'Simeon will have the key, shall I ask him for it?' Vulcan offered, hopping from one foot to the other, his eyes shining at the prospect of widening horizons.
'He could do no worse than refuse, I suppose,' she acceded, doubtful of meeting with co-operation from the surly old man.
As Vulcan ran off towards the kitchen, she slid into the driver's seat, feeling mounting confidence as instinctively she carried out the operation of engaging gear. She was fiddling happily with the various knobs and switches when Vulcan reappeared dragging a grumbling Simeon behind him.
'It'll take me all day to get that toy-fit for the road,' he glared. 'It must be all of five years since it was last used.'
'You mean you'll do it?' She could hardly believe her ears.
'It's a shame to see it fall into disuse,' he muttered, running a thorny hand across the bonnet. 'I've maintained it as best I could, but it needs an outing as much as the boy does.' She warmed to the hint of softening. The old man hid his fondness for the child well, but beneath an abrupt manner was hidden concern for his welfare.
Taking care not to show too much enthusiasm, she turned to walk away, casting across her shoulder. 'It would be nice to go for a drive, especially now the weather is so good. I believe the coast is a mere half hour's drive across the moor? Such a pity to be marooned here—Vulcan adores the sea, he's always prattling on about the lighthouse and the harbour…’
She willed Vulcan not to mention the car to Thor when they dined together that evening. It was foolish, she knew, but she had no intention of being forbidden to take out the car because of a licence she felt, sure she owned but could not produce. A car represented freedom of a sort, and if by chance Vulcan should mention any of their proposed outings to his father she was counting on lack of interest leading him to assume that they were to travel by bus.
Excitement was intense when next morning after breakfast Simeon dourly informed them that the car was fit for the road, with a full fuel tank and even a flask of lemonade and a packet of sandwiches in the boot. Raine, almost as delighted as Vulcan, tried to show her appreciation, but her thanks were brushed aside. 'I did it for the boy, not for you! See you take care of him, and mind you're back in time for dinner 1' Grateful that his simple reasoning had not stretched so far as to question her ability to drive, she beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen feeling happier than she had done since her arrival at Danes' Dyke.
The road was an extension of the grey ribbon, she had travelled on the day of her arrival, but as the little car purred across its surface Raine felt she was in a different world. The moors were bathed in sunshine, and for miles as far as the eye could see sheep grazed contentedly beneath a sky of cloudless, brilliant blue. It was still possible to remember, however—as they sped straight as an arrow in the direction of the ancient seaport that in days gone by had owed much of its prosperity to Vulcan's ancestors—that once the road they were travelling had been no more than a rough moorland track, so sparsely signposted by stones and crosses that only the bravest and most determined travellers had remained undeterred.
She smiled to herself when Vulcan began fidgeting with excitement, sensing that they were nearing their destination, but her own pleasure was no less than his when unexpectedly they breasted a rise and there beneath them, nestling within a crooked arm of cliff, lay a picturesque harbour enclosed by tiers of narrow streets rising so steeply upwards that shops and houses appeared to be clinging precariously to the towering cliffs.
'The fishing fleet is in!' Vulcan's voice was pitched high with excitement. 'Please, can we go straight to the harbour?'
'Of course,' she laughed, 'I can hardly wait to be shown around!'
Feeling inordinately proud of her skill and road-sense, she manoeuvred the car through narrow, busy streets until they reached a car park near, the harbour, then filled with a spirit of adventure the earlier Haldens might have envied, they set off walking, drawn like magnets towards the line of masts strung out along the quay.
To her surprise, Vulcan seemed well-known to the fishermen who welcomed him with huge grins and greeted him by name, 'Well, young feller, come to pester us again, have you?' one black-jerseyed sailor teased.
'I've come to show my friend around, Skipper Postgate,' he replied with grown-up dignity. 'Do you mind if we stand here and watch you unload the catch?'
'Bless you, no!' The skipper's twinkling eyes contrasted brilliantly against his tan. 'Better than that, come aboard, I'll find you a seat where you can see everything without getting in the way!'
Eagerly they scrambled over the side and felt enormously privileged when they were ensconced on a pile of upturned boxes and left with the strict injunction not to move until the skipper gave permission.
'We won't, I promise you,' Raine's husky voice assured him as he prepared to resume his duties, 'and thank you, Skipper Postgate, for your kindness.'
'There's not much we fishermen wouldn't do for Captain Halden, lad,' he replied gruffly. 'Keeping an eye on his charges is little enough return for all he's done for us.' Vulcan stifled a giggle but did not give her away. In her shapeless jumper, creased jeans and with hair short and unkempt anyone could be forgiven for mistaking her for a boy.
'Captain Halden?' When the skipper had gone curiosity prompted the question. 'The skipper referred to your father as Captain Halden, is it a courtesy title, do you suppose?'
Vulcan tore his eyes away from the fascinating scene just long enough to scoff, 'Of course not. I've already explained that Thor gave up command of his ship to look after me!'
Some of her puzzlement disappeared as she began to understand her host and the heartache such a decision must have caused him He belonged to the sea, was as much part of it as the wind, the rain and the other more violent element from which he took his name. She pictured him as she had so often seen him, striding the passages of the old house-as if they were open decks, swinging on his heel with restrained savagery each time his progress was blocked by a brick wall, then striding off in the opposite direction, chin outthrust, rebelling inwardly against the absence of wind and biting spray. Abrupt and uncaring though he might seem, he had accepted the ultimate sacrifice of giving up the life he loved in order to ensure the welfare of his small son!
Vulcan interrupted her train of thought with information he was bursting to air. 'Do you know the names of all those fish?' He pointed downward to where the catch was stacked in boxes ready to be winched ashore.
'I do!' he claimed hastily when her lips framed a reply. 'The main catch is cod, with a few haddock, whiting and skate and those flat fish are plaice. This boat is a keel boat, you see,' his bright head glistened in the sunshine as he nodded towards fishing nets swaying in the breeze. 'They use several types of net—trawl, seine, drift and line, and two of the smaller keel boats fish for crab and lobster all the year round.'
She did not need to pretend to be impressed. 'How come you know so much, did Simeon teach you?'
'Simeon and Thor both told me a little,' he confessed, 'but a lot I picked up for myself just by listening to the fishermen. Come on,' he scrambled from his, seat as the last box of fish was being winched on to the quayside, I'll show you the crabs and lobsters now.' Mindful of the skipper's warning, she put out a detaining hand, but then out of the corner of her eye she saw a wave from the wheelhouse, indicating that it was safe for them to make their way ashore.
An auction was in full swing when they reached the fish quay, so they joined the buyers, stepping over gushing hosepipes to inspect the wriggling harvest reaped only hours earlier, and watching with keen interest the swinging needle registering the weight of fish being quickly slung on and off a huge weighing scale. 'Isn't it exciting!' Vulcan whispered, his hot, sticky fingers reaching out unthinkingly to capture her hand. Her heart faltered, then raced on. Was this small gesture destined to be her one and only, victory over the male occupants of Danes' Dyke, or could it be an indication that her presence might, in time, be found tolerable? Her delight in such a p
rospect found expression in a quick squeeze of the small hand nestling inside her own, but her smile faltered when, as if suddenly reminded that she was to remain an outcast, he withdrew contact and thrust his suddenly clenched fist deep into his pocket.
She tried not to show how much the action had hurt, but it was difficult to recapture the air of easy companionship they had earlier shared, and a lump in her throat kept her silent while Vulcan explained in detail the habits and characteristics of lobster and crab. She shivered with apprehension when he picked up a crab with claws still threshing.
'This one is female,' he astounded her by saying.
'The male is heavier, with a larger apron, but the female's flesh is much more succulent.'
As they moved on, Raine swallowed her hurt and attempted to revive the flagging conversation. 'All the lobsters I've seen have been red, how come these are dark blue?'
His upraised eyebrows were miniature replicas of Thor's. 'Because they aren't cooked yet,' he scoffed, then, dormant devilry aroused, he decided to shock. 'They're thrown into cauldrons of boiling water while they're still alive!'
Her stomach heaved and she experienced sudden aversion to the young monster with an .inherited tendency to enjoy deliberate cruelty. She turned away from him, trembling, as a spectre from the past pounded upon the locked door of her mind, a spectre resurrected by a child's expression o£ sadistic enjoyment… '
She was leaning against the harbour wall fighting a puzzling faintness when she heard Vulcan's voice as if from afar, 'There's Thor's Range Rover, he must be inside the Shipping Office—I'll go and see!'
'No!' Her hastily whispered denial did not reach the boy's ears and with a sense of foreboding she watched his small figure running in the direction of a wooden building set at the far end of the quay. When he had climbed up a flight of steps and disappeared through a doorway, she utilized the following minutes to regain her composure, hoping fervently that the child was mistaken—one Range Rover looked very much like another and Vulcan had barely given himself time to check the number plate. But the hope died a sudden death when an unmistakable figure appeared at the doorway through which Vulcan had disappeared and halted at the top of the flight of steps to scan the crowd below.
For seconds she watched him unobserved, thinking, as the sun struck his fiery head, that this was how the first Halden must have looked as he stood upon the bridge of a whaler searching the ocean for the first sight of prey. She flinched when she was caught in his sights, harpooned by piercing eyes that forbade her to move as he began striding her way. She waited, mesmerized, breaking from his glance only when he had drawn near enough to cast a shadow across her pale face.
'Vulcan tells me you drove here by car—I'd like a more detailed explanation.'
Inwardly she cringed, but she tried to reason with the owner of the grim voice. 'We discovered the car in the garage and asked Simeon to make it serviceable. I… I thought it a good idea to remove Vulcan and myself as far as possible from the house N… we seem always to be in the way.'
'And your loss of memory had no effect upon your ability to drive?' he scathed, 'nor caused you any misgivings as to whether or not you're competent to drive a strange car through strange surroundings?'
'None,' she answered truthfully. '1 think I must have used a similar type of car—I felt at home immediately I sat behind the wheel—and I read the road quite well.' Pride in her achievement enabled her to look him straight in the eye. 'I coped without difficulty even through the town,' she boasted, then faltered, wondering if storm signals were green.
'So.' At the sound of sarcasm she braced herself. 'You suspected you could drive; you felt at home behind the wheel, you read a perfectly straight road, and on the strength of that you decided to put both Vulcan's life and your own at risk!'
'Oh, no!' she gasped. 'I would never——-'
'But you already have,' he rasped, controlling his aggravation with difficulty. 'How can you be certain that you would have reacted properly in the event of an emergency? Your confidence could easily stem from a few hours' tuition as a learner driver, did you think of that? When you can show me a licence I'll believe you competent, but until then you're not to drive the car again, especially not with Vulcan as a passenger!'
She wanted to argue, but honesty forced her to accept that what he had said was true. He was not a man to trust to hunches, always he would need to be certain, to have suspicions confirmed or denied so that no room was left for doubt. A stubborn, immovable man, yet one upon whose integrity and strength she was glad to lean.
'I'm sorry," she offered, her shorn head drooping on her slender neck. 'Of course you're right.'
Far from mollifying him the admission seemed to provoke even more anger. His huge frame stiffened and his hand curled into a clenched fist as if to control an urge for violence. 'If you remain with us long enough you'll discover I'm always right,' he informed her icily. 'Up until recently my home has been run on the lines of a ship, efficiently and harmoniously, and as long as I'm in command I'll allow no insubordination below deck, is that understood?'
Her blood ran cold. For Vulcan's sake she had to protest. 'You surely don't subject a young boy to such harsh discipline? Children need to be loved, Captain Halden, don't you realize that? Think of your own childhood, remember your mother and the love she must have poured out on you, then perhaps you'll begin to understand Vulcan's needs and try to supply some of the things he has missed.'
When she dared to look up his eyes were cold as ice floes upon Arctic seas.
'I never knew my mother—just as Vulcan has never known his. Life at Danes' Dyke was too comfortless for either of them, they both stayed only long enough to give sons to the men they married before deserting to the towns from which they came. My father was a stricter disciplinarian than I, yet I survived and so too will Vulcan, without spurious sentiment or sympathy. He will be taught, as I was, that women are superfluous to requirements, necessary only if one wishes to propagate the species…"
She was directed to sit in the back of the Range Rover on the drive home—put in her place—relegated to the position of least importance by the man whose scorn of her sex stemmed from bitter seeds sown in his mind while still a boy. She felt anger against his father, the man whose bitterness he had inherited' and which even now was being passed on to ensure a third generation of woman-hating Haldens, and against his wife who, however much deprived, had had no right to desert her infant son. Her worried eyes were drawn towards Vulcan, but she had to admit as she listened to his cheerful prattle that outwardly, at least, he was showing no sign of deprivation. Yet instinctively she knew that behind the male arrogance set so incongruously upon young shoulders was hidden a yearning to which the boy could probably put no name—a need for soft words of comfort to heal a bruised knee, or a tender goodnight kiss in place of the usual brusque command that he should retire to bed. She stirred uncomfortably. Thor's methods were wrong, too criminally harsh, so—and her pulses raced at the thought—she knew she was committed to pointing out to him once more the error of his ways.
CHAPTER FOUR
During the following weeks the opportunity Raine sought eluded her. Thor, she discovered, spent most of his time at the harbour, looking after the interests of the fishermen and their dependants or just generally messing about with boats. Whether this state of affairs had arisen only since her arrival she had no means of knowing, but Simeon's deepening resentment made her suspect that Thor's prolonged absences were being accounted her fault, with consequent black marks notched up against her.
The loneliness of her existence, coupled with the blankness of a mind which no amount of probing could penetrate, ought to have left her depressed, but she was strangely content to remain an outcast and her obvious happiness as she went about her chores cast sunshine into every corner of the house and coaxed slow, warming response from the men, responses which at first took the form of hesitant grins whenever she appeared, then graduated from shy greetings to covert act
s of kindness such as the saddling of a horse whenever she wanted to ride, swift offers to help lift heavy carpets on to the lawn for cleaning, or the carrying of buckets of distemper with which she had transformed almost every room. Vulcan, too, became her shadow as each day was turned into an adventure, each chore an exciting exploit. He maintained his reserve, but she felt amply rewarded by his reaction to her casual suggestion.
'I think you're old enough to learn to ride, don't you? How about asking the foreman, Mr Marshall, to pick you out a suitable pony?'
Pop-eyed with delight, he breathed, 'But who'll teach me? Thor says I'm not old enough yet to match my strength against a pony, and Simeon doesn't ride.'
'I'll teach you,' she twinkled, her eyes deeply blue. 'If you'll allow me to, that is?'
Swallowing back delighted acceptance, he strove to sound indifferent. 'All right, I don't mind being taught by a woman, just to begin with.'
Controlling an urge to turn him on her knee and deliver a good spanking, she allowed the insult to pass. 'Good, then there's no time like the present, let's go down to the stables.'
Ted Marshall was most co-operative. Waving towards a nearby field containing half a dozen dales ponies, he offered, 'Take your pick, Miss Raine, I'm sure you can judge horseflesh as well as anyone. After watching you ride and hearing you use words that are everyday terms to horsemen I'm convinced you've forgotten more about horses than most of us around here have ever known.'
The Girl at Danes' Dyke - Margaret Rome Page 3
