Act of Possession

by Anne Mather

  Halting at the edge of the cobbled stable yard, she stamped her feet in their dark blue trainers. She shouldn’t have come. That was all there was to it. She could fool herself that she wasn’t harming anyone, but she really shouldn’t have come.

  ‘What are you looking so fed-up about?’ enquired Reed tolerantly, detaching himself from the groom, and strolling lazily towards her. ‘I didn’t think you’d be up yet. Didn’t you sleep well?’

  ‘I slept very well,’ replied Antonia formally, her shoulder lifting to dislodge the hand he had laid upon it. And, because it was expected of her, she added: ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. As a matter-of-fact, I slept badly,’ Reed responded softly. ‘For which you can take the credit.’ His lips twisted. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘Yes.’ Antonia made a dismissive gesture. ‘Mrs Macauley sent me breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, I was already up when it arrived.’

  ‘I told her not …’

  ‘Yes, so the maid said,’ Antonia interrupted him tensely. ‘But I’m not used to lying in bed until all hours. I’m a working woman.’

  ‘So you keep reminding me,’ remarked Reed drily. ‘Now—would you like to look round? I don’t know if you’re interested in horses, but I keep a couple of hunters.’

  ‘A couple!’ Antonia glanced back over her shoulder. ‘I saw at least twice that number in the paddock.’

  ‘They’re breeding mares,’ responded Reed carelessly. ‘Charlie Lomax, he’s my trainer, he likes to keep a few mares in foal, just to keep his hand in. He used to run a stud farm, before he came to work for me. I’ll show you the foals, if you like. They’re very friendly.’

  ‘No. That is—–’ Antonia looked down at her feet as she struggled to find the words. ‘Reed, I’d better go back.’

  His grey eyes narrowed. ‘Back where? To the house?’ He frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I mean—back to London,’ she admitted unhappily, and he smothered a savage oath.

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he swore, in a low voice, ‘I thought we’d settled that!’

  ‘Well, we haven’t,’ she mumbled, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. ‘Reed, I feel such a fraud! I don’t belong here.’

  ‘Who says so?’ he enquired, his features hardening. ‘Did Rose say something? Did anyone else make any insinuations?’

  ‘Well, no—at least, not exactly.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Antonia scuffed her toe against the cobbles. ‘Mrs Macauley kept calling me Miss Sheldon, so I told her I was divorced.’

  ‘And?’ His eyes were intent.

  ‘Oh—–’ Antonia sighed. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It does to me.’ He paused. ‘Are you telling me Rose made some comment about you being a divorcee?’

  ‘Well, she said … she said I was young to be looking for another husband,’ admitted Antonia at last. ‘I don’t think she believed me when I said I wasn’t.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Reed’s expression softened again. ‘Oh, take no notice of Rose. She’s curious, that’s all.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be?’ exclaimed Antonia, not responding to his mocking smile. ‘Reed, can you imagine what these people must be thinking? I’m half-inclined to believe she sent my breakfast to bed to see if we were sharing the same room!’

  ‘What? With me out with the horses soon after seven?’ asked Reed teasingly, and her colour deepened. ‘Antonia, if we were sleeping together, we’d still be in bed. Believe me, I would not be venting my frustration on a dumb animal!’

  Antonia’s breath caught in her throat. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’

  ‘Why not? They’re true.’ His hands descended on her shoulders, and uncaring of the old man still pottering about in the yard behind him, he jerked her towards him. ‘Just because I’ve agreed to your terms, doesn’t mean I have to approve of them,’ he told her huskily, his mouth warmly insistent on hers. ‘Now, come on: stop all this nonsense about rushing back to London, and let me show you the grounds. I want you here. That’s what’s important.’ He let her go with some reluctance, and captured her hand in his. ‘I’ll even let you pick some crocuses in the wood, if you promise to be good.’

  Antonia shook her head, but she was weakening, and he knew it. ‘Reed—what about Celia? What will she say when—–?’

  ‘Let me worry about Celia,’ he informed her flatly. Then, observing her uncertainty, he shook his head. ‘Stop anticipating something that may never happen.’ He smiled. ‘Now—do you want to take the dogs? I warn you, they’re very affectionate—just like their master.’

  It was a wonderful morning. Accompanied by two excitable retrievers, who spent most of their time gambolling in the grass, Antonia walked for miles. Wearing a pair of rubber boots Reed found for her in the stables, she kept pace with him across the paddock—where the foals dogged their progress—and into the pasture, with its doe-eyed collection of cattle. It didn’t matter where she put her feet in the rubber boots, which was just as well in the circumstances, and Reed doubled up when she fastidiously cleaned her boots after every unwary step.

  ‘So long as you don’t make a mistake and sit down in it,’ he teased her, his hand running possessively over her rear, and she met his gaze in sudden confusion, before brushing his hand away.

  They talked a lot; impersonal things mostly, although Reed did tell her a little about the company, and the role he played in it. He was offhand about his own qualifications, playing down the first he had got at Oxford, the agile brain, which had absorbed so much information about the company’s operations while he was still in his teens. Yet, Antonia sensed the pride he had in his family’s traditions, his admiration for the prestige which his father and his grandfather had maintained, their success in a world where it wasn’t always easy just to survive.

  She was fascinated by his grasp of investment and finance, but although she listened avidly when he spoke of the company’s accomplishments overseas, she was once again reminded of their very different backgrounds. Reed had grown up, secure in the knowledge that one day Gallaghers would be in his control; a multi-million dollar company, with all its incumbent responsibilities. She, on the other hand, was the daughter of a mining overseer from Tyneside, who had been killed in an accident at the pit, when Susie was only a baby.

  They had lunch in the breakfast room, an attractive room, overlooking the terrace. After their walk, Antonia’s cheeks were flushed with becoming colour, and Reed seldom took his eyes from her as she ate her meal with real enjoyment.

  ‘It’s just as well I’m only staying until tomorrow,’ she exclaimed, swallowing a mouthful of the succulent steak and kidney pie that Reed had explained his cook, Mrs Braid, had prepared for them. She smiled delightfully. ‘I’d get awfully fat! Just like Tuppence.’

  ‘Who is Tuppence?’ enquired Reed lazily, neglecting his own meal and resting his elbows on the table.

  ‘He’s a cat,’ admitted Antonia ruefully. ‘My mother’s cat, actually. Susie torments him unmercifully.’

  Reed cupped his chin on one hand. ‘I’d like to meet Susie,’ he said, disconcerting her still further. ‘Can I?’

  Antonia put down her knife and fork. ‘How can you?’ she countered, looking down at her plate. ‘I’ve told you. She lives with my mother.’

  ‘In Newcastle. I know.’ Reed stretched across the table to take one of her hands in his. ‘But you go home sometimes, don’t you? At weekends,’ he prompted drily.

  Antonia tried to draw her fingers away, but he wouldn’t let her, and looking up at him, she said: ‘Why do you want to meet her?’

  ‘Because she’s yours,’ replied Reed evenly. ‘Because I’d like to know her, when you talk about her. Because she’s part of your life.’

  Antonia sighed. ‘Oh, Reed—–’

  ‘Oh, Reed—nothing,’ he told her softly. ‘How about next weekend? I could drive you up there on Friday night—or Saturday morning, if you’d prefer it. Don’t worry,’ he added
, as her eyes grew anxious, ‘I’m not inviting myself to your mother’s house. I can stay at an hotel.’ He grinned. ‘I presume there are hotels in Newcastle, aren’t there?’

  ‘Of course, there are.’ Antonia was indignant, until she saw his teasing smile. ‘But—well, I don’t know if my mother would like that. Your staying in an hotel, I mean. She’d think—well, you can guess what she’d think, I’m sure.’

  ‘That her home wasn’t good enough?’ enquired Reed, with a grimace. ‘Sweetheart, if you invited me to stay with you, I’d be only too happy to accept.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Antonia was confused, as much by his casual use of the endearment as by his outrageous suggestion. What he was proposing was wild; reckless; almost as reckless as her being here at Stonor’s End.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to go home next weekend?’ he asked, playing with her fingers, and she drew an uneven breath.

  ‘What would I tell my mother?’

  ‘Do you have to tell her anything?’

  Antonia shook her head. ‘How do I introduce you?’

  Reed shrugged. ‘As a—friend. What’s so unusual about that?’

  Antonia bent her head. ‘A rich friend!’

  ‘A friend,’ he amended harshly. ‘Antonia, stop putting the obstacle of my being a Gallagher between us!’ He lifted her hand to his lips and she felt his tongue against her palm. ‘Let me come with you,’ he said huskily. ‘Let me meet Susie. I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you.’

  Mrs Macauley’s arrival with their dessert saved Antonia from making a response. But Reed’s eyes were frankly persuasive as they dwelt upon her face, and Antonia snatched her hand away in embarrassment before meeting the housekeeper’s knowing gaze.

  ‘Mrs Sheldon approves of your choice of menu, Rose,’ Reed remarked incorrigibly, as the housekeeper cleared their plates. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Antonia? You did enjoy Mrs Braid’s pride and joy!’

  ‘I—the pie was lovely,’ Antonia conceded uncomfortably. ‘I don’t think I could eat another thing.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find room for a few fresh raspberries,’ responded Mrs Macauley drily, her sharp eyes missing nothing in their exchange. She set a dish of raspberries and a jug of cream on the table. ‘Will you have coffee here, or in the drawing room?’

  ‘We’ll have it in the sitting room,’ replied Reed, pushing the fruit towards Antonia. ‘Help yourself,’ he added. ‘I like watching you.’

  Antonia flushed then; she couldn’t help it; and Mrs Macauley regarded her half-sympathetically. ‘Take no notice of him, Mrs Sheldon,’ she remarked, with the familiarity of long service. ‘If you want some—have some. He hasn’t eaten a decent meal since he came here.’

  She departed on this note, and Antonia looked doubtfully across the table. ‘Is that true?’

  Reed grimaced. ‘We’ve only been here since last night!’

  ‘Didn’t you have any breakfast either?’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ he responded quietly. ‘At least—not for food,’ he added disturbingly. Then, as if realising he was getting too serious, he forced a smile. ‘Have some raspberries. Just to please me.’

  They spent the afternoon in the sitting room, listening to music and watching the changing weather outside. Contrary to Mr Fenwick’s expectations, it had begun to rain while they were having lunch, and now the drops pattering at the windowpanes enclosed them in a world cut off from outside influences.

  Antonia had found that Reed’s taste in music was similar to her own, a mixture of contemporary bands and traditional jazz. They both liked China Crisis and Duran Duran, but they also enjoyed Count Basie and Duke Ellington, and Antonia discovered other favourites like Elton John and Lionel Richie among the enormous collection of albums stacked beneath the hi-fi system.

  Curled up on the floor in her jeans and sweater and without any make-up, she was totally unaware of how young she appeared. It was only when she looked up and found Reed’s gaze upon her that she realised she had forgotten to be on her guard with him, and she brushed her hair out of her eyes in a purely defensive gesture.

  ‘Relax,’ he said, seeing the sudden consternation that crossed her face at this awareness. ‘You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘You know I am,’ she admitted, unknowingly sensuous as she stretched her arms above her head, and Reed shifted on the soft rug.

  ‘I’m sleepy,’ he said, lowering his length at right angles to her and depositing his head in her lap. ‘Do you mind?’ he murmured, but it was a rhetorical question. His eyes were already closed, and she hadn’t the will to refuse him.

  He did sleep for a while, she thought, his head growing heavier on her legs. With his eyes closed, his face had a disturbing vulnerability, and she couldn’t resist the urge to smooth the silky dark hair back from his forehead. He didn’t move, the splayed fan of his lashes a dusky arc above his cheekbones. It made her reckless; it made her want to touch him in other places; and her fingers slid daringly over his ear to the heavy roll collar of his sweater.

  He stirred then, his eyes opening to look up into hers. Then, lifting his arms, he took her hand and pushed it inside the neck of his sweater, letting her fingers feel his warmth and the lean hard strength beneath his skin. It was an unnerving experience, an unfamiliar intimacy that brought with it a quickening of her pulses and a wash of hot colour to her cheeks. His skin felt so supple, so masculine, the scent of his body unmistakably aroused. For a moment, she held his gaze, feeling her own response like a physical ache in the pit of her stomach. Then, abruptly, she pulled her hand away and scrambled to her feet.

  His head thudded on to the rug at her hasty withdrawal, but she didn’t apologise. Instead, she went to sit on the seat by the window, and by the time she had controlled herself sufficiently to glance behind her, Reed had resumed his position with his back against the patterned sofa.

  The maid who had brought Antonia’s breakfast that morning, appeared with afternoon tea at about five o’clock. Antonia, who had spent the last half-hour gazing out at the windswept paddock, abandoned her seat by the window to return to an armchair at the girl’s appearance, and Reed smiled at the maid as she set the tray beside her.

  ‘Hello, Ruth,’ he said, his tone revealing nothing but a friendly interest. ‘How is your mother? Is she any better?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Reed.’ Ruth straightened from her task and gazed at him with evident pleasure. ‘That holiday really bucked her up. Doctor Michaels says there’s no reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Reed nodded, and Antonia averted her eyes from his attractive face. ‘Tell her I was asking after her, will you? Oh, and get George to give you some of those hyacinths out of the greenhouse.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ruth coloured with pride. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Good.’

  Reed regarded her good-humouredly, and with a little nod at Antonia, the girl made a hasty retreat.

  Alone again, Antonia forced herself to look at him. ‘You like your tea without milk, don’t you?’ she asked, noticing the slices of lemon residing on a dish.

  ‘Please,’ he conceded, putting aside the record sleeve he had been reading. ‘You remembered? That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘Reed, please—–’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said shortly, evidently finding it less easy to be civil with her. His grey eyes narrowed sardonically. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  And it didn’t. For the remainder of the time they were at Stonor, Reed was on his best behaviour, sustaining a friendly—if impersonal—relationship, that Antonia told herself she wanted, but which was very hard to take after their earlier closeness.

  But what did she want, after all, if not to maintain a certain distance between them? she asked herself impatiently, when on Saturday evening Reed abandoned her after dinner, on the pretext of checking on one of his mares that was in foal. How could she expect to go with him, out into the darkness of the
stableyard and subsequently, into the warm shadowy intimacy of the stables themselves? she argued fiercely. There would be too many awkward moments, too many opportunities to surrender to the guilty feelings that lay so shallowly beneath the veneer of her detachment. But when, at ten o’clock, he had not come back and she retired to bed, there was a hollow feeling in her stomach that would not go away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REED drove her back to London on Sunday evening.

  It was still light when they left Stonor’s End, and Antonia looked back over her shoulder with a helpless sense of despair. It hardly seemed possible it was only two days since he had brought her here. Already she felt an affinity with the house that was going to be difficult to displace.

  The day itself had been something of an anti-climax, in that Reed had not appeared before lunchtime. Mrs Macauley, taking pity on her, as she mooched about the downstairs rooms that morning, had declared Reed had been up half the night with the vet, attending to the mare, whose foal had been born feet first. But Antonia had guessed that the housekeeper, too, had her doubts, and one sort of speculation was just as bad as another.

  In the afternoon, Reed had spent more precious time talking with George Hetherington, the gardener. Antonia had seen them from her bedroom window, when she had gone upstairs to pack, and she had stood for several minutes watching them, feeling as if her heart was being torn out of her. She didn’t want to go; it was as simple as that. She didn’t want to return to London, knowing that when she left him, she might never see him again.

  The maid, Ruth, had been changing Antonia’s bed when she first entered the bedroom, and she had offered to pack for her. ‘It’s all right; I can manage,’ Antonia told her gratefully. ‘You go on with what you’re doing. I shan’t get in your way.’