Call of the Mountain

by Macgregor, Miriam

  Call of the Mountain by Miriam Macgregor

  COULD SHE FIGHT HIS CONTEMPT?

  Lisa's visit to the farm near Mount Egmont was solely a business trip. She was wary about looking for romance after the disastrous collapse of her near engagement to a man who let her down badly. But Brett Arlington, the domineering owner of the farm, believed differently and made it clear from the moment he set eyes on her that he felt little but contempt for her. Why did Lisa care so much about getting him to revise his opinion of her?

  Printed in Great Britain

  Books you will enjoy by MIRIAM MACGREGOR

  BOSS OF BRIGHTLANDS

  Robyn was not a gold-digger, despite what Jonas Ellingham believed. She genuinely liked his aunt Holly, and she also liked him. In fact, she had fallen in love with him. But what was the use of that, when there was Barbara Dalton to contend with?

  SPRING AT SEVENOAKS

  The Sevenoaks homestead needed love to make it warm and hospitable again—the sort of love Colette felt for Jason ... and that was more than his unofficial fiancee could ever give. But Jason was as cold and unwelcoming as the house was. Would Colette's love be enough to change that?

  THE MALVERN MAN

  Julie needed a holiday—so she went to stay with her cousin. Unfortunately, her cousin worked for Adam Malvern—Julie's father's arch-rival, and Adam was not too pleased to find her exercising his precious horses ..

  .

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names.

  They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent

  purchaser.

  First published in Great Britain 1986 by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Miriam Macgregor 1986

  This edition 1986

  ISBN 0 263 75357 3

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT was a shock to see Paul Mason again. Lisa's blue eyes widened as a flush crept over the creamy complexion that complemented her auburn hair. She stared at him in stunned silence, unable to find words that would disguise her dismay while questions leapt about in her mind. What was he doing in the Arlingtons' lounge?

  Catherine Arlington, who had ushered her into the room, began introductions. Leading her towards a slim girl with dark hair and soft brown eyes, the older woman said, 'This is my daughter Mary—well, my stepdaughter really. Mary, I'd like you to meet Lisa Longmore. She's come from Auckland with me and she'll be staying with us for a while. I'm sure you two girls will become good friends.'

  `Yes, of course—' Mary's hesitant tone did nothing to hide the fact that she was not only surprised but puzzled as well.

  Catherine turned towards the third person in the room. 'And this is Mary's brother, Brett Arlington.'

  Lisa took an involuntary step forward as she found herself drawn irresistibly towards a tall man whose hair was almost black and whose dark brown eyes were mildly curious. He had a firm mouth and chin, and even if his demeanour was vaguely arrogant he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

  Looking at him, she decided that here was a man who was determined to do things in his own way. Nor was she unaware of his magnetic personality which, in some subtle manner, seemed to breathe an aura of male strength.

  `Did you say—staying with us?' His voice was deep

  and vibrant while the glance he sent towards Catherine held a question.

  She sighed. 'Yes. It's the book, you understand. I'll explain about it later.' It was then that she led Lisa towards Paul Mason.

  But before the introduction could be made the tall sandy-haired man grinned and said, 'How are you, Lisa? It's been a long time.'

  She sent him a faint smile but kept her voice steady. `Yes—three years at least.'

  Brett Arlington's voice held a hint of surprise as it cut across the room. 'You've met our neighbour before this evening?

  `Your—neighbour?' Lisa was conscious of further shock. Dear God, what had she done in agreeing to come to this place? Were old wounds about to be prised open? No, indeed they were not. She'd overcome the heartache of Paul ages ago.

  Recovering herself rapidly, she said, 'I knew Paul when I was doing freelance journalism for the newspaper in New Plymouth, but he wasn't farming in this area at that time, nor in any other area. He was an accountant.' She turned again to Paul. 'I presume this means you are farming now?'

  `Yes. It was always expected that I'd take over my uncle's property, which happens to be next to this one.'

  `It's difficult to think of you as a farmer.' To be honest, she had no wish to think of him in any sense at all.

  He gave a slight smirk. 'Oh well, I don't actually break my back over it. I suppose you can call it a type of partnership. Cows, of course, and it's run on a share-milking basis. I own the land, but my share-milker does the work of milking and attending to the herd. We run black and white Friesians, you understand.'

  She frowned thoughtfully. 'Yes, I vaguely remember

  you once mentioned an uncle who lived towards the southern area of Taranaki. Has he retired?'

  `Permanently. He died. He was my father's only brother who lost his wife years ago. There were no children, so he made me his heir,' he added with a satisfied smile.

  Lisa became aware that Brett, Mary and Catherine were listening with interest, yet something forced her to pursue the subject. 'It must be a far cry from life in your father's office.'

  `Where freedom's concerned, a very far cry. I can now do just as I please. I can drop work to go to the races, to the pub or to the football whenever it suits me.'

  She was unable to resist a laugh. 'You haven't changed, Paul!'

  The sandy brows drew together. 'What do you mean?'

  `Rugby, racing and beer—didn't they always come first?'

  `Well, I don't worship at those shrines quite as much as I did,' he conceded gruffly with a quick glance at Mary. 'You mightn't believe it, but I've changed quite a lot.'

  `Do any of us ever really change, Paul?' Lisa asked gently.

  `Some of us get a little more sense as we grow older—but when it comes to appearances you certainly haven't changed. You're still as lovely as ever.'

  She remained unmoved by the compliment. Paul had always been good at flattery, she recalled.

  Brett spoke dryly. 'If I may be allowed to get a word in—you two appear to have known each other quite well.'

  Lisa turned to face him and was immediately aware of the question lurking within his eyes. Nor was it possible to miss the fact that Mary was regarding Paul with surprise, almost as though she was seeing a new

  facet to his character. 'Oh, Paul took me out sometimes,' she told Brett casually.

  And then Paul came to her aid, almost hastily and as though anxious to change the subject. 'Anyhow, what are you doing here? Have you come for a holiday?'

  `No.' Lisa compressed her lips and fell silent. Her reason for being there was Catherine Arlington's business and she had no intention of satisfying Paul's curiosity.

  `Even I'm curious about
this,' Brett drawled lazily. He turned to his stepmother. 'Come clean, Cathy—you've brought Lisa home for a reason. Something about the book, I think you said.'

  She nodded dejectedly. 'Well, yes—it has to be altered.'

  `But surely only a little?' Mary ventured to ask.

  `A little!' Catherine exclaimed wrathfully. 'The whole wretched thing has to be rewritten! There are all sorts of things wrong with it, according to my dear brother Gordon. It's too long. It has to be cut down to size, otherwise it's not economic. It's also too regional.'

  `What does too regional mean?' Mary asked timidly.

  `It means that the interest lies only in the Taranaki district instead of over the whole of New Zealand,' Catherine snapped crossly. 'Really, as he's my own flesh and blood, and as I'm a shareholder in the precious firm, you'd have thought it would have been accepted for publication at once and without all these silly quibbles about economics, length and regional interest!' She paused for breath, her hazel eyes flashing with anger.

  Brett turned to Lisa, his eyes slightly mocking. 'I presume you'll agree with Gordon.'

  `He's my employer,' she replied simply, ignoring the fact that his scrutiny of her face had become penetrating before moving down to her neck. Then, avoiding his eyes, she went on, 'It's also easy for me to

  understand that it's a matter of sales. Publishing a book costs money, and if it's of interest only in one province the sales will be restricted to that particular district.'

  `It sounds as though Gordon's condemned it,' Brett said quietly.

  `No, he hasn't actually condemned it,' Lisa hastened to assure him. 'He says it has potential, otherwise I wouldn't be here.'

  Brett's eyes ran over her slim form. `Ah, we're actually coming to the reason for your visit?'

  `I have a job to do,' was all she said.

  `You've come to rewrite the book?' He gave a sudden laugh that seemed to transform his face. 'Do you know, for one mad moment I wondered if Cathy had brought you home for a totally different reason.'

  Catherine glared at him. 'What on earth are you going on about, Brett? Really, you get the oddest ideas!'

  `Do I?' He gave another short laugh. 'Okay, so we'll let it rest,' he drawled.

  Mary brought the subject back to the book. Looking slightly bewildered, she said to Lisa, 'Do you really intend to rewrite that whole book?'

  Lisa hesitated, wondering if Catherine would want the extent of her task discussed within Paul's hearing. Paul, she recalled, was apt to become talkative after the first few pints of beer. How well did these people know him? Was there more than friendship between Paul and Mary?

  She turned towards the older woman. 'You've had a long day, Catherine. The journey from Auckland has been tiring, so perhaps it would be better to talk about it in the morning.'

  Catherine sighed as she leaned her head against the back of the chair. She closed her eyes which had become shadowed by fatigue, yet even her weariness did nothing to hide the dominance of her nature.

  Then, exasperated, she ran fingers through her grey hair that had been carefully rinsed to a deeper hue.

  `Oh, what's the use?' she exclaimed, her dejected tones betraying the depth of her disappointment. 'You might as well know the worst. Yes, the whole book has to be rewritten because of its length and—according to Gordon—the amount of trivia that must be cut out.' She paused as the suspicion of a tremor crept into her voice.

  Lisa felt a rush of sympathy for her. 'Please don't be too upset about it, but you must understand that its length needs a great deal of pruning.'

  `By how much?' Brett's eyes seemed to bore into her own.

  `According to the boss—Mr Bishop—the manuscript consists of at least two hundred thousand words or more

  Mary gave a gasp of amazement. 'Did he count them all?'

  No. He took an average of the words on several pages and then multiplied by the number of pages in the manuscript,' Lisa explained. 'He wants me to cut it down to about eighty-five thousand at the most, which is still a fairly large book.'

  `You can't do it without ruining it!' Catherine almost wailed. 'It's my life's work

  `I can only do my best,' Lisa pointed out. 'And you must remember it'll mean the difference between the book seeing the light of day through publication, or spending the rest of its life in the limbo of a bottom drawer.'

  `Yes, I understand.' Catherine turned to Brett with further explanation. 'Gordon was keen for me to leave the manuscript with him. He said Lisa could attend to it in her office, but I pleaded with him to allow her to come home with me to do the rewriting here at Lynton. I pointed out that by leaving it with him vital things could be cut out, and also there'd be numerous

  things to be discussed during the process. I'm most grateful to Lisa for agreeing to come home with me.'

  Brett's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. `So that you'll be able to breathe down her neck every time she picks up a red pencil. Isn't that what you had in mind?'

  `Well, I'll keep a close watch,' Catherine warned with a veiled glance towards Lisa.

  Lisa felt stirrings of unease. Would this task prove to be more difficult than she'd anticipated? Mr Bishop had warned that his sister was a very determined woman, but at the same time he had admitted he was fond of her. He would like to publish her manuscript—but not in its present form.

  Paul's voice cut into her thoughts. 'It sounds as if you'll be here for quite a long time,' he observed with a pleased look on his face. 'It'll be good to have you around again.'

  Lisa ignored the remark. She was aware that since she had entered the room Paul's eyes had scarcely left her, and the knowledge was making her feel on edge. A tide of weariness swept her and, turning to Catherine, she said, `If you'll excuse me I'd like to go to bed. I seem to have been in a whirl since this morning.'

  Catherine stood up and yawned. 'Of course. I'll make sure you find your way back to your room. You're not the only one longing for bed. Personally, I'm exhausted!'

  As Lisa followed her from the lounge she paused at the door to look back and say good night to the others, discovering as she did so that the three people were regarding her with different expressions on their faces. Paul was smirking at her as though confident of intimate tête-à-têtes lying ahead. Mary's face held a trace of concern, while Brett's eyes had become narrowed, his dark brows drawn together in a scowl.

  His expression startled her and, vaguely worried as

  she wondered if she had offended him in some way, she carried the memory of it as she hurried along the passage after Catherine.

  `You should be comfortable in here,' the older woman said as Lisa entered the guestroom. 'You have your own shower, basin and toilet, and these large windows allow the sun to stream into the room. This glass door opens out on to the veranda. I'm glad there are still a few roses blooming in the strip of garden bordering it.'

  `Would it be possible to use it as a workroom?' asked Lisa. It would be a retreat, she thought—a place where Paul would hesitate to intrude if he happened to be in the habit of visiting this household.

  Catherine was reluctant. 'Brett could put a table near the window,' she said, 'but I can assure you there's much more comfort in the library where a fire burns most of the time. It's May now and the days are cool. Also, my reference books are on the shelves and there could be facts you'd like to check.' She uttered the last words with a light laugh as though the thought of such a possibility was ridiculous.

  Lisa made no reply. She knew only too well how easy it was to make errors in a manuscript, and she was also fully aware of the necessity to re-check dates. She crossed the room to stare through the glass door.

  Moonlight washed the garden, which was sheltered from the strong westerly winds by a high boxthorn hedge, and beyond it could be seen the rising slopes of Mount Egmont towering to a height of eight thousand, two hundred and sixty feet. Gazing up at the peak that had become cloaked with its early snows, she said, 'Egmont never seems to lose its fascination.'
<
br />   `Brett would agree with you,' Catherine smiled. 'He adores the mountain and is always clambering up its hidden ways. He's a keen tramper with a great deal of knowledge of the tracks and routes. He belongs to the Search and Rescue Organisation, and of course he skis. He also knows a great deal about the vegetation

  on the slopes—in fact one would imagine he owns the mountain!'

  `Or does the mountain own him?' Lisa asked. 'I've heard it's inclined to get a grip on people.'

  `Only if people allow it to,' Catherine pointed out. `Good night—I hope you sleep well.'

  Later, as she lay in the bed that had been comfortably warmed by its electric blanket, Lisa reviewed the day's whirlwind events which had placed her in this position. Had they begun only this morning? This morning now seemed to be years ago.

  It had begun as just an ordinary Friday morning, she recalled, with a strong and steady breeze stirring the Waitemata Harbour to choppiness. She had caught her usual bus on the North Shore, and had gazed at the numerous yachts as the vehicle had crossed the Auckland harbour bridge. In the city she had alighted at the usual stop, had walked along Queen Street where hundreds of others were hastening to work, and had been in the office on time.

  By morning tea break she had finished editing a manuscript which had kept her time completely occupied during the last month. She had sat back with a sigh of relief and had been about to go to the tearoom when the head of the firm had walked into her

  MOM.

  Gordon Bishop was a large balding man with a prominent nose and a perpetual frown which, at the moment, was more pronounced than usual. He had glanced at the manuscript on Lisa's desk. 'You've been through it? Do you think it's okay?'

  She'd nodded. 'I think it should sell well.'

  `Good. I'll have a look at it, then arrange for a schedule and proof date with the printer. The author can then do his own proof-reading.' He had then stared at her, his frown deepening.