by Jane Corrie
A little further on she came upon a low-slung bridge that spanned a narrow stream, and saw the light directly in front of her. She could now see that what she had thought was a but of some kind was in fact a cabin—a rather luxurious one, and she
doubted if it could be called a cabin either; it looked more like the ranch-type bungalows she had seen at home, the only difference being that this one was entirely made of wood.
As she crossed over the frail bridge, it went through Teresa's mind that her uncle might well have made his way there too. Had he been anywhere in the vicinity of Hatty's Hill, he couldn't have failed to see the light, as she had seen it. Once across the bridge, she had only a few yards to go to reach the cabin, and this was mostly uphill as the cabin was set on slightly higher ground and nestled into the hillside.
With a rueful glance down at her streaming sandals and clinging wet dress, she pressed the bell set into the framework of the pine doors, and waited with slight trepidation for her call to be answered, only too well aware of the mess she would make of the interior of such an establishment, particularly if it lived up to its outside proportions.
Extra light was thrown out as the door opened, and for a moment or so Teresa had to blink at the tall man who stood there, trying to accustom herself to bright light in front of her. Then she blinked again hard, and stared at Carl Elton. 'You l ' she whispered, as if trying to prove to herself that he wasn't a mirage.
His autocratic brows raised at the rather vehement reaction his appearance had produced on her, and he smiled wryly as he stood to one side, indicating that she should go in. 'Hardly the weather for visitors,' he commented dryly, 'but you're welcome anyway.'
Teresa had no choice but to go inside, although
she did fling a longing backward glance behind her in the hope that the rain had eased off and she could politely refuse his hospitality, but of course it hadn't, and seemed to be lashing down with even greater ferocity.
'In here,' drawled Carl, not a bit put out by the rivulets of water slowly trickling from Teresa and making damp patches on the expensive carpet as she squelched through the hall towards the door he held open for her.
She was about to enter the room, but stepped back smartly when she found it was a bathroom, and fixing a wary look at Carl she said rather unnecessarily, 'It's a bathroom!'
He nodded complacently. 'There's a drying cupboard in there too,' and he pointed to a bathrobe that hung behind the door. 'Put that on when you're ready.'
Teresa just stood staring at him; he didn't expect her to ... Apparently he did. His next words confirmed it. 'You can't,' he pointed out mildly, 'sit around all evening in wet clothes. You might as well make yourself comfortable, we've a long wait in front of us.'
'A long wait?' she echoed dully, very much afraid that she knew what he meant.
He nodded again, and there was a distinctly mocking light in his eyes, but his voice was still mild as if he was explaining things to a child. 'I very much doubt we shall be able to get out of the valley for at least three days.'
'Three days ' repeated Teresa in a stunned voice, then stared at him suspiciously. 'You're teasing me,
aren't you?' she asked, half belligerently yet half pleadingly.
This time he did grin, and her heart contracted at the familiar smile that at one time she thought he kept for her alone.
'You'll see,' he said airily, and gave her a slight push towards the bathroom. 'I don't want you catching a chill,' he added firmly. 'Now be a good girl and take a hot bath.'
Teresa did not feel in the least like being 'a good girl', but she did not have much choice in the matter. The thought of a bath and discarding her wet clothes was distinctly inviting, so she gave him an abrupt nod and entered the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind her.
Carl's low, but amused, 'If you want any help, just shout,' made her glance hastily back at the door to see whether it had a lock or not; it hadn't, but his lightly added, 'I'll rustle us up some food. Come through when you're ready,' instantly relaxed her and she began to peel off her wet clothing.
Relaxing in the warm water, Teresa felt a drowsy peace creep over her, and would have loved to have stayed right where she was for hours and hours, but she knew she couldn't. It wouldn't do to fall asleep in his bath, she told herself sternly, and the fear that she might do just that made her hastily grab the towel lying on a nearby cabinet and get out of the bath.
As she towelled herself down her thoughts were on Carl's extraordinary remark about them being unable to get out of the valley for three days. She didn't want to believe it, but she had a nagging
suspicion that, like Michael, he knew what he was talking about—and what of Uncle Patrick? Her vigorous rubbing strokes stilled at the thought. Here she was, warm and dry, while he ... And she hadn't even given him a thought until now I Hadn't even asked Carl if he had seen anything of him—or, come to that, even explained why she had been out in that downpour ! Not, she conceded ruefully, that Carl had given her much chance to explain—and he hadn't, she thought suddenly, even been surprised to see her—almost as if he'd been expecting her ! She shook her head bewilderedly. He couldn't have been expecting her! How stupid of her to even think he was !
With renewed vigour she finished drying herself and slipped on the bathrobe Carl had shown her. It was obviously his, and as Teresa lost herself in its generous proportions, she knew a sense of infinite sadness, and for a moment or so allowed herself the luxury of burying her face in its rough but oddly comforting material.
At the familiar pricking behind her eyes, she hastily started to gather up her clothes from the bathroom floor and looked for the drying cupboard Carl had mentioned, and finding it, was about to place her blue cotton dress on the rack when a splash of mud on the hem caught her eye, and she knew she would have to do something about that. She rinsed it quickly under the cold water tap, and thought that while she was at it she might as well rinse through her other clothes; it was plain she would be going nowhere that night.
Until that moment Teresa hadn't realised the
implications of her predicament, but now they hit her with startling clarity. Where, for goodness' sake, was she going to sleep? From what she had so far seen of the cabin, she was of the opinion that it was a bachelor establishment. Her eyes went over the bathroom; no fripperies here, not even talcum powder or mirrors—well, only a modest one on what she suspected was a medicine cabinet on the wall opposite her. Carl's voice cut through her musings and she hastily replied that she was just coming.
As she left the bathroom she was grateful for the all-enveloping robe she wore, which just reached her bare feet, and she padded along the carpeted corridor to where she could see a door standing open directly off the hall.
'Ah, there you are said Carl, straightening up from attending to a sort of barbecue attachment hung over a bright blazing fire, from which the delicious smell of grilled steak was emanating. 'Feel better now ?' he asked casually as he turned his attention once more to the food on the grill.
'Very much better, thank you,' replied Teresa, now feeling a little embarrassed and hating to think what she looked like wrapped up like a mummy, with her hair all fluffed up from the hard rubbing she had given it.
'Well, don't just stand there,' he said, grinning, and pointed to a large comfortable-looking couch in front of the fire. 'Make yourself comfortable. Tucker will be ready any minute now. I hope you've worked up an appetite.'
Teresa had to admit to herself that the steaks did smell good, as she settled on the couch. She hadn't
eaten since midday anyway, and then only a couple of sandwiches. 'It certainly smells good,' she said carefully, trying not to enthuse too much or show her quiet happiness at finding herself alone with him again. At this thought she realised that she ought to try and explain why she was there, and wondered yet again why Carl hadn't asked her what she was doing wandering about in that weather. She glanced towards the windows and saw they were shuttered inside, and probabl
y outside too, she surmised; but even so, she could still hear the rain pounding down, and gave a little shiver of appreciation that she was so warm and comfortable—then she remembered her uncle.
'I know you'll think it's a stupid question,' she said quickly, 'but have you seen anything of my uncle?' and noting the rise of his brows at the question, hurried on. 'I was out looking for him,' she explained. 'You see, I received a call just before I left work. Someone rang to say he was bogged down on Hatty's Hill—Uncle Patrick, I mean,' she added swiftly, 'and he wanted me to go and fetch him.'
Carl's attention seemed to be still with the steaks, but after a second he took his eyes off them and turned to her, saying mildly, 'How extraordinary!'
Teresa did not like the way he said that—as if such a happening was extremely unlikely. 'Why extraordinary?' she demanded, with the light of battle in her eyes. If he was suggesting that her excuse for landing up on his doorstep was a lame one, he'd better think again!
This time Carl offered her a longer glance, and it was an enigmatical one, before he said mildly, 'I
didn't say I disbelieved you, only it doesn't sound like Patrick Rafferty. For instance, just what did he expect you to do? If he had got bogged down, I mean. I really don't see how you could have helped him, do you?' he teased with twinkling eyes.
His amusement made things worse for her, and she wished she could have got up and simply walked out on him, but she couldn't, and he knew it. 'At least I would have tried to help,' she said crossly. 'I took a coil of rope with me for the towing out,' she added for good measure, to show him that she wasn't quite so useless as he had implied, and ended lamely with, 'Anyway, there wasn't anyone else he could ask,' realising a little too late that she couldn't tell him the specific reason why he couldn't ask anyone else.
'Because he was trespassing, you mean?' said Carl, the amusement even more apparent now. 'Oh, yes,' he grinned, meeting Teresa's startled eyes, 'if he was on Hatty's Hill he was trespassing all right! It's my land, you see,' he told her with a mocking light in his eyes.
There wasn't much Teresa could say to that, so she contented herself with gazing at the fire and avoiding his eyes. Then another thought struck her. 'Does he know you have a cabin here?' she asked suddenly.
He gave a wicked grin at that. 'Almost sure to,' he answered casually. 'It's been here long enough. It's what you might call a retreat of mine.'
Teresa's glance went back to the fire hastily, for there was something in the way he had said 'retreat' that had a slightly bitter echo to it, and she felt the
heat rise in her cheeks. Well, her uncle would not make for the cabin! He had been trespassing, and was not likely to confirm it by turning up on Carl's doorstep. He might have risked it with anyone else, but not Carl!
She accepted a plate from Carl with an abstracted air, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. Of course, Uncle Patrick did have the truck and was under cover, but he couldn't stay there for days; he'd need food, wouldn't he?
Placing a large steak on her plate, Carl said quietly, 'I shouldn't worry about him. If I know Patrick Rafferty he's well under cover by now. He's too old a hand to get caught out in the open when the wet's about to start.'
Teresa's worried eyes met his blue ones, and she looked away again from the silent message she read in his, and in an effort to calm her thumping heart she protested quickly, But he has his job to do. He can't just down tools when he wants to.'
Carl came and sat next to her, and she wished he had taken another seat, preferably across the room. 'Your uncle,' he answered calmly, putting a knife and fork into her hands and picking up his plate of steak, 'comes from a long line of landstock. He'd know when that rain would come, and he'd have planned his route accordingly. Now, no more worrying over that score. Eat your food before it gets cold.'
She did as he ordered, but even though she enjoyed the meal she couldn't help feeling a little niggling worry over her uncle, in spite of Carl's assertion that he wouldn't have got caught in the
downpour. Knowing how Carl felt about him, she knew it was easy for him to dismiss the whole thing from his mind, and that made it harder for Teresa to believe wholeheartedly what he said. Not that she believed that he would deliberately lie to her, but there was no denying that he had little liking for her uncle.
In an effort to keep these thoughts at bay she offered to do the washing-up, and this produced another lazy grin from Carl, who said, 'Later, perhaps. I've some coffee simmering on the stove,' and disappeared into the next room, which Teresa presumed was the kitchen.
Teresa hadn't much liked the 'later' bit, and couldn't help wondering with a pang of trepidation just how he intended to fill in the rest of the evening. Then she scolded herself for not keeping a tighter rein on her thoughts. There was no reason why they shouldn't have an exceptionally pleasant evening just talking—on what subject she couldn't imagine, particularly when she recalled that certain look in his eye a few moments ago ! In desperation she turned her attention to the room. It was, as she had suspected, a bachelor's domain, as indeed Carl had said. There were no frills here either. The room appeared to be a cross between a sort of study and sitting-room. There was a handsome old desk standing against the wall opposite her which suggested that the room had been used as a makeshift office at one time.
Her eyes roamed on; there were no pictures on the cream-painted walls. On the wall above the fireplace hung a shotgun with a finely wrought handle;
a gun, she told herself practically, would be a necessary item out there in the wilds. Nevertheless she gave a slight shiver at the sight of it. She had heard tales of wild dogs, called dingoes, out there, that roamed in packs and could tear a sheep to pieces in minutes. Quickly turning her thoughts elsewhere, she stared at the blazing fire. If it hadn't been for her uncle, she could have really enjoyed this evening. The room was spartan, but cosy, and knowing that it was Carl's made it even more welcoming in her eyes. If only she could be sure about her uncle!
'You're still not satisfied, are you?' accused Carl as he carried in a tray containing a coffee jug and cups and saucers.
Teresa flushed; she had never been able to hide her feelings from him, she thought miserably. 'It's just that ...' she began lamely.
'Look, I'm calling up Sunset Ridge after coffee. I'll make inquiries for you. Now will you relax?'
She nodded gratefully. 'Thank you, Carl. I know it's stupid, and I'm sure you're right, and he's all right. I just want to make sure, that's all.'
Placing the tray on a table, he nodded abruptly and concentrated on pouring out the coffee, leaving Teresa with an unhappy sensation that she had hurt him by not believing him.
After coffee, Carl lit a cigarette; he did not offer her one, as he knew she did not smoke, but liked the smell of the strong tobacco. She badly wanted to relax; to put her head back on the couch and close her eyes, for the warmth from the fire was making her drowsy, but she daren't be off her guard for one second. Carl was too near her, and she knew she
had only to move slightly and she would come into contact with him, and that must be avoided at all costs—particularly as she was dressed like this—or rather, not dressed! Her eyes passed slowly down the robe she wore, and she gave a start of horror when she saw a slight gap in the front and hurriedly folded the robe over it.
'I suppose,' mused Carl, in a voice that sounded rather regretful, 'you'd better get dressed.'
Teresa stared at him; would her clothes be dry? Before she could ask the question Carl got up, saying casually, 'Follow me.'
He led her along the passage and past the bathroom to a room just beyond it, commenting as he opened the door, 'Guest room—or at least it will be for a day or so.'
Following him into the room, Teresa saw that it was a bedroom—a double bed at that—and she made herself look elsewhere, but she couldn't help wondering what use Carl had for a double bed in his bachelor establishment. Then her eye fell on a very familiar object at the other end of the room. She stared at it.
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br /> 'My trunk! ' she said bewilderedly, and turned to Carl, who stood watching her with waiting eyes. 'What is it doing here?' she asked.
Giving her a rueful look, he said almost apologetically, 'Well, I had it sent here when it first arrived. You see,' he said carefully, 'I had a sort of plan that we might spend part of our honeymoon here.'
Teresa blushed scarlet. How could he? He seemed unperturbed by her embarrassment, and went on
calmly, 'However, things didn't pan out, did they? I guess it's Paris for me now,' he added meaningly.
The colour left Teresa's face, and she went white. He had no need to say that either, she thought bitterly. Paris would be Isobel's idea of a honeymoon, wouldn't it? He was, in fact, telling her that he would be marrying Isobel!
She drew herself up stiffly and gave an abrupt nod to show him that she had got the message, and pointedly looked at the door. 'I'll get dressed, then,' she said quietly. `If you'll excuse me?' It was said in much the same way as she would have spoken to a stranger and Carl knew it. His lips straightened and he walked towards the door, saying just before he left, 'I'll make that call I told you about. Come through when you're ready.'
Teresa did not move from where she stood for several seconds after he had gone. She would dearly have loved to have given way to her feelings and cried her heart out. So that was why her trunk had not been with the rest of her luggage. As she stared at it, the sight of it brought back memories she could have done without at this moment. Carl's teasing words, for instance: 'You can show me the family album on our honeymoon. I've a plan to take you away from the madding crowd, as they say.'
