Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger

by Rachel Lindsay

  She nodded. 'Perfectly.'

  ' I think you both make too much fuss about atmosphere,' Cindy pouted. ' Hi-fi is good enough for me.' Dancing over to Murray, she planted a kiss on his mouth. ' Come on. You promised to take me up to town.'

  When Murray and Cindy had gone Lucy pondered over his words, his question once more making her wonder exactly what was in Paul's mind. Although their evenings together still continued, their relationship had not progressed any further. Indeed, Paul no longer even flirted with her, but was content for the most part to sit in silence, not an uncomfortable silence, but one of companionship and ease. Occasionally he would tell her of something he had done that day, and if there was any problem occupying his mind he would talk to her about it, usually phrasing it in such a way that she was forced to give an opinion. The first time it had happened, when she had realized he was actually expecting her to tell him what she thought, she had been almost paralysed with fright, but after the first few occasions she had lost all. self-consciousness and had realized that what he was really doing was not so much asking her opinion, but using her as a springboard to air his own. It was as though bringing his thoughts into the open helped him to clarify them.

  How surprised Murray would be to know that though they were, closeted alone together in the library, nothing took place that could not have taken place in the music room I If only she knew why Paul singled her out in this way. If only she knew whether he realized that his behaviour was causing comment and whether, knowing it, he even cared.

  Cared. She. repeated the word to herself. Why should he care about her? Why should she assume she meant to him what he meant to her? But what did he mean to her? She jumped to her feet, forcing herself not to answer the question. .Damn Murray! If only he had kept his thoughts to himself!

  But though she refused to bring out into the open so' much that was seething in her mind, she found herself waiting for the sound of Paul's car that night in a fever of embarrassment. If he asked her to come into the library to have coffee with him, she would refuse. Just because she was staying here, he had no right to assume 6he was at his beck and call.

  It was not until eight-thirty that evening that she realized her determination to assert herself was wasted and that Paul was not coming to Charters. For the first time she felt a flicker of annoyance with him for not telephoning to let her know. How like him not to care if the family waited an extra half hour before commencing dinner in case he turned up. Yet even as she thought this, she chided herself; Charters belonged to Paul: belonged to him in the most medieval way. He was the lord and master, the great benefactor who had brought prosperity back to the entire district and who, though he treated his servants as servants, cared after their well-being as if they were his family. Small wonder that he could do no wrong in their eyes.

  Cindy and Murray did not return to dinner, and Lucy and Aunt Beatrice dined alone. Every time a car sounded in the distance her heart jumped in her throat. But it was never Paul's car, and she knew with an unusual feeling of despondency that he was not returning that night.

  At nine o'clock she pleaded a heachache and said she was going to bed.

  ' Would you like some aspirin, my dear?' Aunt Beatrice asked.

  ' No, thanks. I'll be fine after I've had a rest.' She walked to the door. ' If Paul comes home, apologize for me.'

  ' He won't be here till Thursday. He telephoned me this afternoon and said he was flying to Paris.' '

  ' I see." Lucy forced a smile. ' In that case there'll be no need to apologize 1'

  She closed the door and leaned against it for an instant, wondering why Aunt . Beatrice's words should make her feel so bitter. So Paul wasn't returning till Thursday. He had telephoned to say so, but had not bothered to talk to her. With a sigh she crossed the hall to the great sweep of staircase. Slowly she mounted the steps and at the top paused to look down at the, splendour of the scene: the dark gleaming table far below with its huge bowl of hothouse roses, the glow of shaded lamps and the velvety gleam of Persian silk carpets. What right had she had to think she could ever become a part of all this? She was a transient guest who, like all the other guests that had stayed here, would leave no ripple of significance behind her when she left. And leave she must: the sooner the better. If today had taught her nothing else, it had at least taught her that. The longer she remained, the more deeply Charters would impinge on her and the more difficult it would be to forget it and return to a normal working life. And not only Charters, but its owner too. Memory of Paul as she had last seen him came before her eyes: standing with his back to the fire, his face in shadow yet a sliver of light falling across his mouth; a mobile mouth that, when it wasn't curled sardonically, could move into unexpected tenderness as it had done last night.

  She buried her head in her hands, but Paul's face rose stronger than ever in her mind's eye. How stupid she had been to think the evenings they had spent together had meant anything to him. If they had, he would surely have told her he would be away for a few days or, if his trip to Paris had occurred unexpectedly, would have telephoned her himself to let her know. The fact that he had done neither clearly showed her how childish her hopes had been.

  Hopes? She raised her head and as she did so consciously acknowledged the feelings that she had, until this moment, rigorously suppressed. She was falling in love with Paul. No, that wasn't true. She was already in love with him.

  'I can't be,' she whispered as she turned and ran down the corridor to her bedroom. 'It's because I'm living here, and everything reminds me of him. When I'm at home, living my own life, all this will be like a dream.'

  Yet even as she said the words she only half believed them, and knew that dream or not, unless she left Charters at once, the rest of her life would be a nightmare.

  CHAPTER VII

  Although Lucy's first instinct was to leave Charters immediately, she knew she could not do so without first telling Paul. After the way he had followed her suggestion about Murray, it was the least she could do. The thought of Murray brought Cindy to mind, and her resolution faltered. Would Paul view her departure as a running away? A fear that perhaps she had been wrong in her assessment of the painter? She sighed. No matter what he believed, it would make, no difference. She could- not remain here a moment longer than necessary.

  Keeping his promise to Aunt Beatrice, Paul returned to Charters on Thursday night. Lucy was still in her room when she heard his car draw to a stop in the drive, and she trembled so violently that she had to sit on the edge of the bed. Realizing this might be the last time she saw Paul, she had taken great pains to look as nice as she could and, staring at her reflection before going downstairs, knew that the result justified the efforts. More than justified, in fact, for never had she looked lovelier.

  Discarding the few tired evening dresses' she owned, she had decided to wear a short-length knitted dress which she had made during her stay at Charters. The style was a ample sheath which clung to every curve of her figure, the colour a delicate pink that deepened the violet of her eyes and heightened the silver gleam in her hair. She had experimented with different styles and had finally decided to wear it piled, high on her head and falling into a cluster of curls down the back. It accentuated the high curve of her cheekbones and made her look unusually provocative. Too provocative perhaps? She picked up her bag and turned from the mirror. It was too late to do anything to alter it now, even if she had wanted to do so!

  Paul was already in the music room when she entered it. He had his back to the door and was talking to

  Murray and Cindy, but at his sister's gasp of astonishment he swung round and stared, at Lucy. The glass in his hand trembled and then he crossed the carpet towards her.

  Close to him, she saw a glint in his eyes and an unusual flush on his pale face. Looking closer, she noticed that the glass in his hand was still trembling slightly and with a thrill of delight knew she was the cause of it.

  ' What have you done to yourself?' His voice, which she ha
d always known to be precise and calm, was unexpectedly husky.

  ' I only changed my hairstyle and put on a knitted dress. Nothing else.'

  His glance rested on the swell of her breasts and then moved down to the curve of her hips. ' You're the best advertisement for plain and purl I've ever seen!'

  She laughed, her painful awareness of him lost in amusement. ' You're never at a loss for the right thing to say.'

  ' Sometimes I am. With you.'

  ' With me?'

  'Yes.'

  Before he could elaborate, Murray sauntered over. 'Now then, don't keep Lucy all to yourself.' He drew her further into the room, his bold glance admiring. 'You look good enough to paint. If I did portrait, I'd do yours right now.'

  ' What a marvellous idea,' Cindy exclaimed. ' Why don't you do portraits, Murray?'

  'I'd rather be dead!'

  The harshness of .his reply cut across the room like a whip. Cindy looked as if she had been beaten and Paul's body tensed with the effort to remain calm. It was left to Lucy to restore the atmosphere to normal.

  'Honestly, Cindy darling,' she said, marvelling at her ability to sound like a society hostess, ' Murray's an abstract painter. Telling him to do portraits would be like suggesting Paul open a drapery shop.'

  The pinched look left Cindy's face and she gave a little giggle. Murray stared at Lucy and the look in her eyes made him flush and move closer to Cindy.

  ' Forgive me,' he said to her. ' Lucy hit the nail on the head. But I'd no business letting it make me so furious.'

  ' That's all right, darling.' Cindy was glowing again, and Lucy, conscious of Paul watching her, sat quickly on a chair. It was the only way to stop her body shaking.

  .Dinner passed without incident and Murray set out to make amends for his earlier outburst. Listening to his tales of student escapades at art school—' a period of my life I'm working hard to forget '—Lucy found herself succumbing to his charm. Only Paul remained aloof: the perfect most solicitous for his guests' welfare, but none the less aloof. If he wanted to show Murray he was only here on sufferance he could not have chosen a better way of doing so. Murray wanted to be accepted at Charters as one of the family; Paul's attitude put him severely in his place as a visitor.

  Coffee was as usual served in the music room, but Paul, pleading he had papers to read, excused himself and went towards the library. Lucy clenched her hands. She must tell him she was leaving, yet she could not do so in front of anyone else, certainly not Murray, who was watching her with a sardonic gleam in his eye. Did he know she had fallen in love with Paul? Was that why he was looking at her in this way? She grew hot at the thought that someone had guessed her secret, and longed for tomorrow morning when she would be able to leave the Harlow family to be managed, as it had always been, by the master of the house.

  ' Paul!' In desperation she called his name.

  ' Yes?' He paused by the door and looked at her.

  ' I'd like to speak to you.'

  ' By all means.' He glanced at his watch. ' Come and have a drink with me in the library in about an hour.'

  A distant clock was chiming nine-thirty when Lucy knocked at the door of the library and entered it. As always, she experienced a sense of pleasure at the sight of the room with its magnificent panelling, leather-tooled books and brass dogs gleaming in the glow of the log fire.

  Since this was the room Paul used most when he was at Charters, it had been furnished to suit his own personal needs, with plenty of easy chairs—in case he had to hold a business meeting—and a large oval Sheraton table which served him as a desk.

  ' I don't know how you can bear to have a desk without drawers,' she had commented on one occasion.

  ' If I had drawers they'd be packed with papers that I'd never deal with.' He had pointed to the neatly stacked documents on the surface.. ' This way I can't forget anything, and I always make sure the table top is perfectly clear before I go to bed.'

  Now as she looked at it, Lucy .saw it was still covered with papers, and Paul, unexpectedly in his shirt-sleeves, was bent over a pigskin folder. So immersed was he that he did not hear her knock and she was able to watch him, her heart in her eyes. Curtains were drawn across the windows behind him and the burgundy wine colour heightened the paleness of his hair, at the same time giving warmth to his skin.

  As though aware someone was looking at him, he raised his head and, seeing her, jumped to his feet.

  ' I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't hear you. come in.'

  She walked towards the fireplace. ' Don't let me disturb you if you've some work to finish '

  ' I can't be bothered to do any more.'

  To her surprise he shuffled all the papers together and then came over to join her. He made no move to put on his jacket and she was intensely aware of the unexpected ripple of muscle beneath his silk shirt. Though he had always given her the impression of strength, she had thought of him as slim, almost thin. Now she saw this was not true: slim he might be, but the muscles had a whipcord strength and the breadth of his shoulders owed nothing to his tailor.

  She turned slightly away, holding out her hands to the flames as though she needed the warmth. Strange how intimate it was to see him without a jacket. In swimming trunks on the beach she would have been less physically conscious of him than she was at this moment.

  Are you sure I haven't interrupted you?' she asked nervously. ' It isn't usual for you to leave papers lying around.'

  ' Tonight isn't a usual night. There's something in the atmosphere.' He came a step closer. ' Perhaps it's you. You look so different… so lovely. Work doesn't seem important any more.'

  Though the unexpectedness of the compliment increased her nervousness, she could not help smiling. ' That mood won't last long!'

  ' Moods aren't meant to last, nor should they be analysed; they should only be enjoyed.' Lightly he touched her arm. 'What will you have to drink?' Before she could reply he answered for her. ' Champagne, I think. That's just what we need.'

  She moistened her lips, seeing this as her chance to tell him that she must go. ' It's odd we should drink champagne now.'

  Something in her tone made him realize she was not merely making conversation, and he swung round from the cabinet where he was in the act of opening a bottle. ' What do you mean by that?'

  ' Only that you brought me champagne when you came to my flat and invited me here. Now I'm leaving it seems '

  ' Leaving? What do you mean; leaving?'

  ' I'm going home. I've stayed here far too long already.'

  He turned back to the cabinet, his voice muffled by the door. ' Are you bored here, Lucy?'

  ' Of course not. I love it here. But I can't accept your hospitality any longer. You asked me to keep Cindy company while you were away, and now you're back- '

  ' I haven't asked you to go,' he interrupted. ' Surely that means I want you to stay?'

  ' I don't know why you should. I've served my purpose. If I stay any longer I'd be presuming on your hospitality. Besides, I've my own home, and I also have a living to earn.'

  ' Nonsense I You saved Cindy's life and that places me in your debt. Any money you need will be '

  ' No 1' she said sharply. ' Can't you understand that I don't want to accept anything from you?'

  'Why not?'

  ' Because it smacks too much of charity. And please don't keep on about my saving Cindy.'

  He ignored the last part of her answer. ' I don't like the word charity between you and me. If you need anything, I want to give it to you—and it's got nothing to do with charity. I have so much, Lucy, at least let me have the pleasure of taking care of you.'

  ' No, Paul. I don't mean to be ungrateful—heaven knows I appreciate your offer—but I can't accept it. Giving money may not mean much to you, but if I take it then I'll feel in your debt.' She held up her hand as he was about to interrupt. ' No, it's no good your saying I won't be in your debt. I know the way I feel and I know I won't change.'

  He came back across
the room and set two brimming glasses on the table by the fire. He picked one up and gave it to her, then lifted his own.

  'What shall we drink to? Your escape from captivity?'

  ' Don't!' she said quickly. ' Let's drink to—to—the most wonderful holiday I've ever had.'

  Silently he toasted her and then set his glass on the mantelpiece. Still with his back to her, he spoke. ' So now you intend to leave Charters and return to work as my employee?'

  ' Yes.'

  ' Won't you find it embarrassing when we meet in the future? Will you call me Mr Harlow or will it still be Paul?'

  Certain he was joking, though his voice seemed unexpectedly grim, she forced herself to laugh. ' I'll—I'll do what you want.'

  He turned and looked at her. 'Do you mean that?' She nodded, so aware of his closeness that she found it impossible to speak.

  ' In that case,' he said slowly, ' you'll stay here for ever.'

  Confused, she looked at him, and as their eyes met he took a step forward and caught her roughly by the shoulders. They were so close that she saw the faint shine of sweat on his forehead, and a small blue vein pulsing at the side of his temple.

  'What are you trying to do to me?' he grated. ' How dare you come in like this and tell me that you're going ?'

  'Why shouldn't I tell you?' She tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened, the fingers digging painfully into her flesh. 'Let me go!' she panted. ' You're hurting me.'

  'Not as much as you're hurting me.' Suddenly, violently, he pushed her away. ' Go on, get out ! Get out! You're just like all the other women—using your beauty to destroy a man's strength.'

  ' You don't know what you're saying.' She looked at him with horror. ' I don't want to destroy you. I want to go before you destroy me.'

  ' What's that supposed to mean?'

  ' Nothing.' Afraid she had given herself away, she picked up her glass, but her hands were shaking so much that some champagne trickled on to her aim and she set the glass down again quickly.

  ‘ You've made me so nervous,' she said tremulously, ' I can't even finish my drink.'