by Jane Corrie
A few moments later the communicating door shut for the final time, leaving Kent standing with the tears gushing down her cheeks.
There was no sleep now for her as she lay on her bed with tear-swollen eyes.
Matt had had more control than she had, but then he didn't love her. Dully she realised that if she had put up a fight there would have been no holding him. The hunter would have sensed the kill.
The very fact that she had submitted so easily was the only thing that had saved her—saved them both, for in her heart she knew that Matt would have stood by her afterwards, even though he didn't love her.
He was that kind of man, and though Kent didn't know a great deal about him, she knew that much.
Her tears started to flow again. He'd said he wasn't a gentleman, but he was, he was the finest man she had ever met. His conduct that night proved it beyond all doubt. She had been entirely at his mercy, and he had had every right to seek revenge.
Twisting her position, Kent looked at his ring on her finger that she had put on again before they came to La Paz.
That alone gave him the right to make her his wife, but he had not taken advantage of it. It had taken several whiskies to make him attempt to come to terms with the fact that she had fallen in love with him. She gulped; had he been bolstering up courage to make the marriage a real one? Did he feel responsible for what had happened? He had pushed her into the marriage knowing her feelings on the matter. He had also put the idea of the ring doing things to people into her head. Did he now blame himself for the result?
And what of the result of the test he had said he wanted to try out? A sob escaped her. She had passed with flying colours! No matter what she had said, her actions had betrayed her, and when Matt had calmed down, he would come to the inevitable conclusion that she had been lying! He would see it for just what it was, a pathetic attempt to save her pride.
Burying her head in the pillows, Kent tried to stem the thoughts that rushed through her head. What had happened that night would happen again,
and she knew she wouldn't have the strength to deny him, even though she knew full well his reasons for making the marriage real.
No matter how much she loved him, she didn't want him on those terms. She thought of Tony's words, and how he'd said he wouldn't blame her for trying to hang on to Matt, others would. Her teeth caught her lower lip—she couldn't do that to him.
The future for both of them would be bleak. His conscience salved, he would begin to hate her for the ties she had placed on him.
The dawn light filtered through the room, and Kent thought of the time when she must face Matt, at breakfast probably, and a wave of panic flowed through her. Not only that day, but all the other days when they took breakfast together at the chalet.
The thought of the chalet made her catch her breath. She couldn't go back there! Not now—not ever!
CHAPTER EIGHT
A CALMER but still desperate Kent prepared to go down to breakfast later that morning.
She had to find Tony; of all people he would understand why she had to go back to England. Kent was sure he would advance her the fare.
Anxiously gazing at her reflection in the mirror before she left her room, she looked for signs of her turbulent thoughts, quite expecting to find she had aged overnight. Extremely relieved to find no such happening, and that in spite of slightly swollen eyelids, she looked much the same as before. So she added a little more eye-shadow, then straightening the belt of her green linen dress, left her room and made her way to the dining room.
The half-empty dining room gave her more courage. She was sure Matt would have already breakfasted, and as for Tony—well, she couldn't see him getting up early on what he considered a weekend rest period.
When she reached the table assigned to her and Matt the previous day for lunch, she was alarmed to find two places set for breakfast. Matt, then, had
still to come. Her heartbeat increased as she considered the advisability of leaving forthwith. At any moment he could walk in the dining room, and as she started to hastily gather her bag up from the table, her apprehensive eyes met Matt's cold blue ones as he entered the room.
There was nothing she could do about it now and she sank back in her chair, wondering miserably what he would do, join her, or sit elsewhere.
A kind of reprieve came from a table in the corner of the room as a dulcet voice called his name. Kent's eyes followed him as he walked towards the table and joined the owner of the voice. The lovely redhead had to be Daphne; Kent looked away quickly as Matt placed a casual arm about the girl's shoulders and then sat down beside her.
The waiter's appearance at her table helped Kent to get through the next few minutes, and she ordered coffee and rolls, fervently hoping she would be served quickly so she could leave the room at the first given opportunity. If only she had had the courage to change her position at the table and take the chair opposite her, she would not then have to constantly avert her gaze from the couple in direct line of her vision.
She was made uncomfortably aware that Matt found the girl's company exhilarating, if his relaxed attitude and lazy smiles were anything to go by. Kent had never seen him smile that way before, and a deep hurt invaded her being. She had a feeling
that he was well aware of her scrutiny, even though she tried not to look their way, and hated him for it.
Her order arrived, and she had just poured herself a cup of coffee when her hand was caught and a youthful voice exclaimed, 'Kent ! '
'Oliver!' answered the surprised Kent, glancing up at the tall youth grinning at her. 'Where's your father?' she asked as she gave a swift glance round the room.
'On the patio. I'll take you to him,' and so saying the boy pulled Kent out of her chair and towards the french windows of the dining room leading to the club's gardens.
'Oliver! How many times have I told you not to wander off?' said the distinguished-looking man sitting at one of the tables on the patio.
Still holding on to Kent's hand as she brought up the rear, unable to keep up with the boy's large strides, Oliver stood aside and produced her much as a conjuror might produce a rabbit, saying, 'Look, Dad—Kent '
A rather breathless Kent grinned at Mr Lawn, who got to his feet quickly, exclaiming, 'Good gracious, it is Kent! What on earth are you doing out here?'
Kent was about to explain her presence in the wilds of Bolivia to her father's old friend, when Mr Lawn looked beyond her to someone standing directly behind her.
'Matt! You old devil! I was hoping to see you. I
want to pick your brains on a job we've been saddled with.'
Realising Oliver still held her hand, Kent stiffened and slowly removed her hand. Matt had obviously followed them to the patio, on watchdog duty, she thought bitterly.
'I see you've met my wife,' Matt drawled laconically.
Kent knew an urge to shout hysterically that she was not his wife, and by the evident surprise, not to mention incredulity, shown on Mr Lawn's face as he received this news, he would have believed her.
She contented herself with a dry, 'Location wife, if you see what I mean. I've joined the firm out here.'
No further explanation was needed. Mr Lawn nodded understandingly, and he smiled at Matt. 'For a moment there I thought you'd slipped, it gave me quite a turn.'
Oliver, tired of the conversation, caught Kent's hand again and broke in with, 'I want to show Kent my books, Dad,' and started to drag her off back towards the club.
Kent's eyes met his father's and wordless communication passed between them. Matt, seeing it, said brusquely, 'I think I'll see your books too, if you've no objection.'
It was quite obvious that Oliver had many objections, and was about to say so categorically, when Kent intervened hastily with, 'No—you stay and
talk to Mr Lawn, Matt, I'm sure you'll be able to help him,' and without waiting for an answer, she held her arm out to Oliver and walked back to the clubhouse with him.
I don't
like him,' Oliver said peevishly.
Kent was well aware to whom he was referring, and although she shared the same view at that precise time, she did not say so, for an idea was beginning to germinate in her brain.
If anyone could help her out of her present predicament, Oliver's father could, and she wouldn't have to worry Tony with her problem. John Lawn had been probably the nearest thing to a friend her father had ever had. The association stretched back to their college days, and had continued after John had gone into his father's business. Kent's father had no such easy beginnings, but had had to start from rock bottom. Rivals through the years, they still remained friends, and Kent had spent many weekends in the company of Oliver, John Lawn's only son. When Kent's future was settled, John Lawn had offered her a place in his firm, and although her father had not objected at the time, Kent was certain he expected her to join Stainer Construction.
The sudden meeting with her father's old friend appeared to Kent as an answer to a prayer. She knew she had only to ask for a job with Lawn Engineering, and it was hers. Of course, she mused, she would have to tread warily when explaining the reason why she wanted to leave her father's firm.
On reaching Oliver's room, she asked if he had any writing paper, which produced a frown from Oliver while he thought about this strange request, then said, `Dad's got some somewhere.'
Kent asked him to find it for her as she wanted to write a letter to his father.
`Here are the books I was telling you about,' Oliver said, adroitly changing the subject to one he was interested in.
Glancing at the lovely hand-made volumes he held out for her inspection, she felt mean as she repeated her request for writing paper. She was not sure how much time she had, for there was a possibility that Matt might take it into his head to come and find her.
`Don't you want to look at them?' Oliver queried unhappily.
'Of course I do,' she murmured soothingly, 'but I must write the letter first. We'll look at the books afterwards. Please, Oliver.'
Going into the adjoining room, he shortly returned with his father's writing case, and thanking him, she sat down and wrote a short note to Mr Lawn asking him to meet her in the lounge after lunch. Sealing the letter in an envelope, and addressing it, she gave it to Oliver, who sat with barely concealed impatience waiting for her attention.
'Now,. Oliver,' she said, handing him the letter, `put this in your father's room, somewhere where he'll find it before lunch.'
Sighing loudly, Oliver did as he was bid, and when he returned, Kent said gently, 'Thank you— and, Oliver, that letter is our secret. You're not to say anything about it if Mr King is still with your father when we go back.'
Oliver nodded happily. 'Don't like him,' he repeated.
The letter out of the way, Kent was able to give her attention to the books Oliver had picked up during his latest travels. Though fate had struck him a blow he had little hope of recovering from, he had retained his love of books, and his unerring instinct for finding first editions was quite remarkable.
Holding one of the finely bound slim volumes, and listening to Oliver's enthusiastic account of how he had come by the book, Kent felt the familiar sadness wash over her. Oliver was more like a brother than a friend, and with all her heart she wished things could be as they used to be. For Oliver had once been a brilliant student, striding through his degrees at university with comparative ease, studying with fanatical fervour any subject that took his fancy. Too much learning and no relaxation had finally taken its toll, resulting in a nervous breakdown, and now at the age of twenty-six, Oliver had the mentality of a boy of seven.
Kent knew Mr Lawn bitterly blamed himself for not realising that, though brilliant, his son needed occasional rest from studying. It was all too easy,
looking back in cold retrospect at what might have been. His natural pride in his son's prowess had lulled any suspicion that Oliver was overtaxing his brain.
After duly admiring each book, Kent said they ought to be getting back to his father, and Oliver, not yet ready to relinquish Kent so soon after finding her, turned her attention to an antique tie-pin that had caught his fancy in one of the bazaars he had visited with his father in Morocco.
It was ornately carved, and had a large red stone as a centrepiece which Kent suspected was a ruby. If Oliver had taken a liking to it, his father would not have quibbled over the price. If it pleased his son, then that was good enough for him.
`Here,' Oliver said suddenly. 'I want you to have it.'
Kent hesitated for a moment or so. She was sure the pin was valuable and had no wish to deprive Oliver of it, and it was hardly an ornament she could wear even if she had cared for it. Deciding her best course would be to accept it for the time being and give it back to his father later, she thanked him gravely and smiled at his, 'Now put it on,' directive.
Matt and Mr Lawn were still engrossed in conversation when Kent and Oliver finally joined them. Matt, in the middle of some technical data, looked up as they approached and although he did not lose the thread of his subject, he seemed fascinated by the pin on Kent's dress.
For a moment she could not understand why she was receiving that amount of attention from him, until she remembered Oliver's gift. Flushing slightly under that relentless gaze of his, she found herself holding her breath in case he actually said what he thought of her choice of ornament. Any such remark would bring him into direct dispute with Oliver, and she would have another worry on her hands. Oliver could be very unpredictable when roused, and might well unwittingly mention the letter.
Hastily she excused herself from the company on the pretext that she was meeting Tony at the pool, it was not a direct lie, for she had arranged to meet him later that day.
To her annoyance, Matt made his farewells at the same time. Apparently Mr Lawn and Oliver were taking the evening flight back to London that day, and in answer to Mr Lawn's, 'I'll probably see you again before I go,' to Kent, she replied quickly that she would be somewhere around, thinking guiltily of 'his surprise when he read the letter.
Matt accompanied her back to the clubhouse, and just as she was wondering where Daphne had taken herself off to, he said caustically, 'Does Lawn's son often drag you off like that?'
Kent wished she could hit him, but instead she looked at him coldly and said stiffly, 'Oliver is an old friend of mine,' and left it at that. She had no
wish to explain why Oliver was like he was; it was no business of Matt King's.
'I just wondered,' he drawled, not put off by Kent's obvious refusal to discuss Oliver. 'He gave you that thing you're wearing, I suppose? Not that I exactly admire his choice. It looks terrible.'
Kent knew he was right, it did look terrible, the colour particularly clashed with the colour of the dress, but she would die rather than admit it to him.
Although she guessed Matt was on guard duty again, and sensed the reasoning behind his questions, she not only resented them, she was hurt by them, too.
'Isn't it about time you joined your friend?' she asked waspishly. 'She must be wondering where you've got to.'
This brought a grim smile to Matt's face. 'Sure,' he answered curtly. 'But first I want to make certain you're in the right company.'
It was the last straw for Kent, who was only too well aware of what he meant. She turned abruptly and walked quickly away from him in the opposite direction.
The pool was deserted when she reached it. It was close on noon and the guests would be gathering for aperitifs in the club bar. Grateful for the peace the pool area offered, she sank down on one of the lilos and gazed unseeingly into the deep blue depths of the pool. When Matt spoke she did not move or give any sign that she had heard him.
'Okay, I guess I asked for that,' he said slowly. 'I knew John had a son, but ...'
Kent looked up at him slowly. It was the first time he had spoken to her without being either dictatorial or provocative. Her eyes met his and her heart missed a beat, and she quickly looked away from that p
iercing stare of his. It was as near as he would get to an apology, and she accepted it as such.
She told him about Oliver then, and as Matt's eyes were drawn to the pool as he listened, she noticed how the brilliant blue of the pool was mirrored in them.
After she had finished, he said quietly, 'Tough luck, I guess it hit his dad hard.'
There was nothing Kent could say to this; her silence was confirmation enough.
Before he left her, Matt asked if she meant to spend the rest of the day with Tony, and on seeing the indignant look this question produced, he murmured, 'Okay, like I said before, if you take any trips out, leave me your whereabouts.'
No 'please', she noticed; it was an order, given in his usual caustic voice. They were back on the old status again with a vengeance. Not that Kent minded, she understood the autocratic Matt King better than the apologetic one.
'How about leaving me your whereabouts?' she asked with a glint in her eye. 'That's if it's not too embarrassing,' she added bitingly.
About to turn away, he slowly turned back to face
her and for a heartstopping moment she thought he would make a grab at her. Then he seemed to relax, and grinned at her mockingly. 'Are you jealous?' he asked infuriatingly, then just as suddenly his mood changed and his eyes no longer held a mocking glint but were flecked with ice. 'I gave you some advice last night, and if I were you, I'd take it. You won't get a second warning.'
Kent's small hands clenched into fists as she replied furiously, 'Don't worry, I intend to ! I didn't ask you to follow me this morning. I'll leave you alone, Matt King, with pleasure, if you'll leave me alone! '
His fine moulded lips twisted sardonically as he surveyed her through narrowed eyes. 'That wasn't exactly the impression I got last night,' he said goadingly, 'and if it weren't for the fact that you bear my name, believe me, any guy could drag you out of a restaurant and I wouldn't budge an inch, but my name counts for something, so just remember that in future, will you? At least I'll be able to keep an eye on you until this farce is over—after that, you can throw yourself at the first available man for all I care.'
