by Sara Wood
Cassian cursed himself for succumbing. It had been a mistake. Cruel.
He could hardly breathe. Certainly couldn’t walk yet. He’d ache for hours.
‘I know I shouldn’t have done that,’ he admitted hoarsely. ‘But I can’t say I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t offended you…’ A slight movement told him that she was moving away, both mentally and physically. ‘I just had to kiss you,’ he confessed with all honesty. ‘An impulse. I was grateful—delighted that you’ll take on the charity. And…you looked so lovely. Hope you understand. Forgive me?’
His eyes pleaded with her, begging her not to be hurt. Like an angel, she accepted his reasons, saw nothing evil in what he’d done. Perhaps because there had been no evil intended.
Her slow and seraphic smile mesmerised him. ‘I understand.’ Her eyes lowered, her mouth mischievous. ‘It was a thrilling moment and it bowled me over,’ she murmured. He tensed, every nerve in his body straining. And then he was stunned by his intense disappointment when she added demurely, ‘To be offered such a wonderful, worthwhile job.’
‘My gosh! You look terrible!’ Laura said in amusement, when he staggered in from his run with Adam the next morning. ‘Unshaven, bleary-eyed…what have you been doing?!’
‘Bad night.’
‘Why’s that? Bed uncomfortable?’ she asked innocently.
He was rescued by Adam. ‘Race you to the shower!’ Adam crowed, already leaping upstairs in his socks.
But Cassian didn’t take up the challenge. He unpicked his laces, put his boots beside Adam’s and slumped in a chair.
Now, mused Laura, usefully pouring him a black coffee, is this a man who’s sexually frustrated and has spent the whole night trying to stop his hormones holding him to ransom?
She smiled a little smile of triumph. She did hope so! And she hugged her glee to herself that—for a brief time—he had found her mouth quite irresistible.
‘I’m doing scrambled eggs. Shall I add some for you?’ she asked serenely.
‘Uh. Please.’
Grumpy and haggard and bemused. Looking at her legs again, slowly surveying her rear, her breasts… Her eyes gleamed. He was interested. He did like her. Respected her enough to offer her a high value job. That had meant a lot to her. And to top it all, she was both rare and gorgeous.
Her mirror that morning had agreed. After a deep, utterly contented sleep, she had woken to find someone else looking back at her—a confident, sparkling-eyed woman who oozed vitality.
She sang happily to herself, adding a few home-grown chives and tiny tomatoes from the garden to a buttered dish and slipping them in the oven to grill. For the first time, she really believed that she could achieve her life-long dream. Her voice strengthened, bursting with joy, the notes clear and true, every inch of her body surrendering to happiness.
Cassian slowly stumbled out of the kitchen, his tread heavy and laboured on the stairs. Her singing grew louder, more ecstatic.
It took Mr Walker only a short time, however, to bring her down to earth again. Morose and uncommunicative, Cassian had acted as chauffeur so that she could do Mr Walker’s shopping and then be free to investigate the office in Harrogate.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said hesitantly, when the old man opened the door, ‘but I’ve brought—’
‘Cassian!’ Mr Walker cried in delight. ‘Cassian!’ he added with soft affection.
Laura was open-mouthed when Cassian strode forwards and gave Mr Walker a gentle bear hug.
‘Tom,’ he said fondly. ‘You old reprobate! Sitting around like Lord Muck, and letting a tame dolly bird do all your shopping…you ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ he teased.
‘Man’s gotta get what pleasures he can at my age,’ chuckled the old man. ‘Sight of those legs of Laura’s sets me up for the whole day!’
Blushing, the astonished Laura went into the tiny kitchen and began to unpack the groceries, oddly pleased that there was some kind of bond between the two men.
‘You know each other, then,’ she commented when they both appeared, Cassian with his arm around Mr Walker’s frail, shawl-wrapped shoulders.
‘Go a long way back.’ The old man eased himself painfully into the rocking chair by the iron stove. ‘Cassian used to come here when he was a lad. We went fishing together. My Doris lent him books. Great reader, my Doris. Devoured encyclopaedias, Cassian did… Hang on a minute, lass!’ he protested. ‘That’s not proper ham!’
‘It’s what you always have,’ she said calmly, conscious of Cassian, dark-eyed and silent in the corner.
Mr Walker muttered under his breath, picking over his supplies for the week. ‘I’ve told you I don’t like big oranges. And those sprouts look manky. Useless woman,’ he goaded, picking up the bill and glaring at it. ‘You bring me rubbish and there’s twopence more on the bill?’ he snapped.
‘I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m awfully sorry—’
‘You’re on the wrong track,’ Cassian said to Tom Walker, suddenly alert. ‘Try attacking something she cares about.’
Mr Walker’s watery eyes narrowed. She thought there was the suspicion of a smile on his sour face before he said in contempt,
‘Her? She’s a waste of space. And her kid’s as dopey—’
‘Don’t you dare talk about my son like that!’ she flared, her eyes scorching with anger. ‘I can take your bad temper and your ingratitude because I feel sorry for you but Adam’s off limits! Do you understand?’ she yelled, banging the table so hard that the vegetables jumped in shock and rolled to the floor.
To her astonishment, Mr Walker grinned so hard that his toothless gums showed. Cassian was laughing.
‘Now that’s your mother talking!’ cackled Mr Walker.
She froze. ‘What?’ she ground out furiously.
‘I’ve bin trying for years to get you angry, lass!’ he wheezed, tears of laughter running down his face. ‘Wanted to see if you’d got your ma’s fire in your belly. Almost gave up. All you did was apologise like you was made of milk and water. But you’re like her all right,’ he said more gently. ‘More life in her than most. Lovely woman. Miss her, something chronic, I do.’
She sat down, her legs weak. ‘You…you devious, mean old man!’ she said shakily but she couldn’t hide her pleasure. ‘Am I…am I really like her?’
‘Spitting image. Beautiful, she was. Had a temper on her, though.’
‘Tell me!’ she begged. ‘I know nothing about her, nothing! Please! Tell me the circumstances surrounding my birth. Everything.’
‘Well, I’m blowed. I thought you knew that. Well, let’s see. I know George Morris didn’t treat her right. Bullied her. Any fool could see how unhappy she was and that she longed to be loved proper, like. Anyroad, she fell headlong in love with the American who took over Killington Manor, down the dale just beyond Little Sturton, where I worked as a groom. Found she was pregnant—and George hadn’t touched her for over a year. But, proud devil that he was, he wouldn’t agree to a divorce so she tried her level best to settle back into her marriage. Doomed, it was, though.’
‘My…father was…American?’ she said faintly.
‘S’ right. Nice chap,’ said Mr Walker. ‘Jolly sort—’
‘More!’ she begged. ‘I want to know more!’
‘More, eh? He was tall, dark, smiling eyes, if you know what I mean. Easy-going hospitable type. Publisher. Crazy about your mother, but then few could resist her lovely nature.’
‘All this time I’ve known you…why…why didn’t you tell me all this?’ she wailed.
‘Thought you knew bits and pieces, lass. When I realised you didn’t have much of a clue, I thought I’d better keep my trap shut. Not my business to interfere. Wasn’t sure you were tough enough to hear the truth.’
‘They didn’t speak about her mother,’ Cassian explained. ‘It was a taboo subject.’
‘But…you knew!’ she stormed at him.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But until you told me a few days a
go that Thrushton Hall was the only link you had with your mother, it had never occurred to me that they hadn’t told you the basic facts, or that you had no tangible memories of her—photos, possessions…I still can’t believe they’d do that to you! Poor Laura. This is outrageous…’
Clearly upset, he put his arm around her shoulders. Gratefully she leaned into him, touched by his anger on her behalf. She felt nothing but contempt for George and Enid’s refusal to explain her background.
‘But why did my…’ She checked herself. Never again would she call George Morris ‘father’. ‘Why did George get custody?’
‘Because everyone thought you were his child,’ Cassian said gently.
Laura felt a sickening sensation clutch at her stomach.
‘Didn’t my real father claim me? She must have gone to him, surely? Didn’t they run away together? Didn’t they want me?’ she asked miserably.
The old man looked uncertainly at Cassian, who brought her close to him as if protecting her.
‘She can deal with it,’ he said in low, quiet tones.
Laura’s hopes collapsed. ‘Oh, no!’ she groaned. ‘You’re not telling me they’re…dead?’
Mr Walker’s eyes were gentle, his expression loving and full of regret.
‘Both of them, lass. Her and the American. It was filthy weather. Tractor came out of a field and into the Harrogate road and killed them outright two weeks after you were born. He was bringing you and your mother back to Killington Manor to live with him. George Morris brought you up as his daughter and only a few of us knew the truth.’
A sob escaped her. She had been so close to having a truly loving home. And her mother had been denied the happiness she’d hoped for.
It was unbelievably sad. Laura gave a moan and flung her arms around Cassian’s waist for solace.
‘They never said!’ she mumbled. ‘All these years I privately feared that she’d rejected me, abandoned me—led on by heavy hints from George and Enid. Oh, that was cruel, Cassian, cruel!’
She burst into floods of tears. There were years of weeping inside her but the two men just held her and patted her and waited while she mourned the parents she’d never known.
Dimly she became aware that the men had been talking for a while.
‘…say goodbye properly. Got a map, Tom?’ she heard Cassian ask quietly.
A map! She felt indignant but kept her head buried in his middle hearing the rustle of paper. Cassian wanted to look at a route to somewhere, when she…
‘Just there,’ said Tom Walker. ‘That little lane…’
‘And the gate?’ Cassian asked softly.
Her heart turned over. Guilt swept through her as she realised what Cassian was doing. Bless him, she thought. Bless him.
‘Take me there!’ She pleaded, choking and hoarse, the words disappearing into his soft shirt.
His hand was infinitely gentle on the silk of her hair. ‘Come,’ he muttered, his voice cracking. ‘We’ll pick some flowers from the garden. We can make a lovely bunch for your mother from the roses, agastache, helenium, salvia…’
‘And if you come round one day, both of you,’ said Mr Walker kindly, ‘we can have tea and talk about your parents, if you’d like. I’m very fond of you, pet,’ he added. ‘You’re like a dear daughter to me.’
‘I’d like,’ she said in a small voice. And kissed him. Suddenly she felt overcome with emotion and her arms tightened about the skeletal frame and she held him tight. ‘See you soon,’ she whispered.
He nodded, his eyes filled with tears. ‘Say hello to her from me,’ he rasped. ‘Good friend. Warm heart. Like you. I promised her, at her funeral, that I’d keep an eye on you. She’d be proud of you, Laura.’
She couldn’t speak for emotion. In a blur she saw Cassian clasp Tom Walker’s hand, an unspoken message of affection exchanging between them.
‘Old times,’ Cassian said softly. ‘We have a lot of catching up to do, Tom. Till then.’
Gently he ushered Laura out of the door. His arm was around her as they walked along the street to the manor house, guiding her feet, holding her firmly when she stumbled because the tears were obliterating her vision.
But he stood back while she picked the flowers, knowing that this was something she needed to do on her own. These were her gift to her mother.
And even though he waited a yard or so away, his tenderness enfolded her, protecting her like a supporting blanket. Without him she would have broken down. With him, she felt she could cope.
‘How did you know that Mr Walker was goading me?’ she asked in a pitifully little voice.
‘Partly because he’s a kind man and I could see from his eyes that his heart wasn’t in what he was doing, and partly because I’d been trying to do the same.’
Her eyes widened and accused him. ‘Provoke me, you mean?’
‘Sort of,’ he confessed. ‘When you talked about Adam, I could see that underneath you were a woman of deep passions and fierce beliefs. For your sake, Laura,’ he said gently, ‘I wanted you to find your guts before you were thrust into the world. It’s a wonderful and exciting place. I wanted you to enjoy it.’
She heaved a sigh. The end of the week was a long way away at the moment.
‘I’m finding my emotions all too easily,’ she said jerkily. ‘You’re stripping away all my barriers and I’m left raw and open and hurt!’
His eyes softened. ‘But you’re in touch with your heart.’
‘It’s a painful process,’ she muttered.
‘There’s joy too,’ he promised.
‘Really?’ she mumbled, her face wan.
Because she wasn’t sure she believed him. A chill went through her. Passion, she thought, gripped in an icy fear. Was it truly worth the anguish that came with it?
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS a fifteen minute drive to the accident spot. For the rest of her life she would remember the powerful musky perfume of the roses in the confines of the car, and the comfort of Cassian’s reassuring hand on hers when they finally reached the place Mr Walker had described.
‘Wait. I’ll help you out,’ Cassian offered.
So kind and tender. He seemed to know instinctively what to do, what to say, when to be silent.
Her pulses drummed. Her face was almost as white as the mallow flowers in her hands. Shakily she clambered down and lifted her head up high.
Alone, she walked to the farm gate, thinking only of her mother’s tragic death and of the American man who had been her mother’s lover. Her father. A man she would have loved if she’d known him. What had he been like? She didn’t know. She couldn’t visualise him.
Her eyes filled with tears again. It was awful, not knowing either of her parents. She bit her lip. For most of her life she’d unwittingly lived a lie created by George and Enid Morris.
Fervently she asked for her mother’s forgiveness for doubting her. Laura had been swayed by the endless falsehoods and half-truths. Cheated of her past, deceived, and twisted so that she fitted into a mould of George Morris’s choosing.
She could have been lively and passionate and beautiful, given the chance. She might have been the kind of woman who flung her arms around people, like Sue, and breezed through life without hang-ups.
Her heritage had been taken away from her. And now she didn’t know what kind of person she was.
And yet despite her sadness, Laura felt the inexorable beauty of her surroundings seeping into her. The lane ran along a valley, eroded long ago by the meltwater from an ice sheet. Close by were the remains of a medieval village, abandoned in the plague. Buttercups made the valley golden in the September sun. In early summer, she mused, the meadows would be a riot of colour, red clover, pignut and cranesbill vying with the buttercups and marguerites.
The high drystone walls were thick with lichen and moss and she reached out to touch the soft green mat covering the massive limestone rocks. Here in this lovely valley she could imagine her mother’s spirit. Here she could find
solace and comfort.
‘I love you, Mum,’ she husked, an overwhelmingly powerful emotion deepening her voice and making it shake. She didn’t find it odd to be standing in a country lane and talking aloud. It seemed right and natural and it unburdened her heart. She took a deep breath and continued passionately. ‘I wish I’d known you and Father! Wish I’d lived with you! Oh, I wanted that so badly. We could have been happy, the three of us.’
Again she thought how different she might have been. More open, less guarded, more ready to laugh and cry. Less afraid to show her love. To be loved.
Her heart aching, a hard, painful lump in her throat, she strewed the flowers about the lane and bowed her head while goldfinches chattered sweetly nearby.
‘I’ll make you really proud of me,’ she promised. ‘I won’t let myself become like Aunt Enid: mean and caustic, critical and unfulfilled. I will go for happiness…follow my heart. I will hug people if I feel the urge. I won’t let my life go to waste, I won’t!’ she sobbed. ‘And I’ll help Adam to be strong, now I know how. You’d love him, Mum, Dad…’
She couldn’t speak for crying. It felt as if her heart was full of love and sorrow at the same time. It seemed to be expanding from where it had been lying cramped and afraid in her chest. Now it beat with her mother’s blood, her father’s passion. And she felt whole at last.
She shivered and a moment later she started when she felt a jacket being gently draped about her shoulders.
‘You’re cold. You’ve been here a long time,’ Cassian said huskily.
Her forlorn, tear-washed face lifted to his, instinctively seeking something from him.
‘Hold me,’ she pleaded.
With a mutter of concern, he took her in his arms and let her squeeze him as hard as she could. After a moment the violent tensions in her muscles eased and she sagged against him.
‘They…sound as if…they were lovely people,’ she sniffed jaggedly.
‘And you are their child. Remember that. You are like them,’ he answered, stroking her back.
