks of gold in the hazel irises. ‘I’d be here at nine in the morning if I thought you’d let me in.’
This time the flicker of response was so violent Rosanna was hard put to hide it, and almost told him not to come again. But she couldn’t think of a feasible excuse, and her tone was cold in sheer self-defence as she told him seven-thirty in the evening would do very well.
Ewen smiled with regret as the doorbell rang. ‘My cab. Goodnight, Rosanna.’
‘Goodnight.’ She opened the front door. ‘Don’t stay up late reading Harry’s letters. In fact, take my advice— read them tomorrow, not tonight.’
‘Why?’
She smiled wryly. ‘You’ll find out when you read them!’
CHAPTER TWO
FEELING oddly restless after Ewen Fraser had gone, Rosanna took her grandmother’s letters to bed to read, which was a big mistake. In their own way the letters were as innocently erotic as the outpourings Rose Norman had received from Harry Manners.
Rosanna already knew how the two young people had met from the entries the young VAD had made in her diary. Rose Norman had been sent to France. With a couple of girl drivers for company, sometimes only one, she travelled in the unwieldy old ambulances of the time to transfer the seriously injured from casualty clearing stations to base hospitals further away from the front line.
2nd Lt. Harry Manners, one arm in a sling, a stained bandage round his forehead, flagged down Rose’s ambulance one day to beg transport for two of his wounded men. The men were crammed in somehow, at which point a flat tyre was discovered. Rose managed to help Letty Parker, the driver, change the tyre with instructions from the young platoon commander, who promptly collapsed in an unconscious heap the moment they finished the job.
Between them the girls managed to heave him into the front seat, Rose holding him as upright as possible on the journey back to the base hospital. Harry Manners’ forehead had been grazed by one sniper’s bullet, and his shoulder pierced by another which missed the jugular vein and the spine by a hair’s breadth, a ‘Blighty’ wound which sent him back to England to recover.
Fate sent Rose Norman home on leave on the same train, helping with the wounded on the journey. When she came across Harry he was light-headed and obviously feeling wretched, but utterly delighted to see her again. They were able to talk only briefly, but Harry begged her home address, and the moment he was discharged from the hospital in Denmark Hill called to see Rose on a day when her mother was helping Rose’s sister, Amelia, with the children’s measles in Kensington.
Far into the night Rosanna lay in the same bedroom her grandmother had occupied as a girl, riveted by the account of a love affair all the more passionate and poignant for the modest, unaffected style of Rose Norman’s letters. Referring to the diary from time to time, Rosanna read how Harry cut short his stay with his parents, and saw Rose every day, courtesy of the measles which focussed her mother’s attention away from her younger daughter.
When Harry asked her to m
arry him, Rose, still shadowed by the loss of one fiancé, was superstitious, and implored him to wait until the war was over.
‘But in the meantime,’ wrote Rose, ‘we are madly, wildly in love, and alive.
‘Today,’ said the next entry succinctly, ‘we became lovers.’
The diary was blank after that until Rose arrived back in France, not earlier than scheduled due to curtailed leave, as she told her mother, but on the due date after a week of illicit bliss with Harry in a Brighton hotel.
Their next meeting was in France, when Rose managed to get time off to stay with Harry in a pension in Rouen before he went up to the front. When they parted Harry gave his love a brooch in the shape of a gold rose, and kissed Rose’s tears away when she sobbed in his arms.
Rosanna slept late the following morning, and woke to a feeling of guilt. Overnight she’d had time for regrets, very much aware that there was no real necessity for Ewen to bring back the papers in person. Any future dealings with him could have been done by post. But she liked him. In fact, after just one meeting she felt as though she’d known Ewen for years. Or in some other life. Which was dangerous. It stemmed from Harry and Rose, of course. Their love story had fostered an intimacy that would never have happened if she’d met Ewen in other circumstances.
Ewen Fraser was an attractive, intelligent man loaded with charm. But, Rosanna reminded herself, apart from his great-uncle and his success as a writer she knew very little about him. Women, if the press were to be believed, flocked around Ewen Fraser in droves. For all she knew he might even be married. Not that it was any concern of hers if he had a wife or an entire harem.
The day was hot, and Rosanna spent most of it in the garden, topping up her tan. And later, after a quick salad supper, she took time with her appearance, choosing clothes that would show off her newly acquired glow. Some of which, she realised, eyeing her reflection, wasn’t entirely due to the sun. She’d left her hair to lie loose and glossy on her shoulders, and in sharp contrast with the demure look of the night before wore a sleeveless pink shirt and brief denim skirt. Knowing she looked her best heightened anticipation hard to control as she went downstairs to wait for Ewen Fraser.
He arrived punctual to the minute, dressed in a thin white cotton shirt and pale khakis, and presented Rosanna with a bunch of roses, making no attempt to hide the pleasure he took at the sight of her.
‘Hello, Rosanna. You look different with your hair down.’ He smiled and handed over the flowers. ‘Your garden’s probably full of these, but nothing else seemed suitable.’
‘Why, thank you. How kind.’ Rosanna’s smile masked the now familiar leap in her blood. ‘I’ve been lazing in the garden. Would you like a drink out there before we tackle any more papers?’
Ewen agreed with alacrity, and Rosanna sent him off to sit in a garden chair while she put the roses in water. She took her time, breathing in their heady scent, feeling light-headed. There was no mistake, after all. During the day she’d tried to convince herself that Ewen Fraser was just a pleasant, rather clever young man, but nothing out of the ordinary. One look at him again tonight had scotched that theory. He wasn’t handsome exactly, but his tall, rangy body and slanted gold eyes were just as appealing on second acquaintance as at first. Ordinary he was not. Rosanna went out into the garden with Ewen’s beer, and sat down in one of the other deck chairs.
‘You read the letters?’ she asked at once, to emphasize that they were here for a purpose.
‘Yes. I couldn’t resist reading them last night after all,’ he said ruefully. ‘I couldn’t get to sleep for hours. They were a revelation. Harry’s love for Rose was blazingly physical, yet at the same time it’s plain he absolutely worshipped her.’
‘It was mutual.’ Rosanna touched the gold rose pinned to the lapel of her shirt. ‘This is the brooch he gave her in Rouen, the last time they saw each other.’
Ewen leaned closer to examine the pin, close enough for Rosanna to breathe in the scent of expensive soap and healthy male, and she moved away instinctively. He drew back at once, and for a moment there was an awkward silence. They broke it at the same time, then stopped and laughed a little.
‘You first,’ said Rosanna.
Ewen breathed in deeply. ‘I was about to say I’ve already done the major part of the research—war records, and historians and war poets of the time. But Harry’s diaries and the letters he wrote to Rose are even more valuable in some ways. They conjure up the mood and atmosphere of the time so vividly I felt I was living it with them.’
‘I know what you mean,’ she replied with feeling. ‘Rose was a well-brought-up girl sheltered from the squalor and suffering she soon witnessed, but she was so determined she even lied about her age to get accepted. It’s clear from her diary that she found rich rewards in helping the wounded.’ She sighed. ‘It makes my life seem horribly trivial.’
Ewen reached out a hand and took hers. ‘Not in the least trivial, Rosanna. You’re educating the next generation. And my aim is to make sure Harry and Rose’s generation is never forgotten.’
‘Amen to that.’ Rosanna detached her hand swiftly, before he discovered her pulse was racing.
‘I’m very grateful to Harry and Rose,’ said Ewen, his voice deepening. ‘Without them I might never have met you.’
Rosanna cast a wary glance at him.
‘I felt I knew Rose already, of course,’ he went on. ‘But I never imagined I’d meet her in the flesh, in the person of her granddaughter.’
‘I may resemble her a little, but otherwise I’m nothing like her,’ warned Rosanna sharply, worried about where this was leading. ‘She was very much a woman of her time. I’m totally different. I could never have been as noble as Rose. When Gerald Rivers turned up out of the blue, shell-shocked and minus an arm, Rose felt she had no option other than to marry him. So she wrote that heart-rending letter to Harry.’
‘Who did his level best to get killed after receiving it. But in the usual way of things, of course, he got himself decorated instead.’ Ewen shook his head. ‘If this were fiction, Rose would have had his child, Gerald Rivers would have brought it up as his own and you and I, Rosanna Carey, would be related.’
His eyes locked with hers. Something molten in their depths touched a dangerous, responsive chord, and she looked away quickly, shaking her head.
‘In actual fact my mother wasn’t born until the thirties. Though she hardly remembers her father. He died when she was four.’
The silence which followed was so protracted, Rosanna grew restless at last and got up to break it. ‘Shall we make a start?’
Ewen followed her through the sitting room into the hall. Rosanna was suddenly so burningly conscious of his physical presence in the confined space that she tripped on a rug and his hands shot out to save her, closing on her waist. He drew in a sharp, unsteady breath and turned her to face him. For a long, tense moment they stared into each other’s eyes, then Ewen Fraser pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
‘I’ve been wanting to do that from the first moment I saw you,’ he muttered against her mouth, and kissed her again, his lips parting hers with such hunger she was shaken to the depths. She yielded helplessly, lost in the overpowering intimacy of the sensation as his tongue caressed hers, and he held her so tightly she could feel the powerful urgency surging through his body into hers like an electric charge. He raised his head at last, breathing unevenly, and stared down into her dazed, astonished eyes. ‘Are you going to show me the door, Rosanna?’ he asked hoarsely.
Appalled to find she was trembling from head to foot, she raised her chin militantly. ‘Why? It was only a kiss.’
‘Was it?’ he said harshly.
‘Yes,’ she said in desperation, and broke free to precede him into the kitchen, where the bright overhead light dispersed any remnants of intimacy. Rosanna faced him, suddenly angry with herself. And with Ewen. ‘I admit it’s my fault as much as yours,’ she said, her eyes stormy. ‘I obviously misled you by lettin
g you come here again tonight. I’ve got some information you want, and most of it you can have. But that’s as far as it goes.’
‘Then why the hell did you let me kiss you like that?’ he demanded hotly.
Rosanna’s face fell. ‘You took me by surprise,’ she muttered.
‘You could have called a halt long before you did.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose I was a bit beglamoured by what happened to Harry and Rose. Some of it must have rubbed off. Would you have preferred a slap in the face?’
‘Damn right I would,’ he said bitterly, and held her chair for her. ‘Right. Down to business. Let’s get this over with.’
The tension lay heavy in the air between them, but they worked quickly. An hour later a pile of neatly correlated research material was stacked beside the boxes.
‘Now comes the awkward bit,’ said Rosanna, squaring her shoulders. ‘I need a favour.’
Ewen ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her narrowly. ‘What kind of favour?’
‘Would you agree to an exchange?’ she asked reluctantly. ‘Rose’s letters for Harry’s? I want to try my hand at a novel. Not a serious, historical novel like yours. Just a romantic story about two star-crossed lovers in the past whose descendants get it together in the present.’
Ewen was silent for some time before he raised a daunting eyebrow. ‘Have you ever had anything published?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever tried your hand at fiction before?’
‘No.’
‘Then I wish you luck.’ Ewen lounged back in his chair negligently, long legs crossed at the ankle. He shrugged. ‘All right. You can keep Rose’s letters. I haven’t seen her diary, of course, but that’s likely to be more use to you than to me, anyway, if you’re concocting a romance. My focus will be on the Great War itself, following the lives of two friends, once students together in Heidelberg, now soldiers in opposing armies. Only a small section will be devoted to the doomed love affair. As a final twist the lovers are torn apart, but the friends are reunited after the war.’
The Temptation Trap Page 2
