Return to Deepwater

by Lucy Gillen

  ‘He isn’t there, he’s in the dining-room!’

  Tarin spun round sharply, eyes wide, her expression almost guilty, although she had been doing no more than a little private speculation. ‘Good— good morning,’ she said shakily, and eyed him warily.

  He was, almost inevitably, dressed for riding, she did not remember ever seeing him dressed any other way, and it certainly suited him. The blue shirt he wore this morning seemed to emphasize that deep tan, and gave his features an even craggier look. He was also much taller than she had realised, well over six feet, she guessed, and his hair urns almost as red as his ancestors’ when he stood in the sun as he did now, looking at her with one brow raised and a hint of impatience in his expression.

  ‘You were looking at the portraits,’ he said. ‘But you won’t find Duncan there, he has pride of place in the dining-room.’

  He told her that last as if he was daring her to say anything about the past history that still could cause a rift between the two families. Her uncle had never spoken to a Bruce in his life and probably never would. Thinking the whole thing rather silly in the present circumstances, Tarin smiled and pulled a face.

  ‘It’s all rather ancient history, isn’t it?’ she said, and was quite surprised when he frowned.

  ‘You don’t carry on the feud?’ he asked, and Tarin shook her head.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here if I did, Mr. Bruce.’

  His wide mouth quirked briefly into an answering smile and he put a hand under her elbow and turned her towards a door at the far end of the hall. ‘I’m rather surprised you are, to be quite honest,’ he told her. ‘I’m sure your uncle doesn’t approve, does he?’

  ‘Not really.’ She admitted it reluctantly, for she had no desire at all to start off on the wrong foot.

  ‘But I’m the one who wants the job, not my uncle.’

  ‘And you really think it will be worth coming all this way for?’ he asked as he opened the door and ushered her into the room in front of him.

  Tarin hesitated, then nodded. ‘I hope so,’ she said, and looking around her, wondered if it really would prove to be worthwhile. Deepwater itself was somewhat overpowering, and Darrel Bruce was much more of an unknown quantity than she had expected him to be.

  The room was not particularly big, but it was well in keeping with the character .of the house that she had seen so far. That great hall and the rugged air of grandeur about the whole place. It was high-ceilinged and more oblong than square, with an earthy, primitive kind of beauty that was difficult to specify.

  The walls were white, as in the hall, with black, heavy wooden beams spanning its ceiling and a huge bay window with small diamond-patterned panes. The furniture was sparse but suitable for an office, and all of it beautifully polished and preserved, including a massive walnut desk behind which was a modern leather-upholstered swivel chair that looked perfectly in keeping.

  Another, smaller desk stood in the curve of the great bay and Darrel Bruce indicated the chair behind it with a casual hand. ‘Sit down,’ he invited.

  Tarin did as she was bid and looked around her curiously. It was quite unlike any office she had worked in before, but presumably this was where she would be working if she kept the job. ‘It’s a lovely room,’ she ventured, attempting to break into the silence that was beginning to make her uneasy because she was aware that he was watching her, and at any moment she was going to blush like a schoolgirl and feel a complete and utter fool as a consequence.

  ‘I’m glad you approve!’ She might have been wrong to attribute sarcasm to the reply, but she bit hastily on the retort that rose to her lips and instead simply looked up at him enquiringly.

  ‘Mr. Bruce, if you—’ she began, but he took no notice of her attempted interruption.

  ‘You’ve never been here before, have you?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘No, never.’

  He had perched himself on the edge of the desk, close enough for her to be uneasily conscious of his presence, and she could feel her pulses racing blindly, almost in panic, as she hastily looked down at her hands again to avoid those intently steady eyes. It was almost as if she expected him to make some sudden and unexpected move towards her, and that idea was quite ridiculous in the circumstances.

  Then he smiled and she sensed it even before she glanced up at him again. ‘It must have been very much slower in my younger days than my notorious ancestor was,’ he said quietly, and Tarin bit her lip, that dreaded blush staining her cheeks without her being able to do a thing about it.

  It was quite idiotic to colour like a schoolgirl just because he paid her an indirect compliment, especially when he was probably quite practised in flattery with so many wealthy female visitors to please. She should have had more control, but during her working life she had worked for a variety of employers and never one as able to make her feel gauchely uneasy as Darrel Bruce did. Without quite knowing why, she began to resent it.

  ‘You were hardly likely to notice me then, Mr. Bruce,’ she said with studied quietness, and swept her long lashes up to look at him for a moment steadily, her heart hammering hard at her side. ‘I was only fourteen the last time I was here and you were much more mature.’

  He looked at her for a moment, narrow-eyed, and she wondered if she had been too rash. ‘Not so much more, surely,’ he said quietly, in that firm, deep voice. ‘I must have been about twenty, and my tastes haven’t changed that much!’ His eyes glinted maliciously bright far a moment as he eyed her from head to foot. ‘But don’t worry,’ he added softly, ‘I have far too much on my mind to spend time chasing my secretary around the office, however stunning she might be!’

  Tarin gasped audibly and tried to object. ‘Mr. Bruce, I—’

  His eyes glittered at her darkly and there was a hint of cruelty, she thought, in the way his mouth quirked at one corner. ‘You can assure your uncle that there’s no chance of history repeating itself!’ he said.

  Tarin was too breathless to reply at once and she sat there behind the desk while he perched beside her with one foot swinging. He seemed impatient and angry for some reason she could not quite fathom, and it was disturbing, too, to her own peace of mind, the way his being so close could affect her. She despaired of ever being able to think about Darrel Bruce sensibly, for that schoolgirl crush would keep getting in the way.

  Determinedly she controlled her voice and tried to sound coolly efficient. ‘I’m hoping to work for you, Mr. Bruce,’ she told him quietly. ‘Nothing else has even entered my head, I can assure you!’

  For a moment he said nothing, then he laughed, a short, hard sound, and slid from the edge of the desk to stand over her, one hand on the back of her chair. ‘It entered my head the minute I saw you on the driveway yesterday,’ he confessed frankly. ‘I think our mutual ancestor, the bonnie Jeanie, must have looked like you—that’s why old Duncan ran off with her!’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Tarin retorted swiftly. ‘I’d have thought you knew as much or more about her than we do! After all, she spent most of her life as a captive at Deepwater!’

  ‘A captive?’ It was obvious the idea amused him. ‘You’ve a very dramatic turn of phrase, Miss McCourt! Duncan chose a quite common way of taking a bride—quite permissible in his day and age!’

  ‘To people like the Bruces, maybe!’ Tarin retorted. ‘But it still means she was a captive!’

  ‘A bride,’ he insisted, those brown eyes glinting. ‘She was a bonny girl and he wanted her, so he took her. After all, the Bruces were the local top dogs, it was quite an honour for her in a way.’

  ‘An honour?’

  He nodded, his eyes challenging her to deny it. ‘She seems to have realised it too,’ he said. ‘In all she lived at Deepwater for about forty years, and she never, as far as we know, made any attempt to run away.’

  ‘Would she have dared?’

  His laughter was warm and deep and the sound of it ran through her like a shiver, then he leaned forward and
briefly she was enveloped in a spicy, masculine scent that tickled her nostrils pleasantly.

  ‘She would have if she really was anything like you,’ he told her. ‘And I think she must have been to have caused such a furore.’

  Tarin’s heart was fluttering wildly, no matter how she tried to control her reactions, but she met his eyes with deliberate boldness. ‘You must know,’ she said. ‘If she spent so much of her life here, surely there’s a portrait of her too.’

  He shook his head and there was a glint of what could have been malice in his brown eyes as he looked down at her. ‘She was still a McCourt, for all Duncan fancied her,’ he said coarsely. ‘She was never painted, even though all her sons were.’

  ‘Oh!’ She looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head slowly. ‘Poor Jeanie,’ she said softly. ‘Loving a man who saw her only as a mother to his sons.’

  Darrel’s eyes quizzed her, and he put a hand on the back of the chair behind her, a movement that brought him even closer so that she was once more aware of the warm, male strength of him. The broad chest and sinewy arms that half enfolded her with that curved arm. ‘Who said anything about love?’ he asked softly.

  Tarin did not quite know where to look, and her heart was hammering away like a steam hammer as she sought for words to explain. ‘I—I’ve always thought perhaps she loved him,’ she said in a small husky voice. ‘I mean, staying so long and—I always hoped she did, it wouldn’t have been quite so bad for her then, would it?’

  He said nothing for a while, then he shook his head and she realised suddenly that he was laughing to himself, his brown eyes glittering with amusement as he considered the idea. ‘You are a romantic, aren’t you?’ he said, still laughing. ‘I’d never thought of bringing love into the old family story, but do you know, you could just be right. Maybe Duncan did love her, I wouldn’t know, I’ve always taken it at face value and not bothered about the niceties of it.’

  ‘Just like a Bruce!’ Tarin retorted sharply, without knowing why she was suddenly taking up the old feud again when she had vowed not to. She flicked him a hasty look through the thickness of her lashes and shook her head. ‘I’m—I’m sorry, Mr. Bruce.’

  ‘Are you?’

  He was still bent over her and she wished he would stand up and give her senses a chance to get back to normal, but he was speaking again and his breath stirred the silky hair on top of her head. ‘I said you were a battling McCourt,’ he said softly. ‘And it looks like I was right, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She looked up at last and met the direct gaze of his brown eyes only inches above her. ‘I didn’t intend to even mention that silly feud,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘I vowed I wouldn’t—I can’t even think how people can keep up a quarrel about something that happened over two hundred years ago!’

  ‘Easy,’ Darrel said with a malicious smile. ‘We do it instinctively!’

  She sat for a moment giving it some thought, and wondered if this was a sample of what could happen over and over again if she worked for him. ‘If you—I wonder if you’d like to reconsider, Mr. Bruce,’ she said at last. ‘I mean, if you’d rather have someone else for a secretary—I’ll—I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘I haven’t.’ He straightened up for a moment and then almost at once bent over her again as he searched her face with bright glittering eyes. ‘Have you?’ he asked softly.

  It was doubtful if he saw her shake her head, for the door behind him opened at that moment and someone came in. It was not possible for Tarin to see who it was at first because he blocked her view, but when he straightened up and turned to speak to the newcomer, she recognised the blonde woman who had passed her, driving that flame-coloured car at such breakneck speed. She was as sure as she could be that it was the same one, and she saw the narrow-eyed way she was looking at her and then at Darrel Bruce.

  It was quite possible, of course, that his attitude of being bent over her had given the wrong impression altogether, and Tarin’s heart was rapping at her ribs in agitation when she saw the malice in those pale blue eyes. Then she came further into the room, a tall, smooth woman with boundless self-confidence, except probably when it came to being sure of Darrel Bruce, and there she was suspicious and uncertain.

  ‘I wondered where you’d got to, Darrel,’ she said in a flat voice. ‘Aren’t we going riding this morning?’

  She came across to the desk, long legs encased in skin-tight cream-coloured trousers and short brown boots, a blue silk shirt almost matching his and making her pale blue eyes look even sharper. She held her gaze on Tarin as she came and Tarin looked down at her hands, wondering what would happen when she knew he intended taking Tarin into his employ. She would not like the idea, it was obvious, and Tarin saw no conceit in understanding her reasons.

  ‘I had an interview first,’ Darrel said. ‘I told you that last night, Gloria.’ He looked back at Tarin and waved a large hand in her direction. ‘Miss McCourt, this is Miss Stein, one of our guests—Miss McCourt is my new secretary, Gloria.’

  ‘McCourt?’ The pale eyes narrowed again and she looked at Tarin suspiciously, ignoring the hand she proffered. ‘Say, isn’t that the name of——’

  ‘An ancestor of Miss McCourt’s,’ Darrel told her with a grin. ‘The hatchet is about to be buried after more than two hundred years!’

  ‘Oh?’ There was no hint of friendliness there, and Tarin had an uneasy feeling that if Miss Gloria Stein had her way, the hatchet would be other than buried. ‘Well, how long does it take to interview a secretary, for heaven’s sake, honey?’ she asked Darrel, and pushed a possessive arm through his, smiling up at him blandly. ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

  ‘Give me ten minutes,’ Darrel told her with a brief frown for her persistence. ‘Now let me get on, Gloria. The sooner you get out of here and let me set Miss McCourt to work the sooner I’ll be able to join you.’

  Gloria Stein’s blue eyes again looked at Tarin, narrowly suspicious, and the rather tight mouth had a faintly sulky look, but she yielded to his firmness without argument. ‘O.K.,’ she allowed reluctantly. ‘But don’t be too long, honey, or I might just go without you!’

  For a brief moment he held her gaze steadily, then Tarin saw the way she hastily looked away and felt almost sorry for her. ‘You won’t,’ he said with quiet certainty, and gave his attention once more to Tarin while Gloria Stein turned without saying another word and went out of the room.

  Tarin felt embarrassed for the American woman and wished she need not have witnessed her brusque dismissal. Gloria Stein, she thought ruefully, would make a bad enemy, and if she was to work for Barrel Bruce there would be plenty of cause for Gloria Stein to regard her as an enemy. There were already far too many complications to the situation, and she felt suddenly quite sure that she should never have applied for this job in the first place.

  Darrel Bruce was likely to prove the most discomfiting man she had ever worked for, and she wished she had the strength of mind to speak out now and tell him she was going back home—that she had changed her mind. Instead she knew in her heart she would stay because no matter how many years had passed, or how much he had changed, he was still Darrel Bruce, and he could still do things to her senses that no other man had ever done.

  She blinked at him suddenly when she realised he had spoken to her, and she had not even heard what he said. The brown eyes were regarding her curiously and one dark brow was raised in query. ‘I asked if you were ready to start,’ he told her, and she hastily brought herself back to earth.

  ‘Oh. yes—yes. of course. Mr. Bruce! I mean,’ she amended hastily, ‘I shall have to give notice to my last firm, of course, but I’m on holiday for the next two weeks, so if you want me to start now, I can.’

  He stood beside the desk towering over her, his hands on his hips, a faint look of resignation on his face as he looked down at her. ‘All of which boils down to the fact that you can start n
ow,’ he guessed dryly, and she nodded.

  ‘I’ll ring my present—my last firm and tell them I’ve found another job up here,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t tell them before I came away because I didn’t know if you’d give it to me.’

  Slowly the brown eyes moved over her, their expression bright and quite blatantly appreciative, then he smiled. ‘Do you ever have trouble getting jobs?’ he asked softly, and she hastily avoided looking at him.

  ‘I haven’t had many jobs,’ she told him, trying to sound cool and calm when her heart was hammering at her breast. ‘I went straight into one from secretarial school and I’ve changed about three times since then.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that very few men would turn down the opportunity of having you around the office,’ he said with embarrassing frankness. ‘You must have known I’d take you on, Miss McCourt, so why be coy about it?’

  ‘I’m not being coy!’ Tarin denied indignantly. He really was the most uncouth man at times, and she again had thoughts of telling him she had changed her mind.

  ‘No?’ He shrugged after a moment or two, and shook his head. ‘You’ve got the McCourt prickles, anyway,’ he told her tactlessly. ‘And if you really want to work for me you’ll have to learn to keep your temper. I’m not an easy man to work for, but I know my shortcomings, and if you don’t like what’s in store for you, you’d better go now, while you’re still in one piece!’

  Tarin’s chin was angled defiantly and her eyes sparkled with determination as she looked up at him. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she told him. ‘Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll get on with it.’ She opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a shorthand notebook and pencil, wondering briefly as she did so what had happened to her predecessor. ‘Did you want to dictate?’ she asked.

  He shook his head, regarding her for a moment as if he was trying to assess just how much she would take without telling him what she thought of him. ‘Not right away,’ he told her. ‘I presume you know how to file letters? It might help if you started on that and felt your way around, find out where everything is, before I start you on the real work. You’ll find the files in the usual system and you have access to all the cupboards, etc., except my private desk. Anything from the accountants comes direct to me, everything else you can go through first and then simply give me the ones I’ll need to attend to personally. O.K.?’