Fever

by Charlotte Lamb

  Tilly questioned her sharply about her life, lis­tened with obvious interest. 'This Greg, then,' she said. 'Lives with you, you say?'

  'He's my stepbrother, and yes, he lives in the same house. We have a flat each.' Tilly eyed her. 'Not married, then?' 'Not yet,' said Sara, half smiling as she thought hopefully of Lucy.

  'Planning to?' Tilly asked, and Sara found herself telling her the story of Lucy and Rob. Tilly looked sadly at her.

  'There then, that was a bad blow. I had a brother once, died of something like that.' While Sara was off guard, nodding to that remark, Tilly asked, 'Nick jealous, was he?'

  Sara looked up, her face flooding with colour. She didn't answer, hurriedly looking away. Tilly wan­dered off, grinning.

  The hot June days drifted like dandelion clocks, blowing softly through the green meadows sur­rounding the house, giving the garden a tranced and idyllic grace. Sara watched the boys building a dam in the stream, laughing as it broke up and washed along the bank, sending twigs and rich mud into the reeds. Mallards rose in angry protest as the water washed by them and the boys ran off giggling, their feet filthy and their faces sun-flushed.

  In her lobsterpot playpen, Nicola waved her lin­gers at the birds as they flew past, bubbling softly as she practised her one word. 'Dadda, Dadda,' she said all day, untiring and contented, her plump brown arms dimpled at the elbow, her broderie anglaise sunbonnet hiding the tufts of dark hair which gave her a comic look of her uncle. It always took Sara aback to see Nick's fierce blue eyes in that rounded little face. Judith was not far off when she said the baby looked like him and Sara suspected the resemblance would become more marked as Nicola got older.

  The sun was so hot that Tilly marched down with an old straw hat she had unearthed and jammed it down over Sara's bright curls.

  'Get sunstroke, you will,' she muttered. 'Now, keep it on!'

  Sara grimaced at her back as she left. Tilly was more and more showing a tendency to domineer over her, governing her as she governed Judith and the children. Sara could see that everything within the orbit of Heronbrook was Tilly's property and, in a sense, it was flattering that Tilly should have decided to add her to her possessions, but at the same time it was maddening, Sara was too used to independence to find it. amusing to be treated as a little girl again, yet saucy though Tilly might describe her, Sara didn't have the stomach to fight Tilly. Her own growing fondness for the older woman had softened her. Struggling, she was al­ready submitting to that domestic tyranny which Judith groaned over in private. There were tyrants and tyrants, Sara thought grimly, and the worst was love, because somehow one could not fight it. Under Tilly's gloomy exterior, her sharp pronouncements, lay a love which weakened all opposition.

  Sucking her brush handle. Sara pushed the hat back over her vibrant hair to survey the rippling water. It was testing her technical ability to paint the stream. Water was always difficult.

  Voices drifted down to her and she turned ab­sently to get a shock as she saw Nick. He was stand­ing on the slope above her with Annabel Forcell and Jeremy with Judith in anxious attendance on them all, but for that first moment Sara only saw Nick. He stood there in a pale beige denim suit, his darker shirt open at the throat, the bare brown skin gleaming in the sunlight, his face stupefied.

  There was no other word for it, Sara thought, see­ing his expression. For a second she had been stupe­fied herself, so she knew the feeling, but as she took in his staggered face she started to laugh, amused, and the astonishment went out of his blue eyes to be replaced by rage, pure and simple rage.

  Jeremy was moving towards her, both hands ex­tended. 'Darling, what are you doing here?'

  She stood up and let him take her hands, leaning back to smile up at him vividly, her slanting eyes filled with amusement. 'What does it look like?'

  Annabel had strolled down. 'You get around, don't you?' There was cold hostility in her voice. Sara saw from her petulant face that Annabel had not forgotten the evening of her party, when Sara left taking Nick with her.

  Nick joined them, his hands jammed into his pockets. He glanced at her easel, then at the stream. His blue gaze glittered as it shot to his sister. Judith had a transparent air of innocence, her face bland.

  'I've rung several times, but, you're never in,'

  Jeremy complained. 'It's wonderful to see you again.'

  'It's nice to see you,' she smiled sweetly, and Jeremy pulled on her hands to draw her nearer and kiss her lightly.

  'Isn't it hot down here?' Judith fanned herself dramatically. 'How can you stand it?'

  'Tilly's found me a hat.' Sara tilted her head in it, her green eyes mischievous. 'Do you think it suits me? I feel I should be breaking into a soft shoe shuffle!'

  The hat was old and discoloured, the straw brim bent, but somehow on the small bright head it was provocative and Jeremy's eyes brightened with ad­miration.

  'Very pretty,' he said, and Sara flicked a brief glance at Nick through her lashes. He was looking at her, but he moved his eyes away and stared at the distant green fields beyond the garden.

  'I somehow got the idea you were in France with your brother,’ Jeremy commented.

  Nick turned his head quickly and looked back at her.

  'Greg's home now,' Sara answered. 'He's gone up to Cambridgeshire to see a horse.'

  'Why don't we all go in and have tea?' Judith asked brightly, not quite meeting Nick's cold gaze.

  Sara walked beside Jeremy, her slight curved body casual in the blue shorts and tiny blue sun-top she was wearing. The shorts were denim, very brief, the brevity giving new length to her brown legs.

  The tea party was difficult. Nick wasn't saying a thing, lounging in his chair with a cold look on his face, barely glancing at Sara. Annabel was talking to him, though. She talked throughout the meal, bright eager remarks to which Nick barely replied. Judith passed tea and food, looked amused and, whenever she accidentally met her brother's eyes, slightly nervous. She was hiding it well, though. Jeremy seemed blind to the atmosphere. He con­centrated on Sara, leaning towards her, laughing, talking about his father, Ravens Halt, the picture she had painted, the weather. He passed from one topic to another with barely a pause and Sara lis­tened as though fascinated, her green eyes on his face, smiling at him.

  When they had exhausted all the topics Jeremy could dredge up, and the tea was gone, Sara de­liberately started talking about the picture she was painting. Jeremy listened with the same interest she had shown him, his eyes on her face, watching the vivid mobility of it as she spoke. Sara could sense Nick's irritation, see the drumming of his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  Annabel tried to engage him in conversation again, but Nick merely nodded to her chatter, his brows black above the angry blue eyes.

  Suddenly the parry began breaking up. Nick rose, very tall, his skin taut over his bones, the lines of his mouth set in a cold look.

  'If you're going to get back to town, you should be setting off,' he said to Jeremy.

  Jeremy rose, obedient to the flick of the master's whip. 'Yes, sir,' he responded like a good and faith­ful dog, but his eyes stole back to Sara.

  He opened his mouth to speak and Nick took his arm, his hand closing round it, almost shoving him towards the door. Annabel followed with her mouth turned down. The look she gave Sara as she went was sulky. Judith went with them, talking brightly, but over her shoulder she gave Sara the look of someone saluting before a battle.

  Sara looked at the tea and leaned over to pick up the last tiny white-iced domino cake which Jeremy had been grazing on during the tea. Tilly had made them that afternoon. They were delicious. She bit into it, lying back in her chair, waiting.

  She heard Nick's voice in the hall five minutes later. He was speaking icily to Judith, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. She got the mes­sage from his tone, however. Nick was flaying his sister. His tone had a metallic, biting ring to it. Sara held the little cake and took another small bite. Judith was hardly saying a word, she
noted. Nick was doing all the talking. She wondered what he was saying.

  Stretching her long golden-brown legs, she stared at the sky through the window. It was a blue so halcyon, so meltingly tender, it moved one to tears, the dark shadows of the trees drifting across it as they shifted in the light breeze.

  Behind her the door opened. She did not look round. Languidly she put the cake to her mouth and finished it, dusting her lingers of the clinging crumbs.

  She felt Nick's gaze on her. He stood there for a moment, then the door slammed shut and she heard him walk forward.

  "I'm sorry if my sister has embarrassed you with all this,' he said stiffly beside her.

  Sara was taken aback. She had somehow expected him to storm at her, the way he had just been at­tacking Judith.

  To give herself time to think, she stretched lazily, the movement the sensual, sleepy stretch of a cat in the sun, her arms curved above her head, her slim body graceful.

  Nick was staring. She felt his eyes fixed on her, but she didn't look round.

  'Judith hasn't embarrassed me,' she shrugged. 'I was glad of the work.'

  There was a long silence from him. 'Why did you come?' he asked huskily.

  'I told you—I need the work.'

  He moved to the window and stood with his back to her, his shoulders stiff. 'You know what I mean. You wouldn't speak to me on the phone, you ig­nored me the night I saw you at the ballet. Why did you come down here to Judith's?'

  Sara regarded his lean body, her eyes half closed. 'I didn't know who she was until I got here,' she murmured.

  He drew in his breath sharply. 'I see.' He laughed shortly. 'I should have worked that out.'

  He turned slowly and Sara at once looked away, her face slightly flushed.

  'But will you listen to me now?' he asked in a voice she had never heard him use before, his eyes fixed on her.

  The door opened and Tilly came dragging in, limping violently. 'Can I clear the tea things now?'

  Nick's muttered word made her stare at him, bar­ing her teeth in affront. 'You watch your language, Nick. Don't you look at me like that either. Are you staying? There's no suitcase in your car. Why didn't you let us know you were coming? How many times do I have to tell you that you can't just drop in out of the blue for meals?'

  'Oh, hell and damnation!' Nick flung as he stalked out of the room, slamming the door after him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tilly gave Sara a grim nod, as if to say 'I told you so,' and began to clear the tea things dexterously.

  'Delicious cakes,' Sara flattered her. It did her no good. Tilly merely gave her one of her dry little smiles.,

  'I told you he'd be angry.'

  'Nice to be right every time,' Sara retorted.

  'You can watch your tongue too,' Tilly informed her. 'You're too quick with it even if you don't swear like Nick.'

  She left, no longer dragging her foot, and a few minutes later Judith appeared, sneaking a quick look to make sure Sara was alone. 'Whew!' she ex­claimed, sinking on to the couch. 'Talk about tem­per I He was giving off blue sparks!'

  'What did you say to him?'

  'I didn't,' Judith assured her. 'I let him do all the talking, and Nick can talk when he likes. He never repeated himself once, but he said enough to make me feel two inches high. Am I glad I don't work for him—he must be murder in the bank!' She turned to eye Sara hopefully. 'Has he spoken to you yet?'

  'Tilly came in before he'd said much,' Sara told her.

  Judith grimaced. 'Trust Tilly! I hope to God I haven't done all this for nothing.'

  Sara got up. 'I'm going back to get on with my picture.'

  Judith looked alarmed. 'Don't leave me alone with him.'

  'Sorry,’ Sara retorted without mercy. 'You'll have to face the music, I'm afraid. I expect he'll get over it but as Tilly said, you knew the risks you ran.'

  She left Judith wailing and wandered down through the sunny garden to her easel. Tilly had removed Nicola and her playpen from the grass. The boys had vanished, too, no doubt to be bathed before being put to bed. The afternoon was gliding softly into a muted twilight, gilding the water with a last beauty before the sun sank for the night.

  Sara stared across the stream, watching a wren who had built a nest on the far side, the tiny body darting in a zigzag flight to hide its destination from prying eyes.

  Sara began to touch in flake white, her brow con­centrated, trying not to think of the strange way Nick had looked at her before Tilly came in to in­terrupt them.

  Nick came down the garden so softly that she didn't hear him until he suddenly loomed beside her, his black head way above hers, so that she had to tilt the straw hat to look at him in surprise.

  The sight of him brought hot colour into her face, but Nick looked calmer now, his face completely under control.

  'I realise you don't want to hear what I have to say,' he began at once in level tones. 'But let me say it.'

  She glanced away, her eyes moving back to her canvas, and Nick made a rough sound of impati­ence.

  'Forget that.'

  'I can listen while I work,' she retorted.

  He took the brush from her, dropped it on her stool and seized her arm in tight fingers. She stood in his grip, her head bent down, the wind rustling her hair around the straw brim of the hat.

  'Why did you let me go on believing what I did?' he burst out suddenly. 'Did it amuse you? Was it one of your peculiar games, another tease?'

  'You were having so much fun calling me a cheap little tramp,' she replied tartly.

  'You can't believe that I You knew what you were doing to me.'

  'Your mind was made up about me from the start!' Sara flung at him angrily.

  'I haven't got a mind,' he muttered. 'You drove me out of it long ago.'

  She felt her heart thud violently. She stared down at the grass on which they stood, the crushed scent of it coining up to her, sweet and warm and pun­gent.

  'That doesn't mean a thing to you, does it?' Nick asked harshly. 'You've put me through hell and laughed yourself sick at me. I couldn't bear what I thought you were. I despised myself for going crazy over a girl who went to bed at the drop of a hat.'

  'I seem to remember you were more than ready to take whatever you thought you could get from me, for all your contempt,' Sara accused 'with a fierce anger.

  His other hand came to grip her, the long fingers biting into her. 'You know why. Do you think I didn't hate myself? Do you think I didn't fight it? My God, the hours I've spent arguing with myself!'

  'I can't recall seeing any signs of it,' Sara retorted, but the peculiar dancing elation which was coming into her was making her feel breathless. She looked at him secretly through her lashes. His face was pale, his eyes restless as he looked down at her.

  'I told myself I'd stay away from you, but every time I saw you I lost control.' The hands on her arms slackened, the long fingers moved, stroked her gently. 'If I hadn't cared so much I could have gone to bed with you and forgotten it. I never cared be­fore if there'd been others ahead of me. I can't re­member it ever crossing my mind. I took what was offered and walked away without asking questions.'

  'What a charming attitude!' Sara snapped then in trembling fury, lifting a flushed and angry face to him. How many others had there been for him? She spoke sharply, but her anger was not due to re­sentment of his double standards. She was jealous, stung. 'You had the right to play around as much as you liked, did you? And still cast it in my teeth be­cause you thought I did the same? My God, that reveals the sort of mind you have!'

  'Do you think I don't know that?'

  'Hypocrite!' she spat bitterly.

  His face whitened. 'Yes, I know.'

  'I almost wish I'd been what you thought I was!'

  'Don't,' he said with a hoarse gasp. 'Don't you know what you've done to me?'

  The expression on his face frightened her suddenly. She moved as if to pull away and he caught her back towards him, holding her rigid
ly again.

  'I know you don't want to hear it. You've made that plain. But I've got to tell you. Sara, for God's sake, let me say it.'

  She stood very still, head bent, and felt him star­ing down at her. 'I didn't think I'd ever see you again,' he muttered suddenly. One of his hands moved and removed the straw hat, dropped it to the grass. Nick put a gentling hand to her hair, stroked it. 'That night at the ballet you wouldn't even look at me.' He put his head down abruptly, resting it on her hair. 'It was making me ill to think of you with other men. I couldn't live with the idea. I never knew I had such a vivid imagination. Oh, God, my imagination was working overtime!' She felt his mouth move lightly against her forehead. 'It was the most appalling relief when you came to the bank and told me I'd been making myself ill over noth­ing.'

  Sara forced herself to speak coolly. 'Well, I hope it's taught you a lesson. Perhaps in future you won't be so quick to jump to conclusions.'

  He moved away, looking at her fiercely. 'You de­liberately let me believe it right from the start.'

  'I told you why.'

  His eyes held hers. 'Yet whenever I touched you, you responded,' he said huskily. 'Why?'

  Her eyes fell, her flush deepening. She heard his breathing quicken. 'Sara?' he asked shakily. He put a hand under her chin, lifted her face, stared at her searchingly.

  She tried to avoid his stare, her green eyes moving away, and heard him give a sharp groan. Look­ing back, she saw his eyes half-closed, the blue gleam of them flashing between his heavy lids, his skin taut over his cheekbones. He looked dazed.

  'Darling,’ he said with his eyes fixed on her month, then his face came down towards her. 'Oh, God, let me kiss you.'

  The sunlight was suddenly too bright. Her eyes closed and she felt the heat of his mouth as it parted hers, his arms clamping round her. Yielding, her arms went round his neck, and felt him pull her even closer, the hard insistent warmth of his body pressing against her. His hands gripped her back, caressed her possessively.