Stormy Rapture

by Margaret Pargeter

  If he doesn't shut up, Liza thought frantically, I'll scream! Conflict hovered between them. If Simon was aware of it, then he was enjoying it more than she. The trouble was, he was so right. Not right about the extent of her courage, though; she had very little of that left! Otherwise she would be telling him the whole sad story of her silly little deception, and telling it in such a casual, lighthearted way that they would both be laughing when she came to the end of it. But no—she was neither clever or brave enough to dare to risk it, so she must cling to her original theory that he was talking nonsense, that she had nothing to hide.

  "I'm not really dressed for dinner," she countered, too obviously trying to change the subject.

  His glance swung, meeting hers briefly. "You look good enough to eat, but I promise to restrain myself during dinner." His eyes lingered dangerously on the beautiful angle of her head, her gleaming, tiptilted eyes, determined to punish her deviousness with a little soft mockery of his own; waiting until a betraying flush tinted her clear skin, deepening to rose pink the soft, pulsing colour of her mouth, before turning his attention to his driving once more.

  Liza's heart lurched wildly, whereas it should have been the car. Like the man by her side, however, it seemed quite incapable of deviating from its chosen path. Her only defence, she knew, lay in silence. Simon could construe it as he liked. If they came back this way she could always pretend she wasn't well, or she could even pretend to having another appointment. Women were supposed to be artists when it came to finding a convenient excuse, and hadn't she the whole day before her in which to think one up?

  To her relief, after a few fraught seconds, Simon appeared as willing as she to let the matter drop. From the gathering frown on his forehead it seemed that his thoughts had switched automatically to the job ahead. Nothing, she guessed, with a small twinge of bitterness, would be allowed to supersede his work. His strength of mind was such that he didn't allow any trivial matter to take up his time or attention. He was the kind of man who would appeal enormously to a girl like Laura Tenson, who herself came from a family, possessed it would seem by a similar ambition, a capacity for making money. People like that were usually drawn together by mutual appreciation, while ordinary mortals like herself were left unnoticed by the wayside!

  If anyone had told Liza she was wallowing in self-pity, she might not have believed them. But she might have been prepared to admit a faint unhappiness, a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, all mixed up with a more definite ache near her heart. Simon taunted her, annoyed her, and she was torn between weeping and a desire to hate him. Yet she doubted if the hate she felt was stronger than another emotion which she steadfastly refused to acknowledge!

  Uneasily she looked away from him, pretending an interest in the approaching traffic. They were travelling due south, making for Bristol, not touching the area which Monica and she had explored with Bill, but following the Severn Valley which ran from Tewkesbury to the sea. In the middle of the valley was the ancient city of Gloucester, a meeting place of Roman roads and a rich agricultural centre in Roman times, but now more of a bustling manufacturing town, busy with the export of local products.

  Simon pointed to the pinnacled tower of the cathedral as they passed by. "You might be interested," he said, coming at long last out of his business reverie, his attention drawn by other things. "I don't know Gloucester all that well, but I do remember the cathedral's east window, which measures some seventy-two feet by thirty-eight. The second largest medieval stained glass window in the country after York Minster's. It's interesting from a constructional point of view alone."

  "Everyone points out the church or cathedral to me," Liza smiled, regaining some of her lost assurance. "I imagine it's because of my father."

  "You could be right," he agreed. "Myself, I'm more interested in Gloucestershire as a sporting county. When I can find the time I like to go to the three-day horse trials at Badminton in April. Otherwise when I visit around here it's usually in connection with a job. Sometimes I begin to think that life is all work and no play."

  "But I expect you do manage that too, occasionally," Liza suggested demurely, with a slight smile which brought an answering grin, although only a very dry one.

  "Occasionally," he conceded. His eyes slid to her face, looking down at her sardonically. "How about you?"

  "I suppose I rather asked for that."

  "Sort of." His eyes narrowed, full of glittering, threatening lights. "One of these days, Liza, we're going to sit down, you and I, and you're going to answer all the questions you've managed so successfully to evade. We might even call it a day of reckoning."

  She withdrew from him visibly, her eyes registering every detail of his dominant dark face. "I'm not deliberately evasive. Sometimes I just don't have an answer—not one which you would find interesting anyway. Outside the office our private lives are our own. My remark might have been impertinent, but it wasn't intentionally curious."

  "You might think that, but all women are curious about men to some degree. It's a kind of built-in metabolism, if you like. Something that keeps the world going round."

  Liza looked steadily at her hands. Despite the thread of humour in his voice she felt moved to quick anger. Ever sensitive to people, she sensed undercurrents which his words didn't easily convey. Some hidden criticism which she wasn't clever enough to interpret. Not yet! His meaning might become clearer as the day progressed.

  "This conversation seems to be getting us nowhere, as usual." Deeming it wiser to squash her indignation, she yawned, pretending weariness, defensively lowering her heavy lashes, letting her anger slide.

  "We're almost there," Simon agreed, and she felt his amused glance appraising her closed lids. "So don't pass out on me, that's a good girl. You might have a more adequate excuse for doing so on the way home."

  Which sounded slightly ominous, but had to do with work, and she could cope quite nicely with that!

  CHAPTER NINE

  The project turned out to be a new hotel for which Simon's London firm had successfully tendered. Liza spent the remainder of the day following him around the initial skeleton, notebook in hand, while he discussed complicated technical details with the architects and other professional men who worked for him. Then came a long consultation with the large company who would eventually take over the huge completed building, adding it to their already extensive holdings.

  She acknowledged Simon's expertise, aware of how the other men became almost deferential, how they consulted his opinion on most points and asked his advice freely. While most of the jargon was well beyond Liza's limited experience, she was able to take copious notes, grateful that her shorthand couldn't be faulted. Whether Simon appreciated her effort she couldn't tell, but at least she felt relieved that he didn't complain. While the others occasionally exchanged with her a light, teasing remark, for the most part he chose to ignore her, yet she couldn't help but be aware of his protective presence. He saw to it that she had everything she needed and, from time to time, feeling his eyes on her face, she looked up, an answering smile lifting the soft curve of her lips.

  Despite this silent encouragement, by the end of the afternoon she felt exhausted, half regretting her usual Saturday itinerary which though usually busy was a picnic compared with this. Simon Redford spared neither himself or anyone else, and she was much relieved when, at five, he decided to call it a day.

  "I expect you're worn out," he grinned, after they had said their goodbyes and were on their way home.

  "Maybe not so much tired as dirty," Liza retorted, surprised to find that in a way this was true. Now that they had left, a load of weariness seemed to fall from her shoulders as a youthful resilience removed the effects of hard work. "A building site isn't exactly dust-free," she added, suspecting his dry tones. "I did try to wash, but the washing facilities are a bit primitive."

  "You can say that again," he shrugged ruefully. "Another week or two should see an improvement, but at the moment I agree it leav
es a lot to be desired. Especially from a young lady's point of view."

  "Well, you're only just starting," she conceded, not at all sure that she liked being relegated to the ranks of the very young.

  "I'll take you to dinner there when it's finished. You might be pleasantly surprised." The glance which accompanied his words was subtle, cancelling any former impression that he thought of her as a child.

  "I'd like that," Liza answered simply, lifting her face to him, her hair spilling back over her shoulders. She had an odd feeling that they had exchanged promises, an idea quite without foundation but curiously comforting for all that. She let her head fall back against the soft leather seat, removing her gaze from him and gently closing her eyes.

  It was well over an hour later before he aroused her. "Wake up, Liza," he said. "We're here."

  Startled, scarcely aware that she had been sleeping, she jerked up straight. "Where's here?" she gasped, ungrammatically, unwilling to even think that she had dozed off. Simon had promised to return by a different route. There had been so many places she'd wanted to see!

  "Look about you, Sleeping Beauty," he murmured lazily, his eyes on her sleep-flushed cheeks. "I distinctly remember hearing you say you weren't tired, yet you went out like a light as soon as we left Bristol."

  For once Liza wasn't listening as she gazed through the car window in dismay. "Here" happened to be the parish she wanted to avoid, where she had once lived. When he had talked of calling on the way home she hadn't really believed him. They were parked in the village square, beside the old inn, only it looked much grander than any inn now. Extended and modernized, it seemed somehow to have acquired the status of an up-to-date hotel, and Liza wasn't sure that she approved the transformation. "I expect it will be under new management too," she exclaimed, forgetting that Simon sat by her side.

  "Come in with me," he suggested, "and ring your mother while I order a meal. It's a bit early, but it might be fun to have a look around while we wait. As an onlooker I can study people's faces and watch for the first signs of recognition. Have you ever played such a game, Liza?"

  Distracted by several things, she choked uneasily, "Don't you think it would be better to go on? We could be home in an hour and you could have something at Hollows End. Mums would be delighted."

  His voice was lightly spiced with laughter. "Which only goes to show that you take your mother too much for granted. Why should she slave again after the party she gave last night, especially when I'm capable of giving you a perfectly good meal here? Besides, I happen to want you to myself for an hour or two. Don't you realize that, until now, I've never had the pleasure?"

  His ambiguous remarks cut no ice with her, she told herself emphatically as, mission completed, she joined him again at the main door. Her heart had no business to race as it did at the sight of him standing there, so tall and arrogant, his eyes narrowed against the slanting evening sun. She looked up at him with a mixture of emotions, feeling herself at a disadvantage, and his hand closed on her elbow with its now familiar movement.

  "Shall we walk?" he said.

  Nodding silently, Liza didn't speak again until they neared the church. The village itself had changed. She would hardly have known it. Only the church appeared to have remained untouched. Within commuting distance of larger towns and cities as it was, new estates had flourished, and many of the older houses had been bought and altered so that she scarcely knew them.

  To the church itself she had never been back since they had moved in with Silas. Her father when he died had been buried in London where he had been born. "So it's all rather a waste of time, you see," she said quietly. "There's no place for me to visit, not really. Not even a grave."

  "Dear Liza," Simon glanced at her haughty young face reprovingly. "You sound convinced that I'm out to punish you, when nothing could be further from my mind. It's just that hint of defensiveness which intrigues me. But then what man doesn't feel curious when it seems that a girl he's interested in has something on her mind?"

  This was too near the bone. Fright flared, with an audible gasp. "You may be my boss…" she started, only to stop as his grip on her elbow tightened and pain fled excruciatingly to her collarbone. "You're also a devil!" she spluttered, trying to wrench herself from his grasp.

  His voice slowed to a drawl, but he didn't let her escape him. "One of these days I might just prove to you what a devil I can be, when roused. Right now I think you need your dinner. I couldn't hope to expect the right reactions from a girl with an empty stomach!"

  His eyes were on the pure curve of her throat and, outraged, Liza tossed her wilful head. She knew that he teased, yet she couldn't think in the same vein, not one bit. Her mouth trembled slightly and her eyes widened and deepened with colour, and she felt distinctly strange. On the face of it perhaps he was right. She did need her dinner.

  To begin with, Liza decided that the evening would be a failure and, though undoubtedly it had its lighter moments, her convictions remained to the end. Over soup, a beautifully creamy soup of French origin, some of her resentment faded when he ceased to taunt her and asked instead:

  "Did your mother used to paint here, or didn't she start until she came to Birmingham?"

  Not until a long time afterwards did Liza realize how easily she had fallen into the trap. Innocently she presumed that his interest centred wholly on Monica's artistic talent. As she appreciated this, a warmer glow replaced the nervous beating of her heart, although she was still quite unable to concentrate completely.

  "I think," she gave a wry little smile, tinged with affection, "I think she started even before she came here. She always loved to paint—the countryside, her family, anything. My father used to say she diversified too much. Silas used to say that her work lacked authority until she came to Hollows End, and he had an instinctive eye for such things. She sticks now to landscapes, but I secretly admire her portraits, although I must confess I'm no great judge. Most of her previous work is stacked away in one of the attics, definitely unsaleable in her opinion. Anyway, I think this is why she has such an obsession for Hollows End."

  His eyebrows rose slightly. "She still thinks she couldn't paint anywhere else? You could be wrong about her early work, of course. Occasionally if an artist manages to make even a modest name for himself his early paintings have proved quite valuable."

  "Possibly," Liza gazed at him abstractedly. "I wish she didn't have this fixture about the meadow, though."

  "Perhaps it isn't that she really believes she can't paint anywhere else. Possibly, at the moment, she has a tendency to cling too much to what's past. She would appear to have lost a great deal one way and another. Probably she hasn't the faith, or the courage, to look too closely at the future."

  "She might not, ever," Liza continued to gaze at him, her glance more despairing than she knew. "It would take an earthquake!"

  He grinned, lightening a mood which was fast becoming despondent. "Nothing so drastic as that, I hope. Cheer up, Liza Lawson, or we'll both be sitting here in tears. If all else fails I have a cottage in the South of France. I might tempt her with that. She might prove more amenable than her daughter in such matters."

  Momentarily Liza looked away from him, aware of an odd resentment, a totally unreasonable twinge of jealousy sliding through her. Was he to be Silas all over again? Nothing too good for her mother, but with little consideration for herself? His treatment up to date seemed to prove such a theory correct. Yet whereas Silas's attitude had only evoked indifference, Simon's hurt beyond belief!

  With an effort she raised her eyes, faintly smiling, not willing that he should guess what was passing through her mind. "I've always thought a cottage in the country must be nice. Nothing so exotic as the South of France, of course. That's the kind of place one usually just dreams about."

  "You would like France, Liza. It would suit you. Plenty of warmth and sunshine. You might even forget some of those inhibitions that plague you."

  "They don't plague me!" Sh
e hated his sardonic tones, the mockery which returned to his grey eyes. "Perhaps they were put there for my protection," she added carefully, refusing to be baited.

  "For your protection against whom?" he scoffed, as she held his gaze defiantly.

  Unable to answer, or even to keep up such a pose for more than a few seconds, she hesitated, looking uncertainly down at the sparkling golden wine in her glass. She couldn't remember exactly what it was, her brain seemed numbed, but she had an uneasy suspicion that she had had too much of it.

  "Drink it up, my sweet Liza," Simon commanded, his eyes on her face, perfectly aware of her doubts and impatient with them. "If you think you've imbibed too freely, we'll have coffee in the lounge, guaranteed to sober you up."

  She knew then that he was laughing at her, yet her own sense of humour had gone. Suddenly she knew she must get away from him, if only for a short time.. "If you don't mind," she said, "I don't think I'll have any. We seemed to drink gallons in Bristol. I don't think I could manage more."

  "Then we'll get straight away." With a quick gesture he signalled the waiter as Liza scrambled hastily to her feet.

  "Please don't," she protested, sensing somehow that he was reluctant to go. "You have yours. I'll join you in a few minutes. There used to be a huge ornamental lake out the back. I didn't think I was nostalgic, but the people who used to be here when we were here used to let Daddy take me boating when I was an infant. I would just like to take a quick look."

  "So she says, now that it's almost dark!" His smile was maddening. "Just sit down and calm down, Liza, while I see to this. Then we'll see whether it's sentiment or something else that propels you outside at this time of night."

  His eyes challenged her coolly and her small exclamation of anger was necessarily subdued because of the people around them. Conflict hovered between them and she shut her eyes briefly in sheer self-defence, but she didn't obey him and sit down. Instead she announced hardily, "I'll meet you by the car in ten minutes." Still not looking at him, she turned and almost ran from the room.