Stormy Rapture
By
Margaret Pargeter
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Other titles
by
MARGARET PARGETER
IN HARLEQUIN ROMANCES
#1899 WINDS FROM THE SEA
#1951 RIDE A BLACK HORSE
#1973 THE KILTED STRANGER
Harlequin Presents edition published June, 1976
ISBN 0-373-70645-6
Copyright © 1976 by Margaret Pargeter.
CHAPTER ONE
"You can like it or lump it," Miss Brown, the dragon in the outer office, spoke emphatically. "I'm going!"
"Oh, but you can't. Not possibly!" Equally emphatic, her thick lashes flickering, Liza Lawson stared at the late Mr. Redford's personal secretary, her attractive face almost comical with dismay. When Miss Brown turned away, obviously deeming it unnecessary to reply, she added with a hint of desperation, "What do you imagine will happen if this nephew turns up while you're gone? If you're beyond reach in Majorca he's sure to be furious."
"Can't be helped." Brusque as usual, Miss Brown finished sorting a miscellaneous pile of forms which she slid into a drawer before turning the key. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, she sat down, leaning forward, elbows on desk, chin supported by determined thumbs, prepared to give Liza her undivided attention. "I'm due three weeks' holiday," she stated smoothly, "and I'm taking it while I can. I've already postponed once because of the funeral. There's nothing at all to stop you carrying on, along with the rest of the staff, so why the dither? This new man can't eat you. You're well enough trained—I've seen to that. It's not as if you're a schoolgirl. How old are you?"
"Twenty-one…"
"There you are! Why, I was practically running Redfords before I was your age—the office side of things at least. And this is the only side you need bother your head about. And, by the way," she paused, shaking her greying head disapprovingly, "I shouldn't refer to Mr. Simon as 'this nephew' if I were you. He might overhear."
Liza flushed, almost choking on the disparaging tone of Miss Brown's voice. Indignation ran through her. Miss Brown knew very well why she referred to Simon Redford in this way. It served to make a necessary distinction between him and his late uncle. "Actually," she retorted coolly, "you could be right, but I had no idea what his name was until a day or two ago. If you remember, he was only here for a short while, and I was off work with a cold."
Miss Brown shrugged indifferently, not at all interested in the frailty of others. "The whole situation amazes me," she retorted frankly. "But you could have said the young Mr. Redford'," she added, with her usual tenacious insistence on detail.
"How young?" Liza asked, her voice smoothly sarcastic, endeavouring to ignore Miss Brown's remark, yet unable to restrain a mounting curiosity. It seemed to her rather alarming that the new owner of Redfords, the large construction company for whom she worked, had only been here once before—to attend the funeral of an uncle whom he had apparently never met: a mere formality from which, according to the local grapevine, he had departed as abruptly as he had arrived, after only a few short hours. Liza, unhappily in the throes of influenza, had not had the pleasure of meeting him, although, in any case, such a probability might have been remote.
But she knew exactly what Miss Brown meant when she talked of being amazed! Ridiculous as it might seem, not even Liza's mother, who had been married to Silas Red-ford's cousin, and who had kept house for Silas since her husband died, had known anything much about this nephew to whom he had left his entire business. Even more surprising, he hadn't come near the house, or attempted to contact anyone connected with his uncle's home. After the funeral service he had disappeared almost immediately with Silas's solicitor before departing for London again. But there was no doubt about it—he did intend coming back!
Miss Brown, her highly intelligent forehead creased in earnest meditation, was taking her time over Liza's seemingly innocent question, which was surprising for someone with a usually dexterous mind. Now, as if suddenly aware that Liza waited expectantly, she replied crisply, attempting to cover a regrettable vagueness. "He's probably in his late thirties. I've been trying to work it out. He can't possibly be more. Maybe not even that. When he was here last week he had a lot on his mind."
"Such as…?" Liza's wide, curved mouth twisted cynically, which Miss Brown fortunately didn't notice.
"Well, his uncle dying so suddenly, I expect. And he did mention being in the middle of a big take-over bid which in itself can be harassing. I should imagine he felt weighed down by responsibility."
Liza frowned. When Miss Brown felt so disposed, she was not averse to dropping odd titbits of information, if only to whet the appetites of lesser fry who fluttered around her feet. One was usually expected to swallow such delicacies without comment, but on a surge of indignation Liza retorted indiscreetly, "He certainly didn't waste much time here. He arrived by plane and scarcely stayed longer than was decently necessary. According to what I've heard, even when he dropped in here at the office, he couldn't have been more abrupt. When he does condescend to come back he can't expect to take over as though he'd been here all his life. He's going to ask an awful lot of questions, and you won't be around to supply the answers. And it's the business he's interested in. Obviously not anything else!"
Miss Brown's thin eyebrows rose, although she choose to ignore much of what Liza said. "From what I've heard of our new Mr. Redford," she retorted, "he will make his own assessments. He won't need, or ask, advice from anyone else. You might pass that on to the others while you're busy gossiping!"
Hot colour tinted Liza's smooth, clear skin. Miss Brown's criticism was unfair and she must know it. Liza would have liked very much to have said so, but from long practice managed to keep her resentment to herself. If she protested Miss Brown would only be annoyed and manage, as usual, to inflict her own brand of reprisal. And on the whole, she was extremely nice to work for. She had been very tolerant when Liza, a somewhat raw recruit straight from technical college, had joined the firm, and Liza had never forgotten.
Mutely she remained silent as Miss Brown continued, with no regard for Liza's changing colour or the faint reserve in her deep blue eyes, "I should just do as I was told, dear, if I were you. A man like Mr. Simon will have his own ideas as to how a company should be run. I'm afraid his uncle wasn't as meticulous as he might have been, not latterly anyway. No doubt Mr. Simon will want to expand or reshuffle, maybe both. Most new owners do."
"New broom style, you mean?"
"Really, Liza!" Miss Brown's eyebrows rose again, yet with a hint of unfamiliar anxiety. "Well," she conceded, "you could be right, but you'd be well advised to keep such thoughts to yourself. There could be promotion for both of us in a new set-up, or at least a better remuneration. Any personal animosity between the two of you shouldn't come into it."
"Animosity would only arise if he went on being rude to my mother." Liza spoke coldly. "Everyone in the district knows that he never so much as spared a moment to speak to her, not even at the funeral. That's what I call being downright discourteous. I'm afraid I can't understand behaviour like that."
The telephone rang, the shrill tone cutting sharply across Liza's indignation. "Neither can I," Miss Brown hissed, for once in surprising agreement as she picked up the receiver.
Neither, it seemed, could Liza's mother, who tackled the subject with renewed bewilderment when Liza arrived home that same evening. It had been Liza's
first day back at work since her illness, and Mrs. Lawson's curiosity was no less than was normal for a woman in her position. Liza nodded cautiously as she sat down, accepting a glass of sherry gratefully, surprised that she still felt shaky, even if it had been a long day. "Actually, Mums," she sighed, glancing quickly at her mother's still pretty face, "I haven't heard much. Certainly everyone's wondering when he'll turn up, but the rest seems almost to have been forgotten. Apart from Miss Brown, I didn't hear anyone mention it."
"I suppose," Mrs. Lawson remarked acidly, "everyone imagines I've been left well provided for, in spite of this man's apparent indifference!"
Again Liza sighed, as her mother, with compressed lips, went to put the finishing touches to their evening meal. It couldn't have been easy for the widow of an underpaid clergyman with a young daughter to manage on her own, but how often over the past few years had Liza wished they had never become involved with Silas Redford. That her intuition had been proved correct would seem confirmed by the events of the last two weeks. Yet, on the face of it, her mother couldn't really be blamed for disregarding a young girl's probably biased opinion and acting, as she had thought, for the best. And, taking everything into account, they had lived very comfortably with Silas in this very pleasant house.
But now Liza would have been quite happy to move on, to be grateful for what they had received and be prepared to start a new life elsewhere. Not so her mother, who refused to move an inch before she had spoken to Simon Redford. Uneasily Liza was aware that her mother could be holding her indirectly responsible that Silas had died without leaving them a penny, and the suspicion that she might intend to humiliate them both by begging filled her with horror.
Maybe, Liza pondered, as she stared into the dancing fire, if she had really been his cousin's daughter Silas might have been more kindly disposed towards her mother. Liza had been three years old when her mother had married John Lawson, her second husband, who had immediately adopted Liza, bringing her up as his own. Indeed, if he had had children of his own they could not have received more love and attention, and the feeling had been mutual. He had been the only father Liza had ever known, and she had rebelled against a fate which had taken him away from her suddenly, in much the same way as his cousin Silas had gone more recently.
Restlessly Liza's thoughts slid around, mulling over the past which it seemed she couldn't escape. Her mind went back to the time when they had had to vacate the large rectory after her father had died. There was no denying that they could scarcely have managed without the help which Silas had given generously. He had asked them to live here, her mother to keep house and help entertain, something which she did extremely well. Liza could continue with her education.
It had all seemed very satisfactory. As well as proving an invaluable hostess, Mrs. Lawson was quite a good artist, and with surprising ingenuity Silas had arranged outlets for her paintings, sometimes purchasing one which he especially liked himself. The first hint of discord hadn't come until Liza was ready to leave school. Not until then had Silas obviously asserted any authority. It was then that he had impressed on her the gravity of her mother's circumstances, letting her know subtly but unmistakably that he might refuse to support her any longer should Liza insist on following a dancing career in London. So much for Liza's ambitions to be a ballet dancer. Instead she had allowed Silas to talk her into a more sensible frame of mind. Had agreed meekly to attend a secretarial course before coming to his office to train under the admirable Miss Brown. Yet from that day onwards Liza realised she had never forgiven him, and now that he was gone she knew a most urgent desire to escape from his home.
With a small start she tried to pull herself together as her mother returned and they sat down to eat. It seemed that while she had been at the office, Mrs. Lawson had been speaking to Silas's solicitor.
"Mind you," she said sharply, aware of Liza's frown, "he rang me, so you needn't look so put out. I do have some pride! He did say, though, in the course of a perfectly normal conversation, that when people leave their estate like this it's usually a case of blood being thicker than water—along with a completely normal desire for the perpetuation of one's family name. This way it's almost guaranteed. Silas—Simon—even their first names are similar. And, as he never married, who else could Silas leave his business to? That, put very diplomatically, just about sums up what this man told me. I only wish Silas had seen fit to leave me the house, that's all."
"I used to think he was fond of you, Mums." Liza, not paying too much attention, toyed listlessly with her portion of fish, her appetite since her illness almost non-existent. "Perhaps," she added, with the slightly cruel candour of youth, "when he helped us after Daddy died it was only his public image he was thinking of. After all, Daddy was very well known."
"Liza!" the older woman exclaimed, looking with startled eyes at her daughter. "I don't think that's completely true. It was, as you know, more or less a business arrangement. Only he did promise, if vaguely, that if anything happened he would see we were well provided for."
"And didn't leave you a bean, as we now know," Liza retorted dryly. "Have you any idea when he made his last will?"
"Long ago, before I really knew him. I remember he talked to your father about it. It's no secret that his elder brother quarrelled with their father and went off years ago. According to Silas he had two sons, both doing well in the same line of business down South. I think Silas had some way of keeping in touch, although he never really discussed it. Certainly, as you know, they didn't visit. It was merely by accident that I discovered his brother had died some time ago. If I pretended to know more I would only be guessing."
"I'm sorry, Mums." Contritely Liza noted her mother's slightly strained expression. "I didn't mean to be catty. Actually," she went on, trying to make amends, "Miss Brown doesn't seem to know much either. Just that Simon Redford is in his thirties—somewhere round about there. She wasn't too sure."
Mrs. Lawson nodded. "He could be. I did tell you he seemed to be rather tall and dark. Nothing unusual, but the day was cold and he appeared quite muffled up and the crowds were pressing. I agree with Miss Brown, it would be difficult to say. As I told you before, it seems crazy, but I didn't get near him. He certainly wasn't putting himself out to be sociable, even allowing for the circumstances."
Liza shrugged, without a great deal of interest. As her mother just said, she had heard it all before but, while they were on the subject, it might be as good a time as any to mention Miss Brown's holiday, and that she would be extra busy while she was away. "Somehow," she summed up moodily, "I think Simon Redford has given her something of a fright. Otherwise I'm quite sure she'd be staying to lead the welcome committee when he returns."
Mrs. Lawson leant forward, her downcast face brighter as she disregarded Liza's sceptical remarks. "It might prove a good chance to establish yourself, darling. After all, Miss Brown can't be far off retirement, and Redfords do seem to owe us something."
"Mums!" Apprehensively Liza laid down her knife and fork, pushing her plate to one side. "I don't know that I'll stay at Redfords much longer. Would you mind?"
"Mind?" For a long moment Monica Lawson looked positively stunned with dismay, and made no attempt to hide it. That such a possibility had never occurred to her was obvious, just as it was quite obvious that she didn't approve, and was not prepared to accept it. "I don't think it's a good idea at all," she exclaimed, her eager expression fading. "We're perhaps very fortunate to be still in this house, but you know as well as I do that in future things could be very different. If you were to leave Redfords now, then we might be asked to find other accommodation. This man, in these circumstances, might not be prepared to be generous."
"Well, we could always get a flat. There are one or two vacant in the Edgbaston district which you might like."
Monica frowned stubbornly, far from convinced. "I know you wouldn't have much difficulty in getting another job, dear, and what I earn from my paintings would help, but we c
ould never hope to find a place like this again. We're only on the edge of town, yet we have an open field, woods, even a stream. Places like this don't exist any more. Why, I can paint all day in the woods without seeing a soul."
Liza sighed, glancing away from her mother's anxious face to stare through the window of the small morning room where they usually ate when they had no guests. The view was limited by the thick copse of trees beyond the gardens, at the bottom of the field, but, as her mother pointed out, the whole of the immediate area was very secluded and afforded complete privacy. The house itself, though large, was very attractive, and Liza knew that her mother had grown fond of it. But she must be made to realize it didn't belong to them—they hadn't even the right to live in it any more. Nor did Liza wish to!
Her sigh deepened inwardly. Already she regretted her impulsiveness. She ought to have had a line of defence all worked out before broaching the subject. It hadn't been so much a change of job she had had in mind as a change of scene. She had no particular affinity with Birmingham, much as she liked it. True, she had lived in the city for over ten years, but she had been born in Australia and lived in other places. Often, especially since she had started at Redfords, she had known an urge to travel. Not specifically abroad; just anywhere, somewhere different. But her mother was nice and she loved her and she was all she had. It wouldn't be easy, or even possible, to leave her under the present circumstances.
Rather helplessly she tried again. "We might always find a small place in the country, as you're so fond of it."
"Have you any idea," Monica inquired with impatient sarcasm, "just how much a small place in the country might cost?"
Liza shrugged resignedly. She had some idea. But before she had time to think of anything else, Monica asked, with a startled flash of apprehension, "You're not still hankering after being a dancer, are you?"
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