by Jane Corrie
for the warning about the steers; she would be terrified if such a thing happened!
When she returned to the office a little while later, having had to queue for the pastries, which judging by the length of the queue must be very good, she forgot about Mr Oates' warning and automatically made her way to the front entrance of the offices. Before her fingers met the door handle the door swung open, and Teresa found herself face to face with the tall fair man she had seen at the auction.
'Teresa ! ' he said sharply. 'What on earth are you doing here?'
Teresa stared at him—how did he know her name? Before she could answer him Mr Oates' voice spoke close behind the man. 'Come along in, girl. Did you have to wait until they baked them?'
She grinned at this, and with a half-curious look at the stranger still standing there watching her, she slipped past him and into the office, leaving Mr Oates with him.
She would have liked time to ponder on this strange happening, and the fact that the man had known her name. Her brow furrowed. Had she met him somewhere? in which case, he must think her awfully rude.
Her musings were cut short by a request from Mr Oates of, 'Come into my office, Teresa. I want to have a word with you.'
She glanced quickly at Michael—had she done anything wrong? she wondered. Michael's quick reassuring grin assured her that all was well, and she followed Mr Oates into his office.
'Er ... sit down, girl,' he said awkwardly as he closed the door behind her.
Teresa sat down slowly, sensing he was embarrassed about something, but what it was she had no idea.
'That man you met when you came in just now,' he said, then cleared his throat, proving to Teresa that he was embarrassed. 'That was Carl Elton,' he said slowly, and waited a second or so before he continued, giving Teresa the distinct impression that he rather expected the name to mean something to her.
Her lovely green eyes met his in silent query. 'Mr Elton,' she repeated steadily, then shook her head bewilderedly. The name meant nothing to her. She looked back at Mr Oates; it was clear that she ought to have known who the man was.
She sighed softly. Poor man, and she hadn't even answered when he spoke to her I It might help, she thought sadly, if she wore a card on her lapel stating that she had lost her memory, that way no one would be offended.
Giving Mr Oates a wry smile, she said gently, 'It's pretty obvious I ought to have known who he was. I do hope you apologised to him, Mr Oates, for my apparent rudeness.'
'I did,' he said carefully, 'explain how things were. You oughtn't to get any trouble in that direction from now on.'
Teresa did not like this answer, for it left a few unexplained, not to mention intriguing, questions in the air. Had she in fact had any trouble with this man? She conjured him up again in her mind's eye.
He was certainly not a man one could overlook in a crowd. He had that certain something about him. Authoritative, that was the word she wanted. He looked wealthy and could, she imagined, afford to indulge in any whim that took his fancy.
A thought then struck her. Had she been one of Carl Elton's 'whims'? She shook her head. She simply couldn't see how, for according to her uncle she had only been in the country a few weeks before the accident happened.
It was all very puzzling, and her brow furrowed as she attempted to pierce beyond that thick curtain that had so effectively screened her past.
'I shouldn't worry about it,' Mr Oates said hastily. 'What I wanted to tell you was that it would be better if you kept out of his way.'
Teresa's brows rose at this bald statement. There was no need to ask the question, it was in her eyes.
'Er—you're a very pretty girl, Teresa,' he said lamely, 'and Carl Elton and your uncle have never got on—never have, and never will.' At her indignant glance, he carried on hastily, 'Now you're a sensible girl, and there's no sense in starting things up again that are better left. I want you to promise me to make yourself scarce each time he comes here, and on no account be alone with him. If Michael and I aren't around when he calls, dodge out the back way—and if he phones, just hand the call over to either me or Michael.'
An extremely bewildered Teresa left his office a short while later to resume her work, but she found it impossible to keep her mind on the job. By all appearances, this Carl Elton had somehow made
contact with her; not only that, but must have shown signs of more than a passing interest in her, so much so that her uncle must have been worried about it.
It was also obvious that the man had a reputation as a lady-killer—which was odd, she mused. He didn't look the type, too haughty for one thing. Perhaps he led a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence? On this thought she grinned, and remembering Mr Oates' instructions to keep out of his way, her smile grew wider. Really, they were being rather over-protective, weren't they? As if she couldn't handle the situation. She'd met wolves before now, hadn't she?
Suddenly her brow furrowed. Now how did she know that?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following day, Teresa met Carl Elton again. It was not a chance meeting, for he had come to the office to see her, but she didn't realise that at first. When the door opened and he strolled in she sat for a moment or so in indecision, for Mr Oates and Michael were out of town that morning and were not expected back until the afternoon.
She could, of course, have done precisely what Mr Oates had suggested she did, made some excuse and left the office, but it would have been the coward's way out, and was too ridiculous for words; besides, she was not unnaturally curious, and wanted to find out just what had taken place between herself and this man.
Her clear gaze met his as she said, `I'm afraid Mr Oates is out, so is his son. They'll be back after lunch, though, if you'd care to come back.'
He stood gazing at her for a moment or so before he answered, and she saw his firm lips take on a sardonic twist as he said, 'There's no need to overdo the polite act. I got the message from Oates.'
His gaze left hers, and he stared down at a catalogue she had been copying out for the next auction. 'Are there any Herefords there?' he asked conversationally.
Teresa started; she was still trying to make out what he meant by 'the message'. Really, you'd think
he would show some sympathy instead of treating the matter as of no account! Well, one thing was clear, she told herself with relief, there couldn't have been much between them. Mr Oates must have been taking precautions against the possibility of Carl Elton's trying to flirt with her.
Feeling as if a great load had been lifted off her shoulders, she ran her eye down the list. 'Lot Seventeen,' she said brightly. 'Will you be able to bid, or shall I tell Mr Oates to put your bid in?' She looked up expectantly at him.
'Teresa?' he said softly, and the next moment had pulled her into his arms.
An extremely alarmed Teresa tore herself away from him. Mr Oates had not been all that far out after all, had he? she thought wildly as she headed for the back door, but Carl Elton was there before her, blocking her exit.
She backed slowly away from him, her eyes wide. She wished she could understand why she was so afraid, why she couldn't cut him down to size, for that was what one did with wolves, wasn't it? But it was no use telling herself these things when she couldn't carry them out. She only knew she had to keep her distance from this man, come what may. In a voice that trembled she heard herself say, 'If you don't leave this minute, I shall scream the place down! '
Her wary eyes saw his face whiten, and a muscle work at the side of his mouth. `So that's it, is it?' he said harshly. 'You're determined to carry on with this loss of memory story, are you? Convenient, isn't it?' His voice changed to a mocking tone. 'Well, I
don't believe a word of it. You might have fooled the doctor, but you don't fool me. It gave you a perfectly valid excuse for cutting me dead, didn't it?'
He made a move towards her, and Teresa, terrified that he would make another attempt to take her in his arms, backed further away until she came up against her
desk. She knew she wouldn't make the front door, he hadn't finished with her yet.
'Don't worry,' he said bitterly. 'I'm not risking the chance of another show of outraged innocence from you.' His eyes held hers in a hold she couldn't break, and she thought how very blue they were. She held on to the thought; anything to take her mind off what he was saying.
'You weren't the only aggrieved party, remember? You walked out on me. How the devil do you think I felt?'
When she didn't answer but continued to stare at him with wide eyes, he carried on, 'I've my pride, too, and you left me for him—someone you didn't even know existed until he claimed relationship with you.' His voice grew harsher. 'Now, that took a hell of a lot of forgiving. Okay, so I was shocked when I found out who you were; you should have allowed for that.'
Teresa heard, but couldn't understand any of it. She desperately wanted him to explain everything, only her head was aching. She put a shaky hand on her forehead. "Please I don't understand you,' she whispered.
Instead of making him relent and ease the pressure he was putting on her, her words appeared to
infuriate Carl Elton even more. 'So he really got through to you, didn't he.? Okay, play it that way for now if it makes you feel any better. But before I go I want you to know just where I've been these past few weeks, and why—then when you've thought things over I'm sure you'll regain that lost memory of yours.' His eyes narrowed. 'There's just one thing I want to make quite clear—what I said about your uncle still goes.'
He looked away from her and stared out of the window to the street beyond. 'I've been up north,' he said abruptly, 'taken an option on a ranch there. It's not quite so big as Sunset Ridge, but it has great potential.' His eyes came back to hers. 'What I'm telling you is that I want you to come with me.' Teresa saw his hand curl into a hard fist. 'No one there has ever heard of the name Rafferty—or the feud.'
Wordlessly she stared at him. He was asking her to go away with him ! She knew a sense of shock, and her befuddled mind tried to make sense of what he had said about the name Rafferty. Her name was Cottam, so her uncle had told her—his name was Rafferty. She gave it up. Whatever the answer was, it didn't alter the fact that he had had the impudence to ask her to be his mistress!
Her face flushed as she acknowledged this, and her green eyes sparkled with indignation. 'I think I'd prefer to forget we had this conversation,' she said bitingly. 'And I can't think what made you presume I'd even be willing to consider your dubious proposal, but I can tell you here and now ...'
He did not allow her to finish, but cut in sharply
with, 'What the devil do you mean by "dubious proposal"?'
Teresa moved back against her desk. His eyes were blazing into hers, and she had a feeling she was treading on very thin ice and wished that Michael or his father were there.
When she did not answer, he nodded grimly at her. 'Still playing little girl lost, are you? Well, I'll give you one week to come to your senses. I thought I knew you, but it appears I've a lot to learn about you, as you have to learn about me. I don't play games, and the sooner you realise that the better.' He strolled to the door. 'It's up to you now.'
The door slammed behind him, leaving Teresa staring at the closed door. Her head ached with sharp intensity, and she held on to her desk for the support she so badly needed.
As time passed the headache receded, and she was able to sit down and make an attempt to come to terms with Carl Elton's extraordinary statements.
The thing that most worried her was the fact that he had been so sure of himself, and of her blind acceptance of his outrageous suggestion. For goodness' sake, what sort of a girl had she been? Even the most tenacious pursuer wouldn't have dared voice such an arrangement without encouragement, and she must have given him that encouragement—no wonder her uncle had been worried about the situation
She frowned. What had he said about her uncle? She shook her head; the words ran into one another, but it was something on the lines that he didn't want anything to do with him. She bit her lower lip;
had she been told not to tell him of their association?
Her frown deepened. But her uncle knew of it; Mr Oates had proved that by asking her to keep out of Carl Elton's way!
She pushed back a lock of hair from her forehead with a weary gesture. It was no use, whatever had happened now remained locked behind an impenetrable screen—but not for long, she told herself fiercely. It appeared her uncle Patrick had left a few gaps in his narration—gaps she was determined to have filled in, even if it meant confirmation of her earlier suspicions of the kind of girl she had been.
He had told her she was shocked after losing her family—had it so affected her that it had made her lose all sense of propriety? Was that why he had suddenly changed the conversation when he was trying to explain the reason why she had lost her memory? She had had the feeling then that he was holding something back, and now she knew what it was.
Bleakly she acknowledged the reason why he hadn't mentioned her association with Carl Elton. It was hardly a matter to bring up at such a time. No wonder he had put Mr Oates in the picture and asked for his co-operation in shielding her from any future contact in that direction!
The rest of the day passed too slowly for Teresa's liking. She was impatient to finish work and get back to the chalet and get the truth out of her uncle. Somehow she managed to contain herself until the evening meal had been eaten and cleared away, and
waited until her uncle had rolled his after-dinner cigarette and sat contentedly puffing at it, then threw the question at him.
'What happened between Carl Elton and myself?' she asked bluntly, noticing the start he gave at the name.
`Now who's been talking?' he demanded, assuming an indignant pose which told Teresa he was playing for time.
'No one,' she answered calmly. 'He came to see me today.' She met her uncle's wary eyes and held them. 'He asked me to go up north with him,' she added bluntly.
`Whist, girl! ' he began, 'the devil of a cheek, has he. 'Tis better forgotten, I tell you. Too proud to marry you now I Sure, didn't I tell you how it was before?'
'No,' said Teresa firmly, 'you didn't, and I want to know now—all of it, do you hear? And don't bother to spare my feelings. I rather gathered he was of the opinion that I would agree to his suggestion.' Her soft lips twisted as she added, `I'd rather know, Uncle, no matter what happened, do you understand?' she added softly.
He gave a loud sigh and studied the end of his cigarette. 'Sure, girl, I'll tell you. Thought I was doing right in leaving things as they were. You'd had enough to put up with as it was, losing your folks like that.'
Gradually the story came out, and an amazed Teresa was told of the engagement party, and her uncle's appearance. It was a slightly biased account, she realised; for one thing, her uncle pointed out
with much emphasis that once the connection between her and the Raffertys had been established, Carl Elton had jilted her and she had left his home immediately after the party, and joined her uncle.
But, Teresa reasoned silently with herself, Carl Elton had told her she had walked out on him, and she found herself more inclined to believe his version of it rather than her uncle's. As she listened while he went over the past history of the feud, and why an alliance between the two families would never work, she was even more inclined to believe the other man.
The other man! Her spirits lifted at the thought that this other man had been no less than her fiancé. So she hadn't been playing fast and loose with him, hadn't been the sort of girl one puts dubious proposals to. Her brow furrowed. But Carl Elton had asked her to go away with him. Had her uncle at least been right when he'd said he was too proud to marry her now?
It was a point she had to concede. It did rather look that way; he had said nothing about marriage, yet he'd seemed so infuriated when she had refused him.
It was odd really, she mused, looking back on what appeared to be someone else's life. She could well see Carl El
ton's point of view if she had walked out on him, and as he had said with such bitterness, with someone she hadn't known existed until he had shown himself that day.
She couldn't have loved Carl; it was the only answer. You didn't do that sort of thing to someone you loved. Somehow she must have realised it, and
taken the only way out by joining her uncle.
Teresa knew a great sadness. She ought not to have done that to him. No wonder he had been so bitter; under the circumstances he had every right to be. It also explained why he had accused her of pretending to lose her memory, for as he had said, it did give her a valid reason for forgetting his existence.
She sighed. Perhaps it was just as well she hadn't loved him, for she would have been greatly hurt by his assumption that she would have accepted the terms he had offered her, when marriage was out of the question.
As she lay waiting for sleep to come that night, Teresa's thoughts were anything but peaceful. She kept going over the amazing disclosures the evening had brought. She hadn't given her uncle any peace until she had heard the whole of it. How she had been brought to Australia by Carl Elton as his bride-to-be. How her uncle had learned by sheer chance who she was, and had claimed her as his niece.
Even allowing for his slightly biased account of the subsequent events, it did not alter the fact that the man she had walked out on had made no attempt to contact her until now. Although he had made a point of explaining that he had been away, she couldn't somehow see a man like that calmly accepting the situation.
Teresa bit her lower lip. She was forgetting the feud, wasn't she? and Carl Elton's pride. She nodded slowly to herself; he certainly had pride, it was in every fibre of his being, and it must have cost him a
lot to decide to forgive her, not only for walking out on him but for being a Rafferty!
