A Will to Love

by Rosina Lesley

  ‘Mother.’ He put Annie gently aside. leaving her reeling from a variety of emotions and went swiftly to his mother’s side, his fingers going to her wrist. Annie, still leaning against the wall for support, watched curiously. What exactly was wrong with this strange, volatile woman? An accident? Some kind of degenerative disease?

  ‘Calm down.’ Murray released the frail wrist and straightened up. ‘Have you had a brandy?’

  ‘You know I can’t pour it properly.’ Marion leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed, giving Annie a chance to study the dissatisfied lines around the thin-lipped mouth, the discontent etched on the high wide brow. For all that, Marion Tallon-Smythe was still an extremely good looking woman. The hooded eyes opened and looked straight into Annie’s.

  ‘Why is she still here?’ she asked querulously, as her son put a large brandy bowl in to her hand.

  ‘Mother, it is her house.’ Murray turned to Annie, his expression bleak. ‘Would you like a brandy with your coffee, or would you like to go to your room?’

  He was offering her escape, thought Annie, but she was made of sterner stuff than that. She had to see this situation through.

  ‘Yes, a brandy would be very nice, thank you,’ she said, noting his surprise as she went across to the chair she had occupied earlier. Turning to Marion she said, ‘I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, and even sorrier if I have been the cause of it. But we do have to sort things out, and I didn’t come all the way up here to be browbeaten or to leave without resolving the situation in some way. So, if you’re feeling well enough, we can talk about it now and I’ll go home tomorrow, or, if you would rather, we’ll talk tomorrow and I’ll leave the day after.’

  In the silence that followed this little speech she watched the play of expressions over the faces of both her listeners. Murray’s initial surprise had gradually changed to unwilling, and then open, admiration, Marion’s indignant fury to something akin to shellshock.

  ‘Well, mother?’ Murray bent an enquiring gaze to Marion’s shocked face.

  ‘I can’t discuss it tonight.’ She turned her face to the fire and picked at the beige rug covering her lower limbs.

  ‘Then Annie will be with us until the day after tomorrow.’ Murray stated, turning to hand Annie her brandy. Marion threw them a bitter look and reached for her cigarettes.

  ‘So, despite my mother feeling unable to discuss the matter, why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?’ Murray sat down in the chair Annie had first occupied, pulling it closer to the fire.

  ‘I don’t honestly know.’ Annie pulled her gaze from his long denim encased legs and focussed somewhere behind his left ear. ‘I came up here because ...’ her voice trailed away, and she glanced apprehensively at Marion’s bent head.

  ‘She wouldn’t get out.’ He nodded. ‘I know that. But she would have done, you know. I would have made her.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Not at first perhaps.’ He looked down in to his brandy glass, swirling the liquid around between long hands to warm it. He looked up. ‘But after I’d met you ...’

  ‘And accused me of destroying her?’

  He sighed. ‘Are you never going to let me forget that?’

  Annie shrugged. ‘I won’t. You can’t imagine how devastating that whole encounter was. I must admit, I’m still smarting.’

  Murray was silent, staring into the fire, which settled with a soft hiss of ash. Then he stirred, looking across at his mother, whose face was still averted, finger tapping incessantly at non-existent ash on her cigarette.

  ‘She would have gone,’ he repeated and stood up. Annie watched as he gently removed the cigarette from his mother’s hand and threw it on the fire. ‘Come on, mother. Time for bed.’

  Marion looked up at him, her expression unreadable. ‘Come in and say goodnight,’ she said softly.

  ‘I will.’ He turned the wheelchair and pushed it behind the screen and Annie heard a door close. Murray reappeared, running a hand through the thick hair before pushing both hands into jeans pockets and staring unseeingly at the floor.

  Annie cleared her throat. ‘I’ll go and load the dishwasher and then I’ll be off to bed, too.’ She stood up uncertainly.

  ‘You haven’t finished your coffee – or your brandy.’ He moved across and gently propelled her back into her chair. ‘Stay with me for a few moments, at least.’

  Holding her breath, Annie risked a look into his eyes, a surge of adrenalin rushing through her at the warmth she saw there. Their eyes remained locked for a moment, until he broke the contact and went back to his chair, a frown on his face. Annie reminded herself briskly of her previous conclusions – that this was a man used to the attentions of women, a man who could manipulate them exactly as he pleased and was probably doing just that with her. She straightened her back and took a fortifying sip of coffee.

  ‘May I ask why your mother is in a wheelchair?’ she ventured, breaking into his brooding reverie.

  ‘An accident,’ he said shortly. ‘Some years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Annie was still curious. ‘Car accident?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sent a fulminating glare. ‘Any more questions?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Annie, nettled. ‘I just thought if I knew more about it I might understand her position better.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He was dismissive, then looked up quickly, a rueful half smile on his lips. ‘Sorry. That’s hardly conducive to your keeping me company, is it?’

  Annie smiled back, searching for an answer, which her brain refused to give her. The emotional see-saw she had ridden this evening, together with the revelations of the past week, had taken their toll on someone who was used to the most ordinary of everyday situations and ill-equipped to deal with such high drama as she now faced. She looked down into her coffee cup and realised it was almost empty. Thankfully, she drained it and stood up again.

  ‘I think I will be off, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day – what with the drive up here and – and everything.’

  Murray pushed himself to his feet with a weary gesture. ‘Of course. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Please don’t worry about the dinner things. They’ll wait.’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll do it now. Tracy might have trouble getting here in the morning and she won’t want to face all that mess.’

  ‘Go on, then.’ He gave her a gentle shove towards the door, opened it for her, then swung her round to face him. ‘We’ve come a long way this evening, haven’t we, Miss Prickly?’

  ‘I suppose we have.’ She was uncertain, trying to avoid looking at him.

  ‘I feel as though we’ve known one another for years.’ His voice held slight wonderment. ‘I suppose it must be all this conflict.’

  ‘Like actors.’ Annie pronounced enigmatically.

  ‘What?’ He gave a soft laugh and lifted her chin to look at her. ‘Actors?’

  ‘In a play - they get very close very quickly because of all the emotion. It has been short, sharp and intense.’ Annie was aware that her voice was shaking.

  ‘Hmm.’ His blue eyes roved over her face, searching. ‘Intense.’

  Break away, her inner voice was telling her as she watched his face getting nearer. He’s going to kiss you! Break away, or you’ll be lost! But the power of independent movement seemed to have been denied her, her lips parting to receive his and a tumultuous warm tide washing through her at their first soft touch.

  The click of the door sent them instantly apart, swinging to face Marion as she appeared round the screen.

  ‘Just off, were you?’ She fixed Annie with the hooded eyes. ‘Don’t let me keep you. I want a word with my son, if you don’t mind.’

  Annie refused to look at Murray. ‘Yes, I was going. I’ll say goodnight, then.’ She turned back to the door which Murray held open for her and went through it without another word, waiting to hear it click shut as she walked down the hall and into the dining room, where she turned and looked
back, to see Murray watching her. Quickly she moved to the table and heard the drawing room door finally close.

  Well, that was pretty stupid, she told herself, flicking her hair out of her face as she bent to clear the table. How old are you? Twenty-nine, owner of your own home and business and still susceptible to a pair of blue eyes and a good body and a smooth line in light dalliance. Perhaps, she thought, as she piled dishes, it was because she was twenty nine and out of the habit of interaction with the opposite sex. Since starting the business she’d hardly had time to form any relationships other than those comfortable, old shoe sort of friendships that took very little effort. The roller coasters of emotional and physical attraction had slipped into the background of her college days and her first job, when a serious affair had gone sour and left her with a slight distrust of attractive men, which had been upheld by other people’s experiences over the years. Her appearance, too, was not such that men saw her as a sex object, although her figure wasn’t bad, she admitted to herself, just a bit too curvy in the wrong places, so she bundled it up in her favourite baggy sweaters and long skirts, her long tawny hair kept out of the way in its plait, her heart shaped face with its high cheekbones free of make up. Yet tonight she had been seized with a desire to appear attractive - and not just to boost her flagging spirits. And she could have sworn that he was attracted – really attracted, despite himself. Excitement spiralled through her body and she realised she was grinning as she picked up the loaded tray and went out of the door.

  She loaded the dishwasher with as much as she could and set it running, leaving the crystal and more delicate items by the sink, and with a last look round the kitchen, turned off the light and went towards the stairs.

  The drawing room door had slipped its catch and stood slightly open, Marion’s harsh tones reaching her as she crossed the hall.

  ‘I told you what she would do, didn’t I? Just be careful, that’s all.’

  Murray’s deep voice answered her. ‘I know what I’m doing, mother, don’t worry. Everything’s under control.’

  ‘It had better be,’ snapped Marion. ‘I’m relying on you, you know that. What can I do on my own – like this? Nothing!’

  The blood pounded in Annie’s ears as she listened for Murray’s reply.

  ‘You’re not on your own, mother. I’ll always be there for you. And for goodness sake leave Annie to me, or you’ll put your foot right in it.’

  Closing her ears, Annie turned blindly for the staircase, embarrassment and shame coursing through her. How could she have let herself be taken in like that? Hadn’t she known all along that he was a manipulator? Miserably, she closed her bedroom door and sank down on the bed. So much for him being really attracted – she had known all along he wouldn’t even notice a girl like her – there had to be some other reason for his attentions. He was just clever enough for it to appear genuine. Sighing she collected her toothbrush and began to get ready for bed.

  Chapter Four

  After a decidedly restless night, Annie fell in to a deep sleep towards dawn. Her little alarm clock peeped into life at 7.30, dragging her into wakefulness and after switching it off, she lay gazing at the ceiling reassembling facts in her mind.

  Last night’s embarrassment was still there, but had hardened into a resolution to sort things out once and for all and shake the dust of Tallon House off her feet for ever. It was not her home, never had been and she never wanted it to be. She wanted to go back to being plain Annie King, with her little shop in Coach House Yard, her tiny cottage near the river and her nice, comfortable friends. Christmas was almost here, her mother and stepfather were coming to spend it with her and she wanted nothing to spoil it. As soon as she could make Marion listen to her, she would tell her of her decision and leave, preferably without seeing Murray.

  On this thought, she threw back the covers, momentarily appreciating the central heating that welcomed her, and went to the window to draw the curtains. It was so quiet here, compared with her little lane which, at this time in the morning would be busy with people leaving for work, postman, milkman and children leaving for the grammar school in the next town. Suppressing a childish burst of homesickness, she pulled the heavy curtains back and gasped.

  No wonder it was quiet. The scene outside was exactly like a Christmas card – slopes and bare trees coated in icing sugar snow, untrammelled and sparkling, beautiful and pure. And immovable, probably, thought Annie, with a sudden sinking of the heart. Hurriedly, she wrapped her blue cape around her and crept out into the corridor, checking that it was empty before running for the bathroom. The shower, blessedly, was warm and within a few minutes, she was back in her room, climbing quickly into jeans and powder blue sweater, pulling jodhpur boots on to her feet before brushing her hair and forcing it ruthlessly back into its accustomed plait. Leaving the bed to air, she left her room and made her way downstairs through the silent house.

  Checking as she went, she discovered none of the curtains opened, the remains of the fires in the dining room and study and empty brandy glasses on the hall table. Frowning, she glanced at her watch, which told her that it was nearly 8.00 a.m. and made for the kitchen. Switching on the light, she found it exactly as she had left it last night and sighed. It looked as though she had been right about the snow and, as if to confirm this, the telephone began to ring. Hesitating, Annie picked up the kitchen extension and heard Tracy’s breathless voice.

  ‘Hello – who’s that? Miss King?’

  ‘Yes, hello, Tracy.’

  ‘I’m awfully sorry, but I’m not going to be able to get to you this morning. The road to Fearnside’s blocked and they’re not likely to get a plough to it until the main roads are cleared.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Tracy,’ soothed Annie, trying to stay calm while her heart plummeted even further. ‘Just tell me what there is in the way of food and anything else that needs doing and I’ll cope.’

  ‘Oh, great. I’m sorry to leave you with all of this, but then, it is your house, isn’t it? I’d forgotten that.’ Tracy’s cheerful laugh floated down the wire.

  Not if I can help it, thought Annie grimly.

  ‘Anyway,’ went on Tracy, ‘As far as food’s concerned, there’s stewing steak in the fridge and some frozen fish fillets and mince in the freezer. Plenty of vegetables - oh, and I made up some puff pastry yesterday. That’s in the fridge wrapped in clingfilm. Bread – I think there’s a brown and a white loaf in the freezer, so you should be all right. If you run out of milk there’s powdered in the dry stores cupboard, the tall one near the Aga.’

  ‘Right, that sounds pretty comprehensive.’ Annie tried to sound bright. ‘Is there anything desperate needs doing in the housework line? I doubt if – whatshername? Mrs Harvey – will get in today.’

  ‘That’s all right, she wasn’t expected, so there’s nothing you need do except the cooking – oh, and the clearing up from last night. Sorry about that.’

  ‘I did that last night,’ said Annie, thankful that she had.

  ‘Murray will help you anyway, he’s very good. At least he’ll keep his mother off your back.’ Tracy’s voice took on a note of curiosity and Annie rushed hastily into speech.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I can’t imagine Murray washing up or cooking, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. But he can do the fireplaces if you don’t need him for anything else.’

  ‘Good idea. Oh, Tracy – the Aga?’ Annie remembered. ‘I’ve never used one. Do I have to do anything to it?’

  ‘No, it’s oil fired, so no problem. If you don’t want to risk the oven, there’s an electric hob on the other side of the kitchen and a microwave, but there’s a recipe and instruction book for the Aga in the kitchen table drawer.’

  ‘Fine, I’d like to have a go at it. I’ve always wanted one.’

  ‘Well, good luck. My number’s in the book by the hall phone if you need me.’

  ‘I won’t need anything, don’t worry, but thanks anyway. Bye.’

  �
�Nothing? Are you sure?’ The deep voice came from the doorway behind her and she whirled round, almost dropping the receiver.

  ‘That was Tracy. She can’t get here.’ Her voice sounded wobbly even to her.

  ‘Yes, I gathered that. You beat me to the phone.’

  ‘I’m sorry! Shouldn’t I have answered it?’

  ‘Of course you should.’ Murray shrugged and strolled forward. ‘It’s your house.’

  ‘Oh, don’t keep saying that.’ Annie let the words out in a rush. ‘I don’t want the damn place.’

  ‘You know, I almost believe you.’ Murray paused with his hand on the kettle, an arrested expression on his face.

  ‘Well, that’ll make a nice change.’ Annie allowed herself the relief of sarcasm. ‘And now if you and your mother wouldn’t mind being equally truthful with me, we can perhaps survive the next few hours in comparative harmony.’

  Murray filled the big kettle at the sink and set it on the hob.

  ‘Only the next few hours?’ he enquired, leaning back against the cupboards and folding his arms.

  ‘Why should we need it after that? I’ll be gone as soon as the snow clears.’ Annie eyed him warily.

  ‘Have you seen the drive?’ He cocked a devilish eyebrow at her. ‘Three feet deep at least. Deeper at the bottom, I should think.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Annie.

  ‘Unless we have a sudden thaw, we could be here for days. Snow ploughs do the roads in order of importance, and private drives not at all. We’ll have to rely on local farmers and their tractors, when they can get through.’

  He’s enjoying this, thought Annie, through mentally gritted teeth. More time to bring me to heel, to get out of me whatever it is they want. Well, they can whistle. Aloud, she said ‘Well, we’ll just have to pray for that sudden thaw, won’t we,’ and she turned away with a dismissive smile to get on with unloading the dishwasher.

  Silence, unbroken but for the gentle hiss of the kettle coming to the boil, enveloped them. Annie found her nerves keyed up to snapping point as she waited for Murray to say something, but he seemed as determined not to speak as she. Eventually, she stood up and closed the dishwasher door, turning to run hot water into the sink to wash last night’s glasses.