She glared at him. Did he think she was so cheap? ‘Get out of here!’ she ground out ferociously. ‘Get out of here before I telephone the police and have you thrown out!’
He gave her a long look, his dark brows arched and, by now, that all-too-familiar half-smile of amusement on his face.
‘Think they’d believe you—even suppose I’d let you get within yards of the phone? And suppose you did? They’d come and find you here in your dressing gown, me fully dressed. What conclusion do you think they’d come to?’
She looked around in a kind of desperation for something to hit him with. The only thing she could see was the poker. She picked it up, and he burst out laughing. She raised it and took a step towards him, but quick as lightning he grasped her wrist and snatched it from her. Near to tears with anger and frustration, Ruth rubbed her wrist, painful where he had grasped it. Still holding the poker, he gave her a push towards the door.
‘Go to bed, little girl, you’re safe from me for tonight, at least. Go on,’ he urged, as she hesitated. ‘I’ll put out the lights for you down here—and slam the front door after me.’
She took another swift look at him, then hitched up her dressing gown and ran up the stairs. Inside her room she shut the door and stood with her back to it, wishing she had a key to the lock. If he came up after her, she would scream at the top of her voice. But even as the thought entered her head, she knew perfectly well that the house was virtually isolated.
Mercifully, she heard the front door slam. Was it a trick? Had he really gone? After a second or so, she opened the door cautiously and stepped out on to the landing. The hall was in darkness. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine revving up, and there was a roar as Ross drove off. With a half smile, she put out the landing light and went back into her room, recalling how she had picked up the poker to him. Slowly, she took off her dressing gown and slipped into bed. Going over the events of the evening, she closed her eyes to sleep, anger, amusement and indignation vying with each other. Then a tremor went through her as she felt his lips once more on hers. She turned over on to her side impatiently. The cheek of the man! The next time she saw him she would simply ignore him.
But ignoring Ross Hamilton was easier said than done. Almost before Ruth was awake the following morning he rang her up.
‘How do you feel this morning?’ he asked. ‘Not feeling any after-effects of your soaking?’
She couldn’t answer for a moment. She gripped the receiver tightly, aware of the rich, deep quality of his voice.
‘Not awake yet, I suppose,’ he said.
Now she could see his face with that smile of amusement curving one corner of his mouth.
‘Of course I’m awake,’ she snapped.
‘Now, now,’ he admonished. ‘That’s no way to talk to me after I’ve rung up to see if you’ve caught double pneumonia.’
‘I’m quite all right—thank you,’ she answered evenly.
‘Good,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’ve given instructions to the garage about your car, and—’
She sat bolt upright. ‘You’ve done what?’
‘They’re sending someone out to look at it. If they can fix it on the spot, they’ll deliver it to you, and perhaps you wouldn’t mind running the mechanic back to the garage. If they can’t fix it and have to take it in, they’ll let you have one of their hire cars.’
For a few seconds she was speechless. The nerve, the colossal nerve of the man! What business was it of his to take charge of her affairs? They were not even friends. She was about to voice her thoughts in no uncertain manner, then suddenly changed her mind. Highhanded or not, she supposed it was good of him to have taken the trouble, and she had not been brought up to be rude and unappreciative. She opened her mouth to thank him when he spoke again.
‘Are you there—or have you nodded off?’
She counted ten and took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’m here, Mr. Hamilton. I heard what you said,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm as possible. ‘It’s very kind of you to interest yourself in my affairs, and I’m duly grateful, but do you mind telling me to which garage you gave these instructions on my behalf?’
‘Why, the one you always go to with your car repairs. I enquired. All right?’
He had won again. ‘I see. Thank you,’ was all she could say.
She replaced the receiver and looked at her bedside clock. She had slept later than usual, but it was still only eight-thirty. Whatever time did the man get up in the mornings? Pity his poor secretary.
She drew back her bedroom curtains and saw that it was pouring with rain. It must have rained all night. Obviously, this was a day for working indoors. An hour later, she realised the rain had ceased, but she had plenty of work to be getting on with, notably on the pictures of the forestry workers.
It was somewhere mid-morning when she heard a car draw up and the next moment the vestibule door at the back of the house was opened and Gareth’s voice floated up to her.
‘Ruth—Ruth, where are you? Are you all right?’
Without lifting her brush from the canvas she called out: ‘Up here, Gareth!’
She heard the sound of his footsteps up the ladder and then his head appeared in the aperture. She glanced up briefly, then went on with her work.
‘Called for a coffee? If so, be an angel and go down and make it. I must finish this bit.’
But he appeared to be in some state of agitation. ‘Ruth,’ he began, the rest of him appearing, ‘what on earth happened last night? I’ve just seen a motor mechanic working on your car. He says you had a breakdown last night and—’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And that Hamilton rang them up and gave them their instructions—’
‘He did,’ she said meaningfully.
‘But—but why? Why should he—’
Ruth stepped back and surveyed her work critically. ‘Be a dear and go down and put the kettle on. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes, then I’ll tell you all about it.’
But not quite all, she added to herself, colouring a little as she thought of Ross Hamilton’s kiss and the way she had almost responded. As for his suggestion that they should share the house and his mention of marriage—Gareth wouldn’t see the funny side of that at all. Come to think of it, she didn’t think it was funny, either. If indeed it was a joke, it was one she did not appreciate, she told herself.
But when she went downstairs and entered the living room for the first time that morning she received a mental vision of Ross Hamilton sitting there in the chair looking for all the world as though he lived there. She stood stock still for a moment, then as if to remove the image, went to the chair and gave the cushion in it a vigorous shake and slammed it down again.
‘Hey, what’s with you?’ Gareth’s voice came as he entered the room just in time to see her onslaught. ‘What’s the poor cushion done to deserve such treatment?’
She forced a laugh. ‘I flattened it somewhat last night, and this is the first time I’ve been in here this morning.’
‘Yes, what happened last night? You should have let me call and take you to the dance and bring you back.’
Instead of sitting in her favourite place on the hearthrug, she flopped into the chair Ross Hamilton had occupied last night, and immediately wished she hadn’t. She could almost feel him still sitting there. She had the ridiculous feeling of sitting on his knee. For a split second she savoured the idea, then got up abruptly and sat on the rug. Gareth was eyeing her oddly, waiting for her answer to his question.
‘Oh, it was just one of those things,’ she told him raggedly. ‘It can happen any time. The car just broke down and I started to walk home. Unfortunately, it was raining. Then Ross Hamilton happened to come along and he gave me a lift.’
‘Damn him!’
Ruth glanced at him in surprise. ‘You’d have rather I walked all the way home?’
‘Of course not. You know perfectly well I didn’t
mean that. But it would have to be him, wouldn’t it?’
‘Well, if it’s any comfort to you, I’d rather it had been anyone else, too.’
Gareth dropped down beside her. ‘Ruth, promise me—the next time there’s a dance or anything like that, you’ll let me call and take you and bring you back,’ he said earnestly.
‘Gareth, you worry too much,’ she said evasively. ‘Anyway I don’t suppose I shall be in this house much longer. I simply must find somewhere else soon.’
Recalling Ross Hamilton’s suggestion last night that they might share the house—or, she felt her cheeks colour, and to cover up she picked up her coffee. He had only been joking, of course. Trying her out, possibly.
‘The truth is,’ Gareth said, giving her a keen look, ‘you don’t really want to leave this house, do you?’
She did not answer for a moment Put plainly and in such simple terms she knew that Gareth was right.
She sighed and shook her head. ‘All the same, I’ve tried—on and off to find a suitable place.’
‘Hamilton hasn’t been harassing you, has he?’
‘No-o—’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. He’s been seen with Linda Appleton again.’
‘Oh? But she wasn’t at the dance last night,’ Ruth reminded him.
‘Only because she was away from home viewing some property with her father.’
She gave him a surprised look. ‘How do you know that? You didn’t say anything about it last night.’
Gareth took a gulp of his coffee before answering. ‘I—er—came across her this morning. She told me.’
Ruth frowned. ‘This morning? But—’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Good heavens, I’ve only just realised. It’s Sunday!’
He laughed. ‘You mean you’ve only just realised it? I wondered why you were working. Of course, I know you have been known to, but—’
She put her hand to her head. ‘I’m all at sea. It must be the result of last night’s soaking. But—but that means someone at the garage had to turn out. Really, it’s too bad. The car could have stayed where it is until Monday morning. I locked it up.’
‘A bit high-handed of Hamilton, anyway, to take it upon himself to get in touch with them. If that man isn’t careful he’ll trip himself up.’
‘What exactly do you mean?’ asked Ruth, sensing he meant something more than just the business of her car.
He affected a shrug. ‘Well, as I mentioned to you before, he doesn’t seem to me to be the paragon of all the virtues he was reputed to be.’
‘Why, has something else happened?’
Gareth grunted. ‘Only thriving conifers felled to make room for weakling ash, that’s all.’
Ruth gave a puzzled frown. ‘But—but that’s incredible! Weren’t the ones for felling marked as usual?’
‘They were.’
‘And who—’
‘Our wonderful new Head, Ross Hamilton. He went round himself, took one of the men with him.’
‘But surely the men who did the felling could see—I mean, didn’t they query it?’
‘What? Query something done by the great boss himself? You must be joking.’
Somehow, Ruth was reluctant to believe that Ross Hamilton would make such a mistake. Not simply because he was a trained Forester, but she found herself not wanting to think badly of him, after all. She couldn’t think why.
‘Perhaps the man he took with him marked some by mistake,’ she offered.
Gareth’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, come on, Ruth. Why should you, of all people, be making excuses for him? He’s falling down on the job, that’s what it amounts to, and I’m sorry, but I can’t conjure up any sympathy for him. If he gets moved on again or down-graded, I shan’t shed any tears, I can tell you. I’d only be too glad to see the back of him.’ He eyed Ruth keenly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t worry me either one way or the other. It just seems odd, that’s all.’
Gareth darted her a quick glance. ‘I’m not making it all up, you know. Ask Hugh, ask any of them—’
‘I didn’t say you were making it up,’ answered Ruth. ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’
‘Glad to. Anyway, I really called to ask you to come out to lunch with me.’
But Ruth shook her head. ‘I’d—rather not, if you don’t mind, Gareth.’ She stood up. ‘Now that I’ve decided to make it a working day, I’d rather carry on.’
‘But you’ve got to eat!’ he protested.
‘I know. I’ll get something when I’m hungry. I usually do,’ she returned absently.
She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her painting. She was vaguely disturbed by some of the things Gareth had said and she wanted to examine them and sort herself out.
‘Sorry, Gareth. I’ll see you probably one day next week,’ she murmured, giving him a hint to go.
With ill-concealed bad grace he left, and Ruth went back to her studio. She picked up her brush and continued with the picture, trying to think what it was exactly that she was disturbed about. The trouble on the Beat, of course. Gates left open, gaps in fences undiscovered, vaporising oils used for post-emergence spraying and now, the wrong trees marked for felling. It didn’t make sense. It was certainly not good Forestry. But apart from the obvious, there was something wrong somewhere. It was almost as though—She thrust the thought from her mind, or tried to, but it persisted. It was almost as though someone was deliberately making trouble for Ross Hamilton, someone who wanted him out of the way. And the person who would be most pleased to see him go was—Gareth.
But Gareth wouldn’t, surely? Much as he had wanted the job of Head Forester, surely he wouldn’t stoop to such means? It worried her, too, that the whole business looked bad for Ross. She caught herself up. For Ross? That was the first time she had thought of him by his first name only.
She frowned. There was another thing deep in the recess of her mind. It had something to do with the fact that he had been seeing Linda Appleton again. But why should that bother her? For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even like the man, and his suggestion that he and herself might share the house had simply been his idea of a joke. So had his mention of marriage.
She flung down her brush. It was useless; she couldn’t paint any more today. She dropped her brush into turpentine and thrust her palette into its airtight box. It seemed to have stopped raining. She would go out for a walk.
But as she reached the landing the telephone rang, and she lifted the receiver to find that it was Ross Hamilton himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I have a message for you,’ he said. ‘From the garage.’
‘Oh yes?’ she answered coolly, feeling her familiar gall rising at his interference in her affairs.
‘Yes. They can’t do your car until tomorrow.’
‘That’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Not even with your friend Gareth?’ came the swift reply in that half-amused, half-sarcastic voice.
‘If it’s any of your business—no.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked curiously.
Why she did not simply slam down the receiver she did not know. ‘If you must know, I’ve been working. That is, until now.’
‘Working? On a Sunday? Don’t you know it’s supposed to be a day of rest?’
Ruth took a deep breath, then expelled it swiftly. She had better not tell him she had forgotten the fact until half way through the morning. It would give him one more thing to crow about.
‘I often work on Sundays,’ she told him.
‘Have you had any lunch?’ was his next question.
She put her hand on her stomach, suddenly realising she was hungry. She had forgotten to eat, too, and had just been going to go out for a walk.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she told him in an exasperated tone, wishing he would ring off, or that she could bring herself to do so.
‘Right. I’ll come round and take you out somewhere,’ he sai
d. ‘Be with you in a couple of minutes.’
‘But—’
The next moment she put her hand to her ear as the harsh ping of his ringing off penetrated her eardrum.
With an angry sigh, she replaced her own. He really was the limit! Was this the way he behaved with all women—and perhaps the reason for his reputation? But why on earth did he keep homing in on her wavelength, and why want to take her out to lunch when she had shown him quite plainly that she did not like him? She was sure he did not like her, either. What was he up to? There must be some reason why—
She broke off her thoughts temporarily as she glanced down at what she was wearing—her oldest pair of jeans and one of her jazzy sweaters. She supposed she had better change if she was going out to lunch. But he needn’t think she was going to dress up for him, she said to herself as she opened the door of her wardrobe. Another pair of slacks and a different sweater would suffice. In the end she chose a pair of pale green slacks and topped it with a white polo-necked sweater, ignoring a taunting voice within herself which said she was only wearing white because he had once said the colour suited her. Actually, she had had half a mind to just go for her walk and be out when he came.
She brushed her hair and went back to her train of thought. Why had he rung her with the message from the garage? They could have rung her themselves. And why ask her out to lunch when they did nothing but fight every time they met? Was he the kind of man who liked to pursue women whom he imagined were playing hard to get? Was conquest what it was all about? Or—she frowned—was it anything to do with what Gareth had just told her—the trouble on the Pinewood Beat? Did he suspect Gareth and was hoping to get some information out of her? She simply refused to believe that Ross Hamilton was anything but a good Forester, otherwise he would never have been appointed in the first place. And whatever else she might think of him, she was sure that inefficiency was not one of his faults. He would be more likely to err the other way.
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