Princess

by Alison Fraser

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Adam suggested, slightly bemused by his mother’s ability to gloss over any unpleasantness.

  ‘Splendid!’ she exclaimed unreservedly. ‘I’ll meet you at the station.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Mother. I’ve bought a car.’

  ‘That was quick! How long have you been in London?’

  ‘A couple of weeks.’

  He heard the faint murmur of disappointment that he hadn’t bothered to make contact on arrival, but he could not explain even to himself his fear of returning north—a fear that warred with a need to see for himself the evidence of Serena Templeton’s remarkable recovery.

  ‘Will Julia be coming up with you?’ Nancy enquired tentatively.

  ‘No, Mother, she’s still in the States,’ Adam smiled as he imagined his mother’s relief at this news, although she was too polite to express it aloud. Before she could press for more information he added, ‘Look, I’ll satisfy all your maternal curiosity when I get up there.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she laughed, knowing how reserved Adam could be about certain parts of his life, ‘but I’ll enjoy trying to prise the details of the last eighteen months out of you!’

  ‘I’ll look forward to the third degree,’ he joked in the same vein, before ringing off.

  He stopped halfway up the long sloping driveway and stared up at the house. It looked less grim than he recalled—a fresh coat of paint to the window frames, perhaps, and certainly a more colourful display of flowers in the surrounding flowerbeds for his mother was a keen gardener. He felt nervous—and at the same time annoyed that he should be so. For several seconds his hand hovered between first and reverse gear.

  His mother must have been waiting at a window, for she came out on the forecourt just as he was pulling up in the year-old Porsche he had found in a West End garage.

  She looked him over before exclaiming brokenly, ‘Oh, it’s good to have you back, son!’

  ‘Tears, Mother!’ he chided gently, but was himself touched by the warmth of her greeting. They walked arm in arm into the house, and most of the initial awkwardness had disappeared by the time they sat down to afternoon tea.

  Adam lounged back on a deeply-padded armchair and surveyed the rest of the room. The antique writing table and Chinese lacquered display cabinet he recognised as favourite pieces from their London home, but the brown and cream patterned carpet and toning velvet curtains were new and the leather suite, rosewood occasional tables and sideboard were recently acquired antiques.

  ‘You’ve done wonders with this room,’ Adam complimented her transformation of a dreary lounge into a gracious but comfortable room.

  ‘We’ve done the whole house,’ Nancy glowed with some of the pleasure that had entailed. ‘We had great fun at house auctions when we finally screwed up enough courage to bid.’

  They conversed on the same lines throughout tea, until Adam caught himself counting the number of times his mother prefixed her sentences with the pronoun ‘we’. He still couldn’t put the question that had been in his mind since he stepped out of his car and automatically lifted his eyes to the end window. Where is she? A natural enough question, but somehow he didn’t think he could make it come out sounding as such.

  In the end Nancy pre-empted him with, ‘Serena’s so looking forward to seeing you. As it’s the weekend she’s out riding, but she should be home soon.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Adam quizzed his mother’s first remark and received a perplexed frown. ‘That she’s looking forward to my visit?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Adam,’ she assured him after the barest of pauses. ‘She wants to meet her generous cousin who sends her such lovely presents from America.’

  Said with complete blandness and a light, teasing laugh it made any reply Adam might have made utterly impossible. ‘The girl is not my cousin, nor do I want her to be. The girl once believed I was going to rape her. And I doubt that she possesses a memory as conveniently short as you imagine!’

  ‘You won’t believe the change in her,’ Nancy ran on with enthusiasm and maternal pride. ‘It’s marvellous! Wait till you see...’ She broke off on catching the shutting of the front door and rose spryly to her feet, saying, ‘That’ll be her now, I think.’

  The eagerness in Nancy Carmichael’s tone and step was unmistakable, but it was not shared by her son, who stayed rooted to his seat, not joining his mother, who went out in the hallway to greet the girl. Yet he found himself listening—straining to catch the sound of Serena Templeton’s voice, wondering if it would match his memory of it, and in that moment he wished he had fought harder against the spur that had taken him back to this house.

  He rose automatically as she entered, ushered in by a smiling, confident Nancy like a treasured prize. The impact the girl’s appearance had on him could not have been predicted, and as they met head on, his defences crumbled. Dressed in immaculate riding outfit of fitted check jacket and cream jodhpurs, her shapely legs encased in knee-high leather boots, she had her hair caught in a bun which the wind had slightly disarranged, leaving wisps of fine fair hair to soften the effect. She had an aura of vitality and grace—and her face, still fine-boned, but no longer with an unhealthy pallor, had grown into an almost exact replica of her mother’s.

  ‘How nice to meet you, Mr Carmichael,’ she said politely as she came forward to take the hand he was extending.

  His stomach muscles tensed painfully at the first touch of her small cold hand, and he forgot to shake it. Just held it in his, unconsciously moving his thumb over her slender fingers, until she raised her head. Her cheeks flushed delightfully as she realised his appraisal, but nevertheless she returned it with a steady measured look of her own. And for once Adam was incapable of shielding his own emotion—he felt his eyes must be telling her exactly what he was thinking—that she was the loveliest living thing he had ever seen.

  ‘You must call me Adam,’ he said, barely above a murmur, and then instantly wished he hadn’t spoken at all. He could have held her longer with silence, while she seemed to be doing her own accounting of him with her wide expressive eyes.

  With her gaze sliding away and her hand wriggling out of his grasp, her tone increased in coolness.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to welcome you, but I’d already arranged to go riding with a friend. I’m glad to meet you at last, Nancy has told me so much about you.’

  It was a pretty speech, delivered with a perfect composure that Adam strove to match, while his pulses still beat erratically.

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ he groaned amusedly. ‘I hope she’s left us some secrets to discover about each other in the coming weeks!’ Green eyes came flying back to his face, and recognising immediately that his choice of words had struck a wrong note, Adam tried to charm her wariness away with a smile that usually guaranteed a favourable response from the opposite sex, but judging by the mounting signs of her alarm, it proved wildly off target.

  It was at this point that Nancy, watching the interchange with an increasing misgiving, interceded with an effort to keep her tone light and teasing, ‘Serena, you’ll have to be quick and go and change if you’re going out tonight. Although John wouldn’t object to anything you did, dear, I think an evening dress would be more appropriate.’

  ‘Mm, yes.’ Serena turned towards Nancy, and Adam alone registered the complete blanking off of the hostility which had faced him seconds before.

  ‘Run along, dear, or you’ll be late,’ Nancy urged, successfully excluding Adam from any further conversation until she had whisked a willing Serena out of the room and then leaned wearily against the tightly closed door.

  ‘Who’s John?’ Adam growled, his face a tight angry mask.

  ‘I thought you’d got over it,’ Nancy shook her head in despair, ignoring the question that seemed so revealing.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother,’ Adam said harshly, and retreated to stare out the far window, while he schooled his features into a cold remoteness.r />
  Nancy followed him there, pulling him round to face her with a surprising strength.

  ‘This is one area where you will not intimidate me into silence, Adam!’ Frustratedly she met his shuttered indifferent expression, but pursued the subject with a determined, uncustomary vigour. ‘Perhaps you’ll be more prepared to talk honestly when you’ve picked your heart off the floor.’

  ‘You talk like a romantic novel,’ he sneered.

  ‘Maybe I do. And Serena is certainly the beautiful heroine, but there is no way, no way at all that you figure in the story. Not one with a happy ending, anyway.

  Adam visibly winced but muttered stiffly, ‘I think you’ve made your point.’

  He turned back to study the view from the front of the house, but his tightly clenched jaw told its own story and Nancy reverted to a quieter tone.

  ‘Adam, I love you, but I love that girl too—almost as though she were my own.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you’re too old for her,’ Nancy supplied softly.

  ‘Mother!’ he snapped, ‘you don’t know what you’re saying. I’ve only just met the girl.’

  And still his eyes remained locked on the grounds beyond the house.

  ‘I know Serena and I know you too, Adam. There’s a vein of cynicism that runs right through your make-up which frightens me.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’ Adam demanded.

  ‘No, Adam,’ Nancy cried anguishedly, ‘I want you to stay and chase away any last ghost that may remain with the girl.’

  ‘Apparently she didn’t even recognise me,’ Adam stated coldly.

  ‘It’s difficult to tell,’ she said innocently. ‘She jealously guards her innermost feelings as though she feels people will use them against her. That you have in common.’

  ‘And you trust me with your little princess?’

  She frowned at the description. ‘If you give me your word that you will be nothing more than polite and friendly,’ she sighed, laying down her conditions. She had missed neither the look in his eyes when he first saw Serena nor the much-practised, lazy smile that had followed it.

  ‘Why are you so sure I would harm her?’ Adam asked.

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to help yourself,’ Nancy murmured, faint but audible, and resting her hand on his sleeve, pressed gently, ‘Have I got your promise?’

  Adam looked down at his mother, caught the mute appeal in her soft blue eyes and backed his nod of acquiescence with a return to offhandedness. ‘Don’t worry, your little princess is quite safe with me. I’ll grant I’m mildly attracted, but as you say, she is a little unsophisticated for my tastes.’

  Swivelling round, he shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled sardonically. ‘Perhaps the wilds of Yorkshire will provide another source of amusement.’

  ‘In all other respects, you can go your own way as you always have.’ Nancy was partially reassured by Adam’s flippant attitude. Earlier he had brushed off his affair with Julia Montague with a careless shrug. Perhaps her over-protective attitude to Serena had, after all, made her exaggerate Adam’s interest. ‘I’d like you to stay as long as you want. This is your home, son.’

  ‘Legally, maybe.’ The crease of her forehead told him he was upsetting her. ‘Well, Mother, I’ll take you up on your offer and remain here until I get restless again.’ This time his smile was warm and genuine.

  Nancy Carmichael sighed relievedly. One thing she had not foreseen was a favourable personality change in her son; it was hard to define, but it was definitely there. She matched his altered mood, giving her tinkling musical laugh.

  ‘I can’t see you settling for long, Adam. You’ve got too much vitality to bury yourself up here—to quote your own words.’

  ‘Mm, time alone will tell,’ he conceded as they returned to the warmth of the fire. ‘However, I would certainly appreciate some peace and quiet to work on a new novel.’

  ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of your most recent book.’ Although she did not grasp some of the ideas in his novels and was perturbed by others, she enjoyed them. Whether through maternal pride in his achievement or because of their literary content, it was difficult to judge. ‘Was it only published in the States?’

  ‘I haven’t written a book in two years,’ he explained evenly, shaking his head to his mother’s offer of a drink. ‘1 was writing screenplays in Hollywood.’ He fervently hoped the films had not preceded him to this country.

  ‘Serena said it was probably that,’ Nancy declared. ‘She saw a film with your name on the credits. I was going to see it...’

  ‘But?’ Adam prompted with an element of humour.

  ‘Well, Serena said it wasn’t really suitable for anyone over twenty-five or under eighteen. Although I must confess I didn’t understand what she meant by her remark, and by the time I decided to go and see it, it was no longer showing in Leeds.’

  Adam knew exactly what Serena’s criticism implied. ‘You didn’t miss much,’ he denigrated the sensationalism he had injected in a mood of black humour. He hadn’t seen that second film, but he could imagine. ‘Not some of my better work, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think she meant that,’ Nancy defended hastily, and because she was still optimistically hoping that a friendly relationship could develop between the two, she added truthfully, ‘Serena’s read all your books, you know—she’s a great fan of yours.’

  ‘Really?’ Adam’s disbelief was concealed behind the succinct reply. Any notion that Serena Templeton now saw him in a favourable light had been destroyed by that half-suspicious, half-defiant look she had bestowed on him before leaving the room. Suddenly he didn’t want to talk about the girl any more. Bending down to brush his mother’s pink powdered cheek with his lips, he excused himself. ‘I think I’ll go and unpack before dinner.’

  For a long while Serena sat on the window seat, a motionless figure, hugging her trousered knees and staring out into the approaching twilight, her mind scattered in all directions as she tried to make sense of her reaction to him.

  It wasn’t as if she’d had no warning—a full twenty-four hours to practise the fixed smile and the right notes of polite welcome. She had been so sure of herself when she walked into the room. Perhaps that confidence had been her mistake.

  His voice, so deep and sensual, had been the test. She had swallowed silently, quelling the excitement engendered by his touch, and trotted out the rehearsed greeting. Controlled and pleasant, it came out word-perfect. She was going to pass.

  And then suddenly it had gone wrong. What was it he had said? She couldn’t remember, not exactly. Something about secrets. Triggering off an overreaction, her head snapped up and she clashed with eyes that no longer looked soft and melting. Devouring eyes. Andrea’s smile spreading over firm, well-cut lips. It had thrown her wildly off balance and wrenched her back to the dark time.

  She was there now. Slipping—she had to keep moving—continue to run from those bad memories. She jerked her legs to the floor and brought herself firmly back to the present. She heard the crunch of gravel and looked down as Adam unloaded his suitcases.

  Lithe, muscular... almost the perfect tall, dark and handsome, she thought, and yes, for a second, she could see him again as a physically superb example of his sex. It wouldn’t be normal, she said to herself, if she hadn’t been initially impressed by his arrogant brand of good looks— but take them away and what was left? A middle-aged writer, bankrupt of ideas, judging by the film she had seen, but rich enough to indulge a taste for the supposed good life which she did not need to experience first-hand to disdain. Just a man who made it a dubious point of honour to charm any member of her sex. Nothing sinister. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

  After half an hour of flurried activity, she descended the broad sweep of stairs with an uncharacteristic haste, not stopping to analyse her urgency to be waiting for John when he called. He was always punctual, to the minute, but normally he had a drink in the lounge when she, often as not, failed to liv
e up to his excellent timekeeping.

  In the hall mirror she squinted critically at her reflection. The dark green velvet suit and cream silk shirt looked right—cool and stylish—but the hair floating free past her shoulders was definitely not. Too wild by far. She checked her watch. Five minutes. She tipped her head forward and a cloud of silky straight hair obscured her vision as she prepared to clip it into a neat topknot.

  ‘It’s longer than I’d imagined.’

  At the soft, low words, Serena forgot her errant hair as her head jerked up and she backed hard against the cause of her fright. Firm hands reached out to steady her while her fairness streamed back from her rapidly paling face in total disarray. And there in the highly-polished glass, her frantic eyes sought and held his dark fathomless stare. His sudden appearance had deprived Serena of nerve and she shied away from the hand that lifted from her shoulder as though it was about to strike her.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ Adam murmured as he stroked the tumbled hair back with a disarming slowness.

  He was smiling at her reflection, a lazy spreading of his sensual mouth that tightened the constriction in her dry throat. Surely she could handle this man!

  ‘What do you want of me?’ she challenged huskily at the mirror when he resisted her attempt to slip from his loose grip of her shoulder.

  His eyes travelled slowly over her reflected features before ending at her pink trembling mouth. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  But Serena, emerging from the mental corner into which she had fled, recognised the nature of his threat as accurately as if the long brown fingers resting on her jacket had made a blatantly sexual exploration. It burned her skin to a blushing red.

  She didn’t fully understand how her reaction only touched on fear before becoming something that mingled pain with pleasure, but she knew she had felt it once before—and caused by the same man. The same man she had fought coming out of the nightmare that had plagued her sleep. So vivid the memory that she almost screamed in a faithful reproduction of the scene, and bit hard on her lower lip to stop herself doing so. She met his penetrating gaze again in the mirror and read the hard, hurting doubts about her sanity as his eyes darkened to near-black. For a second the sight of the small spot of blood forming on her self-inflicted cut held them both. And then he moved away from her, out of her range as she turned to face him, her fingers unconsciously clenched at her side, refusing to stretch out for the handkerchief he was offering, and betray their trembling.