Heaven Here On Earth

by Carole Mortimer

‘Then why the hell—No, never mind,’ he ground out. ‘That’s probably something else I don’t want to hear. Goodbye, Ryan. It’s been a strange, if interesting, time, meeting you. I hope sincerely it’s never repeated!’ He stormed out of the room, the front door slamming a few seconds later.

  Ryan was ashen. She had ruined everything with her mistrust, should have talked to Grant about her fears; the closeness they had achieved that night should have made that possible. Instead she had chosen to believe the worst, had judged him without a trial, and he would never forgive her for it.

  ‘Ryan?’ Mark was frowning as he came into the room. ‘Was that Grant I heard leaving?’

  ‘Yes, he—I—’ and Ryan burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break.

  ***

  She still felt terrible the next morning, knowing she had to see Grant just once more, if only to apologise. If he would let her apologise, that was! She couldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again.

  She had been too distraught to reveal the whole of her unfairness to Mark and Diana last night, had been too upset to talk coherently. They had seemed to respect her wish to be alone once they reached the cottage, and despite Diana’s attempts to get her to confide this morning she had been met with a polite if friendly refusal. It was enough that she and Grant knew the extent of her stupidity.

  ‘Ready?’ Mark asked cheerfully when he arrived at the cottage just after ten.

  ‘Ryan would like to go up to the Hall,’ Diana told him quietly.

  He frowned. ‘I thought you said goodbye to Mandy? She said something about coming to stay with you in the summer.’

  ‘She is,’ Diana nodded, having become very good friends with Mandy too.

  ‘Then why—’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Mark,’ his girl-friend sighed as Ryan became more and more embarrassed.

  ‘But I don’t—Ah,’ he grimaced, shaking his head as he saw Ryan’s red face, ‘I don’t think now is a good time to see Grant.’

  She looked at him with huge blue eyes. ‘Why not?’

  ‘He—It just isn’t a good idea.’

  ‘Mark?’ she frowned at his evasion. ‘What is it? Has anything happened to him?’ concern sharpened her voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t tell me nothing, I know you too well for that.’

  ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘If you have to know…’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Sam Clarke, one of our neighbours, shot Rex last night.’

  She went suddenly pale. ‘Rex?’ she swallowed hard. ‘Is he…?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark nodded. ‘Instantly.’

  She couldn’t believe that the beautiful Golden Labrador was dead. Not that she had had a lot to do with the two Labradors, but nevertheless, the thought of such a lovely creature dying so cruelly made her feel sick. And poor Grant, he had loved the dogs very deeply.

  ‘Rex was the sheep-worrier,’ Mark explained. ‘It wasn’t quite so bad when it was just our stock, but when he started on the neighbours’ Grant knew he had to do something.’

  ‘Last week,’ Ryan realised numbly.

  ‘Yes,’ Mark gave her a puzzled frown, but he didn’t pursue the subject of how she had known that. ‘Your accident put things back a bit, and I think that all the time Grant was just hoping it would work out. He was thinking of arranging for Rex to be taken in by a town family when this last incident happened, although of course it had to be Mandy’s final decision.’

  ‘Mandy?’

  He nodded. ‘Rex was her dog, and Riba mine, but you know what it’s like when you’re younger, you get sidetracked, and dogs become the last thing on your mind,’ he gave Diana a pointed look. ‘It just seemed natural that Grant should take charge of them both, he and Don. That was partly the reason it took them so long to realise it was Rex—Grant would think he was with Don, Don would think he was with Grant, and all the time he was with the sheep.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s as well it worked out this way. I doubt Rex would have liked town life, and Mandy would have hated Grant if he had to put Rex down.’

  As she had done! Poor Grant, how he must despise her. And poor Rex; he had been such a lovely dog.

  ‘I’d still like to see Grant, if you don’t mind,’ she said quietly, knowing it would be her last chance to tell him how very sorry she was.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Mark shrugged. ‘But he really isn’t in the best of humours.’

  ‘I’ll risk it.’

  Mandy was in the drawing-room when they arrived at the Hall, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Ryan felt for her, knowing how she had felt when she thought it was to be Ragtag who died.

  ‘Grant’s in his study,’ the other girl informed her.

  Ryan nodded. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She felt as nervous as the day she had arrived here as she stood outside Grant’s study, more nervous if she thought of the degree of intimacy she had attained with Grant since that time. If only they could go back to that night together, with no interruption from Don, no overheard conversation with Peter, no stupid accident. How different things could have been between them in the morning when they woke in each other’s arms—how wonderfully different.

  Before she had a chance to knock, while her expression still showed the memory of Grant’s lovemaking, the study door was flung open and Grant’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.

  His head rose haughtily, his nostrils flaring. ‘I thought you’d be long gone,’ he rasped. ‘Mark left over an hour ago.’

  Not an auspicious beginning! ‘I—er—I came to say goodbye,’ her voice came out as a husky squeak.

  His expression became even more remote. ‘I thought we did that last night.’

  ‘I—No, you said goodbye, I didn’t.’

  Grant gave an impatient sigh, the hardness of his mouth unyielding as he walked back to sit behind the desk. ‘You’d better come in,’ he snapped as she hovered in the doorway.

  Ryan went inside and closed the door, but she felt tongue-tied as Grant glowered at her across the desk. ‘I just—I want to apologise,’ she looked at him pleadingly.

  He gave a haughty inclination of his head, obviously in no mood to sympathise with her stupidity.

  ‘And I’m so sorry about Rex.’ Her voice broke emotionally. Grant’s eyes showed pain for a brief moment, then he was under control once again. ‘We all are,’ he said distantly.

  She hadn’t expected that he would make this easy for her, and she wasn’t disappointed. How she longed to erase the frown from between his eyes, the lines of bitterness grooved into his cheeks, the cynical twist to his mouth. And she had denied herself the right to even touch him.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I said to you, thought about you.’

  A strange expression flickered across his face, but before she could analyse it it had gone, the dark green depths of his eyes once again cold. ‘We all make mistakes,’ he dismissed.

  Ryan swallowed hard. ‘As you did—about me?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he gave an abrupt nod of his head.

  She felt the tears well into her eyes. She had never felt so—so helpless as she did at that moment. This was the man she loved, the man she belonged to heart and soul, and he didn’t want her.

  ‘Mark tells me you had a visit from Valerie yesterday,’ he said suddenly.

  Darn Mark! ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

  ‘I feel sure it wasn’t a social call,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m sorry if she upset you at all.’

  ‘She—she said the two of you were going to be married.’

  Icy green eyes raked over her. ‘Did she?’

  ‘Is—is it true?’

  He looked irritated by the question. ‘I don’t think you have any right to ask that question. Any plans I have for marriage do not concern you.’

  ‘No, I—No, they don’t. I’m sorry. Goodbye.’ Ryan turned too suddenly on her crutches, and as she felt the support go on her right side, she called out Grant’s name as
she toppled over.

  ‘For heaven’s sake—!’ Grant somehow managed to stop her actually hitting the carpeted floor, pulling her hard against him. ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured against her lips.

  ‘I’m very all right now. Oh, Grant, kiss me!’ she begged him, her mouth raised invitingly.

  ‘Ryan—’

  ‘Please, Grant!’ She touched the hardness of his cheek with loving fingers.

  ‘Why not?’ he said hardly, and his mouth lowered on hers to force her lips apart.

  She wanted gentleness from him, the tender emotion she had from him the night they had made love so beautifully. Instead his lips were hard and demanding on hers, no trace of desire in the ruthless assault of his mouth on hers, only a desire to punish, to hurt as he had been hurt.

  ‘No!’ She wrenched away from him, looking up at him with bewildered eyes.

  ‘Not what you wanted?’ His mouth twisted with contempt as he released her. ‘But this is hardly the time or place for that, Ryan. Maybe if you ever come back on a visit with Mark,’ he drawled insultingly.

  ‘Grant…?’

  He raised dark brows. ‘What happened to the liberated girl who so easily dismissed what we had together only a few days ago?’ he taunted.

  She swallowed hard, pain in her deep blue depths. ‘You know I’m not liberated—’

  ‘Yes,’ he bit out. ‘And I still have to work out why I was given the privilege of being your first lover.’

  Ryan flinched as if he had physically struck her. ‘It isn’t too difficult to work out if you think about it,’ she said dully.

  ‘Maybe I don’t care to,’ he dismissed coldly.

  She bit her top lip, taking one last look at the man she loved. ‘If you ever—do,’ she told him huskily, ‘Mark knows where I live.’

  Grant nodded abruptly. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. Who knows, maybe I could—call on you,’ he drawled, ‘when I go to the gallery next time.’

  ‘I—Yes,’ she held back her tears, ‘Of course. I—Goodbye, then.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ryan,’ he nodded abruptly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WITHIN weeks Ryan had her plaster removed from her ankle, and returned to college, hoping to bury her pain in her absorption in her work. It didn’t turn out that way. London no longer held her enthralled, seemed too big and noisy, the parties too wild, with everyone wanting to enjoy themselves too badly.

  When she allowed herself the luxury of thought she longed for the wide open peace of the Yorkshire hills, for those long tranquil walks amongst the heather and gorse, but most of all she longed for a green-eyed devil to melt her bones to water.

  She knew Grant must have been up to his gallery in London at least twice in the last two months, and she had even called at the gallery herself, feeling close to him there, but he had made no effort to come and see her, and she told herself he never would.

  She heard nothing of him from Mark and Diana, both of them seeming to steer clear of talking about him, and she was too afraid to broach the subject of him herself, fearing what she might hear about him and Valerie.

  Grant hadn’t denied intending to marry Valerie when she had asked him. Oh, how she wished she could have been his bride!

  But if he was back with Valerie neither Mark nor Diana told her about it, although just lately the two of them seemed to be more deeply involved than ever. Ryan was happy for them, although she would be a liar if she didn’t admit to feeling envious of them too.

  She had turned down all offers of dates since she had been back in London, compared every man she met to Grant—and knew that they all fell far short of the magnetically attractive man he was and always would be.

  But she was feeling particularly miserable this Friday afternoon in June. Mark and Diana were leaving for Montgomery Hall straight after college, and the weekend stretched in front of her long and lonely.

  ‘Ryan!’

  She turned at the sound of that light, familiar voice, feeling none of the heart-stopping excitement that had overtaken her whenever Alan used to look at her like this. Now she saw him for what he was, a man who would be a perennial student, a man still boyish and reckless, a man who would never grow up and accept the responsibilities of life, least of all those of loving someone. She could see that now, and felt nothing towards him but a warm friendship.

  ‘Alan!’ she smiled as she waited for him to catch up with her in the corridor where he taught and she was taught.

  ‘On your way to class?’

  She grimaced, nodding. ‘But my heart isn’t in it.’

  His blue eyes lightened. His blond hair was longer than was fashionable, and his tight denims and loose tee-shirt gave him no distinction from his students. ‘Shall we give it a miss this afternoon, like we used to?’ His voice had lowered seductively.

  Ryan blushed as she remembered how they had spent those afternoons of truancy. ‘Not today, Alan,’ she refused distantly. ‘I missed a few classes while my ankle was bad.’

  He looked down. ‘How is it now?’

  ‘Fine.’ And it was. Only her heart remained broken from her visit to Sleaton.

  ‘And am I forgiven?’

  She frowned. Forgiven…? ‘I—Oh yes,’ she blushed anew, having forgotten how they parted, the reason they had parted. She could never have loved this man if she had baulked at a physical relationship with him, she had not given it a second thought when Grant had wanted her. ‘Of course,’ she told him awkwardly.

  ‘Feel like sharing a bottle of wine with me tonight?’

  Her refusal hovered on her lips. But why not? Why not spend a harmless evening with him? It would mean she wouldn’t be alone, and there was no danger of it being more than he offered, a simple sharing of a bottle of wine.

  She smiled. ‘You’ll bring the wine?’

  ‘And you’ll supply the scintillating company?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she laughed.

  ‘Good. I’ll see you about eight.’ Alan bent and kissed her briefly on the mouth, a look of triumph in his eyes as he went on his way to his next class.

  It was that gleam of triumph that bothered Ryan the rest of the afternoon, a nagging doubt that persisted even though she told herself it was only a chat and a glass of wine.

  Diana was bustling about preparing for her weekend away when Ryan got home, and she emerged breathlessly from the bathroom towelling her hair dry. ‘Dinner’s in the oven,’ she hurried into the bedroom to dress.

  Ryan gave a shrug of acceptance and went to eat her solitary dinner, clearing away when Diana emerged from the bedroom looking like someone who had been transformed into a butterfly, glowingly beautiful.

  ‘Do I look all right?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Of course,’ Ryan frowned, never having seen Diana look lovelier. ‘Special occasion?’

  Diana blushed coyly. ‘We intend telling Grant this weekend that we’re going to be married.’

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ Ryan’s enthusiastic approval was warm and excited; she hugged Diana, treating Mark to the same when he arrived a few minutes later.

  Her pleasure fell very flat once the other couple had left, and she really couldn’t get up any enthusiasm for her date with Alan. How would Grant take the news of the engagement? She felt sure he liked Diana, and it was a certainty that Diana would make Mark a better wife than she ever would. Together she and Mark would have had no stability at all.

  Alan kissed her lightly on the lips again when he arrived shortly after eight, although he seemed quite happy to sit and chat for the next couple of hours, their mutual interest in art giving them ample scope for conversation.

  But nevertheless, Ryan couldn’t help but compare him with Grant—unfavourably. It was like comparing cologne to Chanel No. 5, plonk to champagne. There was no comparison!

  ‘Where have you gone to?’ Fingers clicked in front of her unseeing eyes as Alan came to sit beside her on the sofa.

  She blinked back to an awareness of her surroundings, remembering other even
ings they had spent in this way, relaxed in casual denims and tee-shirts, sipping wine, munching on crisps and peanuts, Alan smoking a constant stream of cigarettes, something that Ryan found she no longer liked. She never used to mind the clinging smell of the smoke, having to open all the windows wide to air the room out, but now she resented his assumption that it was all right to stink her home out with those strong cigarettes he favoured.

  ‘Ryan?’ he frowned.

  Ryan swallowed hard, knowing it had been a mistake to let him come here tonight. She had wanted company, but this was the wrong face, the wrong man.

  ‘I have a headache,’ she invented, standing up restlessly. ‘I think I should get to bed.’

  ‘Ryan…?’

  ‘Not with you!’ she snapped her irritation with the hopeful look on his face. ‘I haven’t changed in that respect.’

  He shrugged. ‘One can always hope.’

  ‘Not where I’m concerned,’ she flashed.

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘Yes, what did you think?’ she frowned. ‘That because I accepted your invitation to spend the evening with you I’d also accepted going to bed with you? I thought you knew me better than that, Alan.’ He flushed his anger, and she knew she had been right. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said wearily.

  ‘I wanted us to be friends—’

  ‘So did I,’ she glared at him. ‘Just friends.’

  Alan put his wine glass down and stood up. ‘You’re a damned prude,’ he scorned. ‘No girl of twenty-one is a virgin nowadays.’

  ‘Who said I was?’ Ryan was very angry herself now. ‘Maybe I’m just a little more discriminating than you about who I go to bed with.’

  It had been the wrong thing to say, she could see that as soon as the words had left her mouth. Alan’s eyes glittered with fury, his mouth tightening as he made a lunge towards her.

  ‘And maybe you’re just a little tease,’ he ground out, his hands painful on her arms. ‘Maybe what you really need is a little force!’ His mouth came down painfully on hers.

  Ryan had never realised how strong he was, that his wiry body hid a ripcord strength she couldn’t even begin to fight, although she tried, hating his mouth on hers, his hands exploring her body in fevered caresses, that he might be deriving enjoyment from but which only sickened her.