Stormspell

by Anne Mather

  Thinking of Martin, Ruth pushed back the covers and got determinedly out of bed. There was no point in lying there, brooding over what might have been. It hadn't happened. She had not given in to him. And somehow she had to make sure it never happened again.

  The room heaved as she moved away from the bed. and a feeling of nausea gripped her. She remembered, belatedly, that she had eaten next to nothing of her dinner the previous evening, and MrsRadcliffe had viewed her lack of appetite disapprovingly. Obviously she was hungry, and although the thought of food was not entirely acceptable to her, she determinedly went into the bathroom to wash and clean her teeth.

  She dressed in corded pants and a silk shirt, briefly admiring her slender figure as she passed the long cheval mirror. Having a full-length mirror was an unexpected delight, and although she seldom spent long in front of it, being able to see herself from every angle was a novelty.

  Her hair she secured as usual in the braids her aunt preferred. Davina. she knew, would have had her hair cut in New York, had Ruth been agreeable, but when the girl demurred, she had compromised by insisting that she keep it confined at least. Ruth complied. but she didn't altogether like the severity it brought to her face, and in bed, and in the privacy of her bedroom, she determinedly left it loose.

  It was barely seven-thirty when she descended the stairs from her second-floor bedroom. The house in Wellington Mews was large and sprawling, spreading over the now-unused stables and carriage houses beneath. Aunt Davina kept a Daimler for her own use. and Martin had his Lamborghini, but apart from that the garages were empty.

  Ruth had found such a surfeit of space intimidating when she first came here. Used to the bungalow. where all the rooms had a purpose, she found the idea of so much emptiness disturbing, and she was sad that the library and the music room had so little use. and spent most of their days silent, behind slatted blinds. But then everything had been strange to begin with, not least the idea of having relatives she had never met.

  Aunt Davina never referred to the reasons why her father had lost contact with her mother's sister. In the beginning, she had explained that distance had separated the two families, but as Ruth began to comprehend what a wealthy woman her aunt was, she couldn't help wondering why she had never taken the trouble to fly out and see them. She suspected it had to do with Professor Jason's blank denial of any other living relative, and because she was loath to appear critical of her father, she had remained silent.

  Nevertheless, she had been amazed to discover that she had an inheritance of her own. The income they had lived on which came from her grandmother's estate, had not been the pittance she had always believed. On the contrary, it was quite a considerable allowance, and because of her father's parsimony, it had mounted up in the bank, and accrued interest. In consequence, she could have lived quite comfortably on her own, had Aunt Davina not chosen to offer her a home.

  The island, too. was hers. She doubted it was worth much, but in any case, she had no desire to sell it. Somehow, just knowing it was there made her feel more secure, and she had promised Father Andreas that he need not fear for his home again. In return, he had promised to tend her father's grave, a small plot in the shadow of the church Professor Jason had so staunchly opposed in life.

  Ruth entered her aunt's morning room to find the elderly housekeeper laying the breakfast table. Mrs Radcliffe, she knew, had been with Aunt Davina for years, and was really too old to continue as housekeeper. But her aunt was fond of the old woman, and Ruth had made friends with her. She was not at all like Celeste, but Ruth could talk to her, and she smiled now, as the girl came through the door, and straightened to put a supporting hand to her spine. 'You're an early bird, and no mistake,' she remarked, by way of a greeting. 'When are you going to learn to sleep till midday, like Mr Martin?'

  'Never. I hope,' declared Ruth, with a grimace. 'It's no good. The milkman always wakes me. And besides,' she rubbed her flat stomach vigorously, 'I feel a bit empty.'

  'That's no surprise,' observed Mrs Radcliffe dryly.

  'You eat like a bird, too. It's time you started tucking in to a good old English breakfast. Ham and eggs, sausages and bacon, topped up with toast and marmalade—'

  'Oh. don't!' Ruth had turned quite pale at the thought, and the housekeeper viewed her anxiously.

  'You feeling all right this morning?' she exclaimed. coming round the table towards the girl. 'You look proper pasty, now I come to look at you. Come along with me to the kitchen, and I'll give you a nice hot cup of tea.'

  Ruth hesitated, but as the nausea receded, she nodded. 'I think I must be very hungry,' she said, following the housekeeper down the stairs. 'But just toast and marmalade. I think. None of those other things.'

  By the time Aunt Davina put in an appearance Ruth was feeling much better, and as Davina invariably ate breakfast in bed, she was now ready to deal with her correspondence. In the two weeks since they had arrived back in London, Ruth had taken to joining her aunt at this time, and helping her with her letters, scribbling her replies on scraps of paper, ready for typing later. At present Davina typed her own letters, but Ruth was thinking of suggesting that she might learn to do them, and in that way repay her aunt a little for the time and patience she was expending on her.

  This morning, however, her aunt suddenly looked up from an invitation she was scanning, and subjected her niece to a piercing stare. Davina had a very penetrating stare when she chose, from eyes of a much paler colour than Ruth's, and in consequence able to freeze at a glance. Combined with high cheekbones, and a prominent nose, and the kind of regal bearing Ruth had hitherto only associated with royalty. Davina could be quite a daunting figure, and this morning Ruth was made acutely aware of it.

  'Mrs Radcliffe tells me you had a visitor last evening.' she remarked, without expression, and Ruth felt the tell-tale colour fill her cheeks. In her hurry to dispel the sense of nausea she had been feeling, she had completely forgotten her earlier intention to ask the housekeeper not to mention Dominic's visit, and now she was nonplussed by this unexpected challenge.

  'I—well, yes,' she got out at last, and Davina tilted her head at the angle which denoted she expected her to continue her explanation. 'It—it was someone selling tickets for—for a charity ball,' she added in mortification, and Davina's pale eyelids narrowed her accusing stare.

  'Someone selling tickets for a charity ball?' she repeated at last, and Ruth nodded. 'Who was selling them?'

  Ruth inwardly groaned. 'I—I think he said the name was Crown.' she said, unable to dissemble any further, and almost miraculously her aunt's face cleared.

  'Crown? Did you say Crown?' she exclaimed, without any of the condemnation Ruth had expected. 'Of course! Mrs James Crown is well known for her work for charity. I wonder who came selling the tickets. Some voluntary worker, I suppose. Did you buy any?'

  'Buy any?' Ruth almost choked. Obviously. Mrs Radcliffe had not mentioned Dominic's name. 'I— why, no. No. I—I didn't think you'd be interested.'

  'Oh, one always subscribes to worthy causes,' replied her aunt, patting her hand. 'But of course you weren't to know that. Perhaps it was a little naughty of Mrs Radcliffe, letting him in. After all, one never knows who one is letting into one's home these days.'

  Ruth's lips formed a faint smile, but she was shaken, and she hoped her aunt would not notice.

  'Anyway, enough of that,' said Davina, tossing the invitation she had been holding aside and reaching for another envelope. 'I shall probably be contacted from another source.' She frowned. 'Now, let me see, have you got your notepad ready? Good. Shall we begin?'

  Martin appeared as one of the maids who came in daily to help Mrs Radcliffe arrived with a mid-morning tray of coffee. He came into his mother's sitting room yawning widely, and then gave them his sheepish grin as Davina glanced pointedly at the clock.

  'I know I'm late,' he apologised, bending to kiss his adopted mother's cheek, before bestowing a similar salutation on Ruth's temple. 'But I'm not me
eting Jarvis until one o'clock, and I needed a good night's rest before going out on the track.'

  His mother grimaced, and even Ruth looked a little doubtful at his words, but Martin ignored them, helping himself to a cup of coffee before lounging on to the couch. Sitting there, sipping at the coffee, he had a decidedly boyish air, and Ruth could quite see why Aunt Davina found it so hard to deny him anything. A little above average height, slim and attractive, with russet-coloured curly hair, and a mischievous grin, he was easily the most easy-going person Ruth had ever met, and this, combined with his amusing personality, made him a very likeable character. That he was inclined to be lazy, too, was usually overlooked, and Ruth had initially been amazed that he did not have a regular occupation. Her father had insisted on keeping busy, even when illness had made concentration difficult, but when she had broached this premise with Martin, he had only laughed.

  'Ruthie.' he cajoled, using his pet name for her, which she personally abhorred, 'What possible point would there be in me getting a job, and depriving some other poor bloke of the privilege? I don't need to work. I don't need the money. Why should I waste my time and energies in some dull office, when I can enjoy myself far more satisfactorily out in the open air?'

  And it was true that Martin did spend a lot of time out of doors. He was an enthusiastic golfer and yachtsman, he played tennis and squash, he liked swimming and skiing, and he was a founder member of a club, for something called hang-gliding, which he had explained to Ruth consisted of hanging by a kind of harness from a parachute-like device. It had all sounded rather silly to her, but Martin obviously enjoyed it, and he had said he would teach her. too. if she was interested.

  At the moment, however, his interests lay in an entirely different direction. A friend of his with connections in the motor trade had got him involved in motor racing, and this afternoon he was joining something called the production car trials at the track. Ruth knew Aunt Davina did not approve of him racing. She thought it was too dangerous. But somehow Ruth sensed that Martin was unlikely to be in any real danger. He was simply not the type to take unnecessary risks. Life was much too sweet to him as it was.

  'I hope you realise I shan't have a moment's peace until you're home again,' Aunt Davina said now. abandoning her correspondence to pour herself more coffee. 'Why don't you take Ruth with you. then she can ring me if anything goes wrong? You can't rely on that man Jarvis to do the right thing. He's a thoroughly unfavourable influence.'

  'Oh, Mother!'

  Martin swallowed the last of his coffee and balanced his cup precariously on the arm of his chair, while Ruth endeavoured to retrieve the situation.

  'I am going with him. Aunt Davina,' she reassured the older woman firmly. 'I'm looking forward to it. Why don't you come, too?'

  'Oh. no!' Her aunt shuddered convincingly. 'I can think of nothing more boring than watching a bunch of noisy vehicles chasing one another around a track.' She paused, glancing back at the letters with a thoughtful eye. 'You know, I ought perhaps to ring Mrs Crown about those tickets?' And as Ruth's mouth dried up completely, she went on: 'I wouldn't like her to think I had refused to buy any.'

  'What tickets?' Martin was curious, and his mother explained about Ruth's unexpected visitor. 'Of course, it's possible I may be contacted again.' she added, 'but I shouldn't like to offend her.'

  'Mmm.' Martin was thoughtful. 'I wouldn't mind knowing the Crowns. Do you know, they sponsor racing events? It's all advertising. I suppose. They make products for cars and car maintenance. Jarvis told me about some sealer he'd heard of for radiators that—'

  'Oh. really. Martin. I'm not interested in the products that are available to the motor trade,' retorted his mother irritably. 'I doubt if Mrs Crown concerns herself with such mundane matters. Since her younger son died, she's become well known for her work helping the underprivileged, and it's in that capacity that we're speaking of her.'

  While Martin and Aunt Davina argued over the relevant merits of Dominic's mother, Ruth experienced a temporary release from tension. Aunt Davina's words about Dominic's younger brother had touched a chord inside her, and she wondered when he had died, and why. It was strange, but because Dominic was involved it seemed important that she should know, but she could never ask, not without arousing unnecessary suspicion.

  'I think perhaps I should call at the house,' Aunt Davina said suddenly, and Ruth's attention was speared once again. 'The telephone is such an impersonal instrument, I always think.'

  'Let me!' Before she could prevent herself, the words had spilled from Ruth's lips, and both her aunt ar.d her cousin turned to look at her in surprise. 'I could go.' she hastened on. committed to her cause, now that she had started. 'I mean, it was I who turned the—the man away. And—and you have enough to do. Aunt Davina.'

  'Hey. that's a good idea,' Martin endorsed her suggestion, and went on enthusiastically: 'I'll drive you.' He gave a wicked grin. 'That way, I may get to meet her husband.'

  'Oh, don't be so silly, Martin.' It was Aunt Davina who squashed his proposal. 'If Ruth gets to speak to Mrs Crown's secretary, she'll be lucky.' She frowned, before adding almost irrelevantly: 'In any case, her husband has retired. I believe. I did read something about his having a heart condition, and the son taking over the business.'

  Ruth bent her head, hoping the revealing colour that stained her cheeks would be attributed to the hot coffee she had just swallowed. Did that mean that Dominic had now taken his father's place? Unless there was another son. and as she remembered Mr Templar had not mentioned one, it seemed extremely likely.

  'Well, Ruth?' Aunt Davina was speaking to her now, and with an effort she lifted her head. 'Magnus can take you round to the Crowns in the Daimler, apologise for the interruption, and explain that I was out yesterday evening.'

  Ruth, if anything, felt even worse. What was that saying about tangled webs and deceptions? Now she was committed to calling at Dominic's home and making up some tale about someone selling tickets, and goodness knows what they might make of that.

  She consoled herself with the thought that it was better that she should be involved, rather than anyone else, and it was always possible that there really was a charity event, as Dominic had suggested, that she could buy tickets for. Whatever, she had saved Aunt Davina from any embarrassment, and secured herself a little more time to find a solution.

  'I think you should go right away,' Aunt Davina decided thoughtfully. 'Before lunch.' She scanned her niece's casual attire with an appraising eye. 'But get changed first. I think a skirt suit would look most suitable.'

  'Oh, Mother, honestly!' Martin got to his feet then, and surveyed his adopted cousin with approval. 'Ruth looks perfectly all right as she is. As you said yourself, she's unlikely to get past Mrs Crown's secretary. What on earth's the point of her getting dressed up?'

  Ruth looked doubtful. She liked herself in trousers too. and the wine-coloured corded pants and matching silk blouse were flatteringly feminine. There was a jacket to match the pants, and this she suggested she could wear now, earning her aunt's reluctant endorsement.

  'Oh, very well,' she said. 'If Martin thinks you look well enough. But do remember, if Mrs Crown invites you in, don't stand with your hands in your pockets, as you're doing now.'

  Ruth immediately pulled her hands out of the hip pockets, and Martin gave her a sympathetic grin behind his mother's back. Aunt Davina never got the better of him as she did of everyone else, and Ruth wished she possessed a little more of his flippancy.

  Nevertheless, her knees were knocking by the time Magnus, her aunt's chauffeur, had driven her to the Crowns' town house in Curzon Terrace. In spite of her aunt's instructions, she hadn't any real plan of what she was going to say, and her throat felt so dry she had difficulty in breathing. What if they turned her away? What if they imagined she was trying to gain entry under false pretences? What if Mrs Crown rang her aunt and demanded to know what was going on?

  Magnus brought the old-fashioned Daimler to a halt by t
he kerb, but she forestalled his efforts to assist her by pushing open the door as soon as he stopped, and climbing out herself.

  It-was a mild sunny morning, and the trees planted at intervals along the terrace were all in blossom, but Ruth paid no attention to them. Her objective was the tall, elegant, cream-faced residence, with several painted steps leading up to its shady porch.

  Realising there was nothing to be gained from delaying any longer, and unwilling to arouse Magnus's curiosity, she crossed the pavement and mounted the steps. But as she lifted her hand to touch the bell, the door opened, and she stepped back in confusion. She thought for one moment that her approach had been apprehended, and her lips parted to form the words she had rehearsed as she climbed the steps. But they were never spoken. The sight of the man coming out of the house, closely followed by a woman a few years older, caused her tongue to cleave to the roof of her mouth, and she stood there like a doll, frozen to the spot.

  Dominic recognised her at once, she knew that, but those curiously tawny eyes were swiftly guarded. She was mortified at the thought of what he must be thinking, and wondered, with a sickening sense of humiliation, whether he imagined she had come here to confront him. She had not expected to see him. Hadn't he told her on the phone the night before that he was going away? He was carrying a briefcase, but his dark grey business suit did not necessarily denote his intention to travel. He could be on his way to his office or. she quivered, meeting his fiancee. He looked cool and controlled and sophisticated, while she felt hot and sticky and embarrassed. Yet. even so. she could not prevent the instinctive reaction she had every time she saw him. the disruptive awareness of his masculinity, and the disturbing remembrance of what they had shared. This man had actually possessed her body, she thought with incredulity, even if he was looking at her now as if he didn't know her.

  'Can I help you—'

  The older woman was stepping forward to speak to her. and Ruth realised that although it had seemed like an age since she came up the steps and Dominic opened the door, it had only been a few seconds. It was strange, because she had a curious sense of disorientation, as if she wasn't really standing on the steps at all. but floating some inches above them, and Dominic wasn't looking at her in that mocking way. but actually showing some concern for her welfare. As if from a long way off, she heard her own voice, but it wasn't saying the things she wanted it to say. Instead of explaining why she was here, she was actually groping for the handrail, and the words she heard were: 'I—I'm afraid I don't feel very well—'