by Liz Fielding
She was vulnerable, untouched and, despite the jokes, the in-your-face style, she was painfully shy. The most difficult prey. And men were hunters by instinct.
His had been in hibernation for so long that he’d forgotten what it was to see a woman touch her bottom lip with her tongue, see the betraying flush warm her cheeks as she looked up at him before lowering her lashes—a flirtatious catch-me-if-you-can temptation when it was done deliberately; devastating when it was genuine—and this was genuine. But it was all coming back to him with breathtaking speed and he wanted to roar…
‘Not with me,’ she added, quickly. ‘Everyone will be there.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
The thought of joining a room full of people hell bent on having a good time filled him with dread. The thought of being there with her…
‘You won’t get another chance to taste my blackberry and apple pie,’ she said, quickly recovering her in-your-face directness.
‘Wouldn’t that be our blackberry and apple pie?’ he responded.
‘Oh, yes.’ Then, ‘Even more reason to come.’
On the surface she seemed confident, direct, unstoppable. It was just a façade; she retreated like a snail the moment she encountered the slightest barrier and he couldn’t bear to see her recoil from him. So instead of succumbing to those instincts that were driving him to reach out, touch her full lower lip with his thumb, taste it, he said, ‘I promise I’ll think about it.’
He’d think about it. He’d think about how it would feel to sit pressed up alongside her on the long benches set up to trestle tables groaning with food, wine, beer, fruit juice for the children. Have her look up at him, see the laughter die in her eyes. Her lips full and soft a sweet invitation. How it would feel to put his arm around her, how her waist would feel beneath his hand.
He was rather afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from thinking about it.
‘But only if you’ll come in now and have something to eat,’ he added, briskly. ‘And when you’ve given me the benefit of your advice on the summer house, I’ll give you the benefit of mine on your business plan.’ He held out his hand. ‘Is that a deal, Katherine?’
‘It’s a deal, Mr Ravenscar.’
‘Dominic.’
Her hesitation was infinitesimal. ‘It’s a deal, Dominic.’
Even as she said the words, she knew that she should not be doing this. She’d wanted to help him and maybe she had, a little, but it felt a lot safer with him calling her Miss Lovell: when she’d been calling him Mr Ravenscar. There was a safety in irony. Or maybe that was just as much an illusion as his first glimpse of her. The formality had, after all, been nothing more than a game…and all games involving men and women were dangerous.
He could make “Miss Lovell” sound like a caress while his name filling her mouth was sensuous, exciting, fraught with the kind of risk that could get a girl into all kinds of trouble.
He continued to hold her hand as she walked up the steps and into his house.
Katherine. The name continued to resonate in her head.
No one, in all her life, had ever bothered to call her by her full name. It made her feel special, cared for—which was strange; she’d set out to rescue Dominic Ravenscar from the past, but in the last hour the roles had somehow become reversed and now he was rescuing her.
Or maybe they were just rescuing each other.
‘Mummy, am I going to have a party?’ Kay pushed open the gardener’s gate at Linden Lodge the following morning and Polly skipped ahead of her as she closed it and bolted it behind her.
‘A party? Why would you have a party?’ she teased.
‘Oh, you know. It’s my birthday. In two weeks! I have to have a party. At the village hall so that everyone can come.’
‘Does that include me?’
She came to an abrupt halt as she saw Dominic sitting on the lawn, using a sharp knife to cut away the grass that had grown over the stepping-stone path. A job she was leaving until the weather changed and it was too wet to go heavy-footing it through the borders. He didn’t stand up and he didn’t look at her, only at Polly.
They’d spent the previous afternoon sitting at the kitchen table, eating the sandwiches Dominic made for them, looking at summer-house brochures, talking about the places he’d travelled to, the things he’d seen, both dreadful and wonderful. Wondering at the power of the human spirit to endure. Until finally they’d both fallen silent and only the delicate chiming of a clock had reminded her that she had to go and fetch Polly from school.
Polly looked at him now, a doubtful expression creasing her brow. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s for little kids.’
‘You’re not little.’
Kay bit her lip. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be good with children, but why wouldn’t he be? He’d been good with her. A great listener. He knew the moment to prompt, the moment to stay quiet, the moment to change the subject. If only she could get him to talk.
‘I’m the tallest girl in my class,’ Polly said, then with a huge sigh, ‘Mummy says I’m growing like a weed.’
‘Really? What kind of weed. A daisy?’
‘Daisies aren’t big. Look…’ She dropped her bag of toys, plopped herself down beside him and began picking the daisies that were spouting freely now that the grass had been cut. Something Kay mentally made a note to do something about. Perfect gardens did not have daisy-strewn lawns. Cheerful gardens did, though. ‘See?’ Polly said, holding one up. ‘It’s really little.’
‘A dandelion, then?’
She giggled.
‘No? What about a thistle?’
‘Maybe…’ She glanced up. ‘Are thistles weeds, Mummy, or wild flowers?’
‘It depends where they’re growing,’ Kay replied, with considerable feeling. ‘Can I leave you to continue this fascinating conversation with Mr Ravenscar while I start work?’
Polly glanced at him, then shrugged and said, ‘OK. Can you make daisy chains, Mr…?’ She hesitated as she tried to get her tongue around his name.
‘My friends call me Dom,’ he said.
‘Dom? That’s not a proper name.’
‘It’s short for Dominic.’
‘Oh, right. There’s a boy called Dominic in my class. He is such a pain. Now, then, this is how you make a daisy chain.’ She looked at him to make sure he was watching, then held up the daisy stalk so that he could see what she was doing.
Kay held her breath. Dominic had offered to keep an eye on Polly, not join in her games or listen to her incessant chatter.
‘So,’ he said, picking a couple of daisies and having a go himself, ‘tell me about this party…’
It was a perfect afternoon. She cleared a huge section of the border with the sun on her back, all the time listening to Dom’s soft voice as he teased her daughter and Polly’s giggles and non-stop chatter.
Blissful.
‘Hey, time’s up!’ He passed her a mug of tea as she straightened and pulled the rubber gloves from her hands. ‘It’s looking good.’
‘Thanks. And thanks for clearing the paving stones.’
‘I could hardly lie back in a deckchair while you slaved away, and actually I enjoyed it. I never seemed to have the time…’ He shrugged. ‘I was always too busy.’
He said the words as if he’d suddenly realised what he’d been missing—as if he was seeing his past instead of the present. And she felt the ground shift dangerously beneath her feet. ‘I’ll cut the grass on Monday so you can see how good it’s going to look,’ she said, briskly. ‘And I’ll think about some kind of feed and weed for the lawn. Deal with the daisies.’
‘Leave it to me. Cutting the grass, that is. I’ll leave the technical stuff to you.’ He looked around. ‘Although I do think daisies give a lawn character, don’t you?’
‘In moderation,’ she agreed.
He glanced back at her. ‘Unless you think I’m being cheap? Trying to save myself some money?’
�
�Oh, please. You’re welcome. There’s enough work here for everyone and I hate cutting grass.’ And he looked so much better for an afternoon in the sun. Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t pale, far from it. He had the weathered complexion of a man who’d spent a lot of time in the last few years out of doors in a hot climate. But he did look…different. More relaxed. There was nothing forced about the smile… ‘Thanks for putting up with Polly.’
‘She’s a great kid. Terrific imagination. I had no idea that dolls lead such full lives,’ he said, watching her gather up her toys, talking to them all the time she was putting them away in her bag. ‘She’s a real credit to you.’ He looked as if he was going to say more, but then said, ‘She’s given me the low-down on every child in her class at school. And the teachers.’
Kay grinned. ‘The parents have a deal with the teachers…if they don’t believe everything they hear about us, we won’t believe everything we hear about them.’ Then, suddenly self-conscious, ‘I have to go…’
‘I’m sorry, I’m stopping you from getting ready for the harvest supper.’
‘That isn’t going to take long,’ she said, following her daughter’s example and gathering her tools. ‘The pies are defrosting in the pantry—all I have to do is put them in the oven. And make a gallon of custard.’
‘Do you need a hand to get it all over to the village hall?’
She turned, looked at him, not quite believing what she was hearing.
‘I thought about it,’ he said.
‘Well, thanks. That would be great. Why don’t you come over to the cottage at about five-thirty?’
Kay hadn’t planned on going for glamour—the harvest supper wasn’t that kind of evening, especially when you were helping to serve the food. But she used her “for best” shower gel that Amy had given her—the one with ylang ylang and rose otto and pure orange oils: took a little more time than usual over her hair: used some colourless varnish to add shine to her nails. And since a certain amount of effort was expected for a village event, even when she would be covering it up with an apron for most of the time, she decided to wear a peasant blouse and a print skirt, instead of her usual trousers and T-shirt.
She looked at her reflection in the long mirror behind the door and was momentarily taken aback by her own appearance. She’d dressed up for the bank, but that was different. She’d looked businesslike. Focused. Now, with her hair loose, her shoulders bare, her ankles emphasised by spiky high-heeled sandals, she looked like a girl about to meet a man she was ready to fall in love with.
And she groaned.
How obvious could she get? The entire village would take one look at her and know. Amy would know. Worse…Dominic would know.
She tore off the blouse, quickly replacing it with a plain turquoise T-shirt which more or less toned with the skirt. It didn’t have an advertisement for dog biscuits on the front, but it didn’t scream “come and get me”, either. That peasant blouse would definitely go into the next jumble-sale bag.
Come to think of it, that was where she’d bought it…
And what on earth was she thinking of with those high heels? She kicked them off, dug out some flat ballet-style pumps, tied her hair back.
She was still weaving Polly’s hair into a braid when there was a tap at the back door. ‘It’s open,’ she called, glad to have something to concentrate on as it opened and the coppery evening sunlight spilled into the hallway.
‘Am I too early?’
She glanced up as Dominic spoke. He filled the doorway, a dark silhouette, all wide shoulders and long legs; without warning, her fingers were all thumbs and she had to pull them back into her palms. Polly took it as a signal that she was done and dived to welcome their visitor.
‘Dominic,’ she said, taking his hand and dragging him in. ‘The dolls have had a meeting with the teddies and they’ve decided you should be invited to my party.’
‘Polly!’ She pulled a face to cover her embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, Dominic—’
‘If you’d like to?’ Polly added, not moving, and with a shock she heard the plea in her daughter’s voice. Recognised a danger she hadn’t anticipated.
Dominic yearned for his dead wife.
Polly yearned for a father.
As for her…
‘Polly! Hair. Now!’
‘Shall I start moving things?’ Dominic asked.
‘Oh, yes. Thanks. If you could take one of the covered trays from the kitchen. Be careful. The dishes are hot. You’ll find Dorothy and Jane Hilliard in the village hall. They’re in charge and they’ll tell you where to put it.’
‘OK. I’ll be right back. We’ll discuss that party invitation later, Polly,’ he said, giving her a wink as he disappeared into the kitchen.
And her heart didn’t know whether to soar or sink.
‘Come on, weed,’ she said. ‘Let’s finish your hair.’ But Polly wouldn’t leave the house without the daisy-chain crown that Dominic had made for her.
She spent the first half of the evening torn between keeping her distance from Dominic to protect herself—and Polly—from wanting more than he could possibly give them, and staying close enough to guard him from the attentions of curious villagers.
But he seemed to be holding his own, renewing old acquaintances, talking quietly to people, and after a while she relaxed a little. It was ridiculous to be so protective of him. He was a grown man. He’d lived in a harsh world for the last six years. He didn’t need her to guard him. On the contrary. He scarcely seemed aware that she was in the same room.
‘Kay, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’m taking the children home now and Mark asked if Polly can come with us for a sleep-over.’ She’d been avoiding Amy, too, but now she’d been run to earth in the kitchen, where she’d been hiding out, scraping a pile of plates ready for the dishwasher and trying to sort out her feelings. ‘Are you happy with that?’
Surprised that Amy was being quite so meticulous about asking, rather than telling, she said, ‘Oh, well, yes. If it’s not a nuisance.’
‘Polly is never a nuisance.’ Then, ‘Good grief, what on earth are you doing?’ Amy said, not ducking away as they’d both been doing for the last couple of weeks, but coming into the kitchen.
‘Just doing my bit towards the clearing up.’
‘Well, don’t. There’s a rota for chores and you’re definitely not down for this.’ Amy tapped the list on the wall and she was right. Her name wasn’t on it.
‘But I always—’
‘No buts. You’re a hard-working member of this community. You deserve to enjoy yourself for once. Get out of here and let your hair down, have some fun with the grown-ups.’
‘I am. Really. Having fun.’
‘Oh, right. Good-looking man out there being mobbed by every woman under the age of fifty whose husband hasn’t got her on a tight leash. You in here, scraping plates.’ She balanced her hands as if weighing the choices. ‘No, sorry, it doesn’t work for me.’
‘He doesn’t need me to hold his hand, Amy. He’s doing fine.’
‘He came with you.’
‘Correction, he helped me carry across the pies. He hasn’t looked at me all evening.’
‘While you’ve spent the entire evening gazing pitifully at him, I suppose. You can tell almost as much from which couples aren’t exchanging glances as those who are. Sometimes more…’
And somehow she was in Amy’s arms. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you, you’re always right.’
‘I was spectacularly right about you,’ she said, gentling her as she would a child. ‘Taking the risk when everyone said I was crazy. But I was wrong to keep you so close, not to encourage you when you wanted to stretch your wings. And I was wrong about Dominic Ravenscar, too. I should have had more faith in you and for that I’m the one who’s sorry.’
‘I haven’t done anything. Just talked to him.’ Kay wiped away a tear that had squeezed from beneath her lids, found a smile. ‘Even when he did
n’t want me to.’
‘The way I talked to you.’
‘And got rid of a heap of weeds. Let in a little light to give the plants a chance to grow.’
‘Maybe that’s all that was needed. The thing is you saw what was needed and you weren’t afraid to confront the problem, do the hard work. He looks a different man from the wreck who arrived home. Jake called on him and he was shocked, really shocked at how terrible he looked.’
‘Not that terrible,’ Kay said, remembering her first, heart-jangling sight of him. Then, realising what a giveaway that was, ‘Of course, I never saw him when he was happy. When his life was perfect.’ Only a photograph of him smiling at the person holding the camera.
‘No one’s life is ever perfect, Kay. Satisfaction is not guaranteed. If it was, there’d be nothing to strive for. We’d all still be living happily in caves. He needed to know that life can be good again. I saw him looking at you tonight, when you were busy. He’s halfway there.’
‘But Polly—’
‘Likes him. I know. She told me all about her morning.’
‘I’m afraid, Amy. I’m afraid I care too much. I’m afraid Polly likes him too much.’
‘I was afraid, too. I was certain that you’d be hurt. That you wouldn’t be able to cope when you were. I’m even more afraid that because I’ve been over-protective, selfishly keeping you close instead of letting you fly free in case you take Polly away, that you’ll back off from the risk. And be hurt anyway.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Amy. I’m the one who’s spent my entire adult life running away. I’ve only realised, since I met Dominic, that I’m still running…’
‘Then you’ve both learned something useful. Now it’s time to go and put the knowledge to practical use. And since you’re both bright and will probably reach advanced level very quickly,’ she said, ‘you might find a use for these.’
By the time Kay had opened her hand and realised what she was holding, Amy had gone.
