Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger

by Rachel Lindsay

  'It took the Harlow family to make me so.' "The remark slipped out and die coloured, realizing the unintentional reproach it held. ' I'm sorry,' die said quickly, 'it was my fault. I shouldn't have been walking in the drive.'

  ' Nonsense. Where else should you walk?. It's my fault for going so fast.' He led her to his car. 'Anyway, you shouldn't be roaming the ground in the winter dusk. You should be toasting yourself in front of the fire.'

  ' I promise you I haven't made a habit of going out like this.'

  ' I should hope not. I sent you here to convalesce.' He eased the car into gear. 'How do you like Charters?'

  ' It's the most beautiful house I've ever known.' What' an absurd remark, she thought, as if she had known any houses like Charters. She said primly: ' How was Japan?'

  ' I don't really know. It wasn't a sightseeing trip. I went on business.'

  What a pity to go so far and yet not see anything of the country.'

  'I saw the people I wanted. That was all that mattered.'

  ' I take it your business was satisfactory.'

  ' Eminently.'

  She could not think of anything else to say to this and he made no attempt to take up the conversation.

  Watching his hands on the wheel she was suddenly Conscious of his presence… that she was sitting close to him, closer than she had ever been before. Yet at the same time she felt at ease, strangely at ease considering her thoughts of a few moments ago. How absurd these thoughts had been. There was no reason to be afraid of Paul Harlow. He might be a great industrialist, but he was still only a man like other men. Lucy leaned her head against the cushioned upholstery and with a little bubble of humour felt this was the right way to arrive at the front door of Charters—in a high-powered car with the owner to drive her—not trudging up to it on foot like a timid servant.

  Paul Harlow switched off the engine, but made no attempt to step from the car.

  ' How's Cindy?' he asked. ' You haven't mentioned her.'

  Lucy felt a tightening in her stomach and confidence drained from her as she sought wildly for a noncommittal answer. ' She's—she's quite well, thank you.'

  ' She hasn't been brooding? I was afraid——————- -' He broke off as the door opened and the butler came down the steps, followed by Aunt Beatrice. ' I can't talk now,' he said swiftly. ' We'll have to leave it.'

  Grateful for the respite, Lucy scrambled from the car and hurried to her room, leaving the master of the house to be greeted by his family. She took a long time over her bath and a longer time to decide which dress to wear, regretting that her best one had been burned in the fire. Chiding herself for being stupid enough to think that Paul Harlow would even notice her again tonight, let alone be aware of how she was dressed, she contented herself with a long grey chiffon skirt and a violet chiffon blouse with high neck and full, floating sleeves. The delicate material emphasized her slender body and the slightly austere style served to heighten her ethereal appearance. She brushed her hair into the simplest style she could: long and smooth, the ends curling under in a page-boy bob, and applied a more than usually heavy coating of mascara to her childishly long lashes.

  The family were already gathered in the music room when she came downstairs, and though she averted her eyes from Paul Harlow, she was intensely conscious that he was watching her from behind a barrage of cigar smoke.

  Cindy danced across to her. 'Come and see the gorgeous present Paul's brought back for me!' Obediently Lucy went over to the settee, marvelling at Cindy's change of manner. A present—a sign of her brother's good humour—the outcome of her own talk with Murray which she had been able to pass on when Cindy had looked in briefly while she was dressing for dinner, and already the girl was convinced that all her troubles would be solved.

  Forcing herself to stop thinking of the predicament she had put herself in, Lucy examined the exquisite Japanese dress which Paul had brought back for his sister. ' It's beautiful,' she exclaimed. ' With your colouring you'll look like a Japanese when you wear it.'

  Cindy slipped the robe on and Paul came across to demonstrate the correct way to tie the butterfly sash. Lucy watched the deft movements of his narrow hands and wondered at the dexterity with which he arranged the elaborate folds of heavy silk. He looked up and saw her watching him, and something in his glance made her turn quickly to admire the hand-painted volume of flower arrangements he had brought for his aunt. What an astonishing nation the Japanese were, she thought. Cherry blossom, Buddhism and the atrocities of the Burma Road.

  ' It's difficult to believe such exquisite beauty and detail could go hand in hand with such barbaric cruelty,' Paul Harlow's detached voice jerked her attention back to his face and she stared into his shadowed eyes, aston ished at the perspicacity with which he had read her thoughts.

  ' Perhaps it's because they like their beauty too perfect and too controlled,' she replied. ' Their emotions must have some outlet somewhere else.'

  'An interesting theory,' he said politely. ' I take it you don't appreciate Japanese art?'

  ' It's too cold,' she protested.

  ' You prefer something with more warmth. Like this, perhaps?' With a swift movement he took a large box from a chair and held it out to her.

  Reluctantly she took it from him, her fingers fumbling with the string. She pushed aside the lid and drawing out the masses of tissue paper, disclosed a full-length cashmere coat, soft as silk, warm as fur, light as swans- down.

  ' Oh!' she gasped, and snuggled her cheek against the soft fabric.

  ' Aren't you going to try it on?' he asked.

  ' You mean this is for me?'

  ' Of course.'

  ' But—but I can't possibly accept it.'

  ' You can't' possibly be so ungracious as not to accept it.' Firmly he put the coat around her shoulders. With one hand he lifted her hair outside the collar and she shivered as she felt the touch of his hands.

  ' I've never had anything as wonderful as this! It's far too expensive for me. If you'd brought me back a book or even a kimono I'd————'

  'Trifles like that are for my aunt and sister who already, have all they want. For you I wished to bring something that was useful as well as beautiful.'

  ' But I can't take it,' she said firmly. ' It was much too generous of you.'

  ' Please don't discuss it any more. The coat is yours. Do what you like with it.'

  His tone was so .bored that she reddened, and feeling inexpressibly gauche she slipped off the coat and took it up to her room.

  To her relief there was no opportunity to talk privately to Paul Harlow that evening, for when dinner was over he pleaded tiredness and went to bed. On Saturday he spent the entire day with his estate manager and at night some of the local landed gentry' came to dinner. Lucy was glad of the temporary respite, though she knew she would have to tackle him soon. She was afraid to leave matters too long in case Murray took things into his own hands. ' I'll talk to him tomorrow,' she vowed, ' even if I have to make an appointment to do it!'

  After coffee had been served, Paul suggested they play home roulette, and while a couple of servants set up the table he came over to Lucy.

  ' I hope you like the game?' he enquired.

  Her eyes traced the pattern of the numbered squares on the green baize board. ' I've never played.'

  ' I'll teach you.'

  ' I'd far rather watch.'

  ' The best way to learn is by playing.'

  She shrugged, unwilling to tell him that she . couldn't possibly afford to play with him or his friends. While she was wondering what to do, he took his place at the head of the table.

  ' Faites vos jeux,' he said. ' Sixpenny, stakes all right for everyone?'

  Lucy saw by the surprised glances that this was anything but the usual stakes played at Charters, and she knew instinctively that he had lowered them because of her. What a surprising man he was! Cold and disdainful yet unexpectedly thoughtful.

  He beckoned her to his side and gingerly she sa
t on a chair next to him. The rules were easy and once she had mastered them she found herself succumbing to the excitement of the play. Yet all the while she was conscious of the man at her side and from time to time she found herself watching him rather than the spin of the wheel, fascinated by the precision with which he placed his counters around the board. Anyone would think their value was sixty pounds each instead of sixpence! Her lips twitched and she put up a hand to conceal her smile.

  Not quickly enough' though, for he noticed it. 'What's amusing you?'

  ' You.' She pointed to his hand poised over the red. 'You play exactly as if each of those chips were really valuable.'

  ' I play to win—whatever the stakes. It's the game that's important..'

  ' You like to win?' she asked.

  'I have to win.' He spoke quietly but with such intensity that she found herself shivering despite the heat of the room.-

  ' But what happens if you lose?'

  ' I have never lost anything that I wanted.'

  'Not even a woman?' she asked lightly, and .too late remembered Barry telling her of an unhappy love affair.

  ' I lost a woman once,' came the calm admission,' but that was my own fault. I allowed emotion to overcome logic.'

  The words reminded her .of Murray and again she shivered, realizing more than ever what dangerous ground the young painter was on in setting himself up against. Harlow. How carefully she must tread if she was to do good rather than harm by her intervention.

  Thinking this way, she allowed the weekend to drift on, not going out of the way to avoid her host, but at the same time making no great effort to seek his company.

  Immediately after lunch on Sunday Harlow went on an inspection of the estate; Cindy announced her intention of visiting the wife of one of the tenant farmers who had just come out of the hospital with a baby, and Aunt Beatrice disappeared upstairs for her usual afternoon rest,

  Normally Lucy would have gone with Cindy, but her late night on Saturday had tired her and die remained in the library reading the papers, and then selecting a book from one of the shelves. As usual a log fire burned in the grate—even with central heating fires were always lit because, according to Aunt Beatrice, 'dear Paul thinks it gives a touch of homeliness to a room'.

  The heat of the flames combined with the wine she had

  drunk at lunch made Lucy sleepy' and she closed her eyes, drifting in that pleasant never-never-land between waking and sleeping.

  The sound of an opening door roused her and she sat up to find Paul Harlow standing in front of her. Conscious that her skirt had ridden over her knees, she pulled it down and stood up. Her heart pounded and her hands were shaking so visibly that she hoped he would not see it.

  ' Hello,' she murmured. ' Did you—did you have a nice afternoon?'

  The banality of the question struck her at the same time as it did him, and they smiled together.

  ' Yes,' he said, ' and the weather was dreadful!'

  He came closer and she saw he looked even more tired than when he had arrived home on Friday. The urge— sudden and inexplicable—to smooth the lines away from his forehead and to touch the curve of his mouth was so strong that she took a quick step backwards. Her heel struck against the fender and she would have fallen had he not caught hold of her. His arm was like steel and she relaxed against it.

  ' You're trembling,' he said. ' Is it hunger or nerves?'

  'Nerves. You scare me to death!'

  He smiled. ' You always give the unexpected answer. Generally I know what women are going to say.'

  ' How boring for you!'

  He shrugged and picked up the book die had been reading. 'John Donne. Is he a favourite of yours?'

  Talking of poetry helped her to recover her vanished dignity. ' I like the way he writes rather more than what he writes.'

  ' You don't agree with his sentiments about women?'

  'Definitely not! He's much too cynical. Most women are not heartless cheats and betrayers.'

  ' He wrote as he found them.' Paul Harlow's mouth twisted. ' As I've always found them.' ' If that's true, I feel sorry for you.' The words were out before she could stop them, but he did not take offence and merely said coolly: ' I never intended you to take that personally, Miss Granger.'

  ' Perhaps you should have done,' she replied.

  ' What So you mean? I would think you were one woman who could give the lie to Donne's beliefs.'

  Lucy moistened lips which had suddenly gone dry. So much for her intention of bringing up the question of Murray at some propitious moment. Instead she found herself blurting out the whole story: from her first meeting with the young painter to her decision to allow Cindy to go on seeing him.

  Paul Harlow heard her out in silence, nothing in his face revealing the emotions as she stammered miserably to the end.

  When at last he did speak his voice was icy with contempt. ' A very pretty story. Miss Granger. My sister breaks her promise and you aid and abet her in doing so.'

  ' I did what I thought was best for Cindy.'

  ' Who are you to judge that?'

  ' I had to make a decision. I thought you trusted me.'

  ' It isn't a matter of trust—at least not in the way you mean it. But I told you what I wanted you to do and why I wanted you to stay here—and it seems you've done exactly the opposite.'

  ' I had no choice,' she said desperately. ' Can't you see that?'

  He walked closer to the fire and stared into the flames. ' It's not you I really blame. It's Cindy. She gave me her promise and '

  ' You forced a promise from her. That isn't quite the same thing.'

  He paused and then, by a nod of his head, conceded the point. ' I suppose you think I expect too much from people?'

  ' Yes, I do. Anyway, Cindy didn't break her promise. She never went to Murray. He came to her.'

  ' It'll be the last time he does. I dislike the thought, but I'm going to make her a Ward of Court. If Phillips persists in seeing her, he'll find himself in prison.'

  ' And when he comes out the first thing Cindy will do will be to go abroad with him; somewhere the English law can't reach them. Don't you see that anything you do to harm Murray will only turn Cindy against you and throw her into his arms?'

  ' She's there already.'

  ' Not the way you fear.'

  ' He can twist her round his finger.'

  ' Not quite. But he will if you don't act carefully.'

  ' Are you telling me what to do?'

  ' Yes.' She took a deep breath. ' You can tell me to leave if you like, but I beg you to listen to me first.'

  He sat in the chair opposite her, his face paler than she had ever seen it. ' I take it you are an admirer of Phillips too?'

  ' I'm not thinking of Murray. I'm concerned with Cindy. You can't force her to stop loving him and no matter what legal, steps you take they'll get married if they really set their heart on it. If Murray's "the scoundrel you think he is, then your only chance of Cindy finding out for herself is to let her see more of him.'

  ' More of him?'

  ' Of course. If your opinion is the correct one, it's your .only chance.'

  There was a long silence, and when Paul Harlow spoke again the coldness was no longer so evident in his voice. 'You should have been a diplomat. Miss Granger.'

  She caught her breath unbelievingly. ' Does that— does that mean you'll do as I ask?'

  'I'll try it out for a little while. My methods obviously haven't worked, so I'll put yours to the test.'

  ' I'm so glad,' she said shakily.

  ' Because I'm giving in to Cindy or because I'm giving in to you?'

  She smiled. 'For both reasons! Thank you, Mr Harlow.'

  'You might make it Paul. Then I can call you Lucy." Reddening to the roots of her hair, she stood up.. How different her name sounded on his lips; and how differently he spoke it, giving it a gentler inflection than she had ever heard him use before.

  ' Where are you going?' he asked.

>   Realizing she was standing, she had to think of some where to go. 'To my room. I—er—I want a handkerchief.'

  The walk across the carpet to the door seemed never- ending and she was acutely aware of his eyes fixed on her. Her hand was on the knob when he spoke again.

  ' Don't stay in your room too long. I dislike having tea alone.'

  She looked at him and distance gave her extra confidence. ' I can't imagine you caring whether you're alone or not.'

  ' How wrong you are ! But then you don't know me very well, do you?.'

  ' I don't know you at all.'

  'I must remedy that, Lucy.' One pale eyebrow raised unexpectedly. ' If you don't object, that is?'

  Her hand clenched on the door. If he was baiting her then she would give him no satisfaction. ' I don't object at all,' she said demurely. ' Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go and get my handkerchief and come straight back —Paul.'

  CHAPTER VI

  Lucy was incredulous at how easily the situation resolved itself between Paul and Murray. Having made up his mind to do as she had asked, Paul treated the young painter as if he were an acceptable suitor, and not a day passed but that Murray was at Charters.

  Dining the first week of his return to England Paul only spent the weekend in the country, but then he started coming down every night, a fact which Lucy did not realize was unusual until his aunt commented on it.

  ' Isn't it a long journey for you to make each day?' she asked, as they were having dinner some three weeks after his return from Japan.

  ' I don't mind it,' he answered. ' It gives me a chance to catch up on my correspondence.'

  ' You have altered I' Cindy interpolated. ' I remember you complaining because you had to come down at weekends.'

  'That was in my youth.' A slight smile tilted the edge of Paul's mouth. ' Now that I'm older and wiser I appreciate home comforts.'

  ' You'd get home comforts wherever you were,' his sister retorted, and grinned at Lucy. ' Can you see Paul ever allowing himself to be uncomfortable?' . Lucy hesitated. To give a truthful answer would have been rude, yet to lie would be obvious.

  ' Can't you see you're embarrassing Lucy by your question?' Paul said with sly humour.