by Peters, Sue
`Then how—?’ She raised her eyes to his face; They glistened with the tears she refused to let fall, the colour of beech bark after rain, and his face tightened with a peculiar expression that made him pause for a while before he answered her question.
`How did I come to be here?’ His voice was low and oddly soft, so different from the last time she heard him
speak that it might have been someone else talking. Even through her daze of shock, she was conscious of the difference. ‘Chris and Melanie came along the creek to see if the heron had come back. Oh, don’t worry,’ his lips tilted suddenly, ‘they kept to the public footpath until I invited them both over on to our side. Melanie showed me the pendant you gave her. It was beautifully done,’ he complimented Jo, talking her shock away, feeling her relax slowly in his arms at the reassuring sound of a human voice. A strong voice, that sounded as if it could cope with any emergency, even a rock fall. ‘Then young Melanie,’ he spoke as if he knew her well; he probably knew the whole family, in such a small community as St Mendoc no one could remain a stranger for long, ‘young Melanie asked me if I heard the explosion last night. She was full of it, and when Julian and I questioned her Chris supplied the details that she left out. When they said you were still at the cottage, I didn’t waste any time,’ he said grimly. ‘Didn’t you realise what was going on?’ A touch of impatience tinged his voice now he saw that she was in a fit state to listen to him. ‘If that lot had collapsed last night, you and your brother might have been killed. As it was …’ He stopped abruptly, his lips tightening.
`Do you think I don’t realise that?’ Jo stiffened away from him, and cautiously he lowered his arms, keeping one still loosely about her waist, but not holding her against him anymore. But how was Ito know the cliff would collapse? I didn’t realise what the rumbling meant, I thought it was an explosion in a quarry or something. The cliffs must have stood like that for hundreds of years,’ she protested.
`Probably thousands.’ The dry tone was more nearly like the Dan Penderick of her first acquaintance. But remember the freak weather conditions we’ve had since last year,’ he pointed out. ‘There was that hot dry summer, that lasted for months on end. Then frosts such as this area knows only
once in a century or so. After that, for good measure we had prolonged rain, then more frosts, now rain again. The rock soaked up the water like a sponge after the drought, the frost expanded and flaked it, and now the edges have crumbled. There’ve been a lot of falls among the cliffs right along the coast, but nothing,’ his eyes took in the wreckage in front of them, ‘nothing so serious as this one up to now.’
`That’s news to me,’ Jo answered tartly. ‘We’ve been living in the Thames Valley until now.’
But you …’
`We experienced the same weather,’ she conceded, but I was not to know what local effect it might have.’ She stoutly defended her ignorance. ‘My father wouldn’t have bought the cottage if he thought it might be unsafe,’ she pointed out.
`If I’d thought it was unsafe, I wouldn’t have sold it to him,’ her companion answered quietly, and Jo stared at him.
`I didn’t know it belonged to you?’
`It did. And thank goodness I transferred the insurance to your father’s name,’ he said seriously. ‘At least you won’t have to suffer a financial loss.’
`I’ll have to get lodgings of some sort.’ Slowly she stirred and stood independently, her mind beginning to work again. `There’ll probably be somewhere in the village we can get rooms until I’ve had time to think what to do.’ It was imperative to get a roof over their heads, if only for a few nights, to give her time to sort things out. ‘This insurance?’ She grasped at his words. ‘I’ll have to ask our solicitor. My father ‘ she stopped.
`I know.’ Dan Penderick watched her struggle for composure, and nodded his approval of her success. ‘Chris apparently confided in Melanie, and she told me.’ Considerately he looked away from her then, out to sea with the screwed up squint against the strong light that beat back
from the water. Still without looking at her, he went on, `You’ll stay with us for the moment, of course. Since the cottage originally belonged to me I feel responsible,’ he insisted, firmly stilling her vehement protest. ‘Hannah will look after you. You look as if you need it,’ he told her curtly, his eyes taking in her slight figure as if he saw her for the first time, and the fine bone structure that showed too plainly through her cheeks. ‘Give yourself a few days, if only for the boy’s sake,’ he urged. ‘We’re not all ogres at Penderick House.’ His lips lifted again, and Jo flushed. The last place she wanted to be was under the same roof as Dan Penderick. He was the last person she wanted to be under an obligation to, either, and now she owed him her life.
`While you’re with us, Julian can sort out the insurance for you,’ he persisted, seeing her reluctance. ‘He’s the business head of the family, and Chris has already made friends with him.’ He deliberately drove her into a corner, using Chris as a lever for the second time, so that once again she would obey him.
`I’ll have to think … I must get my mac and my purse, it’s in the pocket, hung on the living room door,’ she digressed, bidding for time, and took a few tentative steps towards the cottage. It was all the ready money she had, and she had no intention of accepting charity for herself or Chris. ‘I’ll go and get it now the fall has stopped.’
`You’ll do no such thing !’ Her companion gripped her wrist again, angrily this time. ‘You’ll be mad to try and go into that place again. If another rock fall starts, the whole house would go. I forbid you to try,’ he said sternly.
`You can’t forbid me to do anything I’ Jo rounded on him. She knew she was being unreasonable, that he was talking sound good sense, but accumulated shock and a return of Dan Penderick’s autocratic manner were more than her nerves could bear. Her eyes sparkled with anger and she tried futilely to twist her wrist from his grip.
`I—oh !’ To her dismay the jersey-clad figure that held her began to sway as if he stood on the deck of one of his inshore fishing boats in a bad storm, and Jo put her hand to her head dizzily.
`I forbid you to faint until we reach Hannah !’ A hint of alarm sounded in his stern tone. ‘She’ll know how to look after you.’ Implying that he did not? He seemed intent on taking herself and Chris under his wing, whether she wanted it or not. Or perhaps he merely meant to hand them over to the ubiquitous Hannah, whoever she might be, and then wash his hands of them both. His voice came from a long distance away, booming in her ears as it had boomed through her dreams the night before, and desperately she fought to hold on to her failing senses. Hazily she felt his arms go round her for the second time that morning as once again he scooped her up, and this time deposited her on to the front seat of the Land-Rover. She felt him fiddle with the seat belt, adjusting it round her so that she would not slip if she became unconscious and then the engine broke into purring life, carrying her, she realised dimly, back to Penderick House—exactly as its owner intended.
CHAPTER THREE
`My, but you had a lucky escape !’
Jo opened her eyes and found a plump, motherly woman with greying hair looking down at her. She looked to be in her early fifties, and her apple-cheeked face was full of concern.
`Where …?’ Jo struggled to a sitting position and found she was tucked up in somebody’s bed. Memory came flooding back and answered her question for her. She altered it. `Where’s Chris?’
`He’s with Mr Julian.’ A beam lit her companion’s homely face. ‘Those two seem to be getting along fine. He’s a bright little lad, isn’t he?’ She evidently liked children, thought Jo with relief.
`You must be Hannah?’ she hazarded. The way she had said `Mr Julian’ marked her as not being an actual member of the family.
`That’s right, I’m Hannah,’ the kindly face beamed with the self-confidence of a privileged member of the household, albeit not one of the Pendericks. `Mr Dan had you put in this room because it�
��s got the small one leading off it. The little lad can sleep in there, and he’ll feel you’re close by if he finds a strange house offputting. It’s the old nursery,’ her informant explained.
`It’s a lovely room,’ Jo said slowly, looking about her. Appreciatively, because she liked old furniture, and rugs scattered about a floor of oak as thick as ship’s timbers, making soft splashes of colour against the dark wood that offered the skill of the weavers of the world for the delight of the occupant of the room, and betrayed the Pendericks-or at least their ancestors—as having fished the universe for their treasures, which Jo’s not untutored glance told her were probably priceless.
`I don’t remember coming to bed?’
`You don’t need to try,’ Hannah told her firmly. ‘It was before lunch when Mr Dan brought you home, and now it’s almost five o’clock. We’re having dinner at six tonight because of the tide, and you must be hungry,’ she said briskly. She did not explain what the tide had to do with dinner, but Jo had enough puzzles on her mind without trying to sort out this one.
`I remember having something to drink.’
`Mr Julian gave you a glass of brandy. You were that white when Mr Dan brought you in.’
`I can still taste it.’ Jo wrinkled her face with disgust. She remembered a man—a tall, thin man, with a stoop and a fair beard, and a wonderfully gentle voice—bending over her and pressing a glass to her lips. So that was Julian, the elder brother. From her hazy recollection he seemed not at all like Dan. Gentle, Melanie had called him, and he soothed her as tenderly as a woman when the potent drink he coaxed down her broke the last barriers of her self-control, and she wept. Shame flushed her cheeks as she remembered her tears, that she had refused to let fall in front of Dan. Or in front of Melvin, for that matter. She had not cried since her parents were killed, a numb sense of shock carrying her through the dreadful weeks that followed; even through her subsequent broken engagement. Her need to provide Chris with a firm anchor and a new home had bolstered her own courage until now, and it had finally broken on an unexpected kindness. Vaguely, she remembered someone talking to her; it must have been Julian because she felt his beard tickle her forehead, but she could not remember what it was he said. And then, as exhaustion staunched the flow of tears, she heard another, stronger
voice—Dan’s voice—say, ‘I’ll take her up to Hannah.’
She felt herself raised in strong arms and lifted up, but she was beyond resisting, beyond even voicing a protest. Wearily she rested her wet cheek against his dark blue fisherman’s jersey and thankfully allowed herself to be enveloped in the warm mantle of blackness that descended on her consciousness, and gave her merciful oblivion.
`I am hungry,’ she realised, surprised into full wakefulness. ‘My clothes …?’ It dawned on her that she was in a nightdress. Investigation revealed it as one of her own.
`Your dress and sandals were all dust and plaster,’ Hannah told her, ‘but it doesn’t matter. Mr Dan fetched your luggage from the station for you.’ She moved aside so that Jo could see her cases piled on top of a long, low sea chest, complete even to the iron bands, that rested under one window. ‘You’ve plenty of time to have a bath and change before the gong goes, your bathroom’s through that door in the corner.’
`I’ll have to collect Chris.’
`Don’t worry, I’ve tubbed him for you,’ smiled her companion. ‘He told me all about the last few months.’ Her face sobered, and the glance she gave Jo was filled with compassion. ‘You’ve had a real bad time,’ she sympathised. ‘You’ll be able to rest up and have a break, now you’re here.’
`I shan’t be staying,’ Jo answered. ‘Oh, perhaps for a night or two.’ Not more than one night, if I can help it, she added silently to herself. It was one thing to accept Dan Penderick’s hospitality when she had no option, but that did not give him the right to decide her destiny for her. ‘I’ll get rooms in the village until I’ve decided what to do about the cottage,’ she continued as Hannah still lingered. ‘What shall I wear to go down to dinner?’ She hesitated, and sought the other woman’s help. ‘My evening clothes will probably need hanging up for an hour or two to let the
rumples out. They’ve been in the cases for nearly a week now.’
`We don’t dress for dinner in the week, miss,’ Hannah assured her. ‘Only at weekends. An ordinary afternoon dress would do quite well for tonight.’
`In that case I’ve got a dress with me that will do.’ Jo gave a small sigh of relief. She felt at quite bad enough disadvantage at Penderick House as it was, without her clothes letting her down. Her wardrobe was small, but it was versatile, and of good quality. ‘I’ll have a quick bath first,’ she accepted Hannah’s offer, and after a few moments’ hesitation she washed her hair as well. The smell of the plaster dust from the collapsed ceiling at the cottage seemed to linger, and in the centrally heated bedroom she had been given it would dry sufficiently to be presentable before she went down for the meal.
`This is supposed to have something called crushability.’ Jo fished out a guinea-gold, long-sleeved wool dress, and saw to her relief that it lived up to the makers’ claim—it was as creaseless as when it was packed. ‘It will do for tonight.’ She wouldn’t need to bother for more than one night, but she did not say so to Hannah
`It looks lovely with your colouring.’ The older woman zipped her up and hooked the roll collar at the back so that it fitted snugly against her throat, and watched as Jo clipped on a bracelet of warm-coloured brown and cream shaded stone set in a silver mount. A large oval brooch of the same opaque stone set off the shoulder of her dress, and drew a complimentary remark from Julian when she sat down at the table.
`It’s home-made, I designed it myself,’ she said, surprised at his obviously genuine admiration. His own slender tie clip was of solid gold.
`You’ve got real talent,’ Lance Penderick finished his soup with the enthusiasm of hunger, and smiled across at
Jo. ‘You could start a cottage industry,’ he suggested interestedly. ‘The shops here, even those at Arlmouth, don’t offer much for the holidaymakers except bric-a-brac. You’d do a good trade, I imagine.’
`Chris suggested something of the sort,’ Jo smiled back. She liked Lance. He was almost a replica of Dan to look at, but much younger, and a good deal less forbidding. At nearly twenty he already showed signs of his older brother’s tough strength, but thankfully from Jo’s point of view he still retained the uncomplicated friendliness of youth. Dan, she knew, was twenty-eight, and Julian well into his thirties. She smiled as she recalled Hannah’s graphic explanation of the disparity in the brothers’ ages.
`Lovelace Penderick was more explorer than sailor. He was their father,’ Hannah pointed to the picture of a dark-visaged, bearded man hung in the hall as she showed Jo the way to the dining room. ‘He used to be away from home for years on end sometimes, until he finally came back and started the canning factory. It gave him an interest to occupy his time and provided employment for the local people. There was a lot out of work hereabouts at the time.’
It explained the beautiful furniture and rugs, Jo thought, as the portrait hung beside it explained Julian’s colouring. He took after his mother. Her fair, painted face reflected even from the canvas the fragility that must have made her wonder how it was she subsequently bore two such strapping sons as Dan and Lance.
`They don’t need to work, but they’re just like their father for that. Must occupy themselves.’ Hannah shook her head. ‘Mr Julian likes to keep his hands on the reins at the canning factory. He’s got a good manager, so the job isn’t too strenuous for him. And the two young ones,’ Jo smiled at her description of Dan and Lance, but understandingly. No doubt they would always remain ‘the young ones’ to
Hannah. ‘Well, Lovelace Penderick was just the same. Got the sea in his blood, and must have a deck under his feet, and they’re as bad. They’re never really happy unless they’re out in a boat, and them with a whole fleet to do their bidding. But I wo
uldn’t have them any different. There now, I’m gossiping away,’ she became brisk, ‘and you waiting for your dinner ‘
`Come, you must eat properly. It will help you to get over the shock.’ In an unobtrusive manner, Julian kept her plate supplied, making sure, too, that Chris on his other side was similarly attended to. Not by word or gesture did he refer to her breakdown when she arrived, and Jo felt grateful for his consideration. When Dan mentioned the insurance for the cottage, Julian nodded, but refused to be drawn into discussion.
`The insurance is quite in order,’ he told her, ‘but we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Or the next day. When you’re more rested.’ In his quiet way he was as insistent as Dan that she should stay, and Jo began to feel vaguely trapped. Dan she could defy—would enjoy defying, she told herself, feeling his keen gaze on her face from the other side of the table, and wishing he would either join in the conversation or look away from her. She found his silent regard disconcerting. Her defiance of him up to now had not met with any success, she realised ruefully. He had even brought her luggage up to Penderick House. In all fairness, she had probably been fast asleep at the time, and it was considerate of Dan not to disturb her to ask if she wanted her things collected, or left where they were until she had found other accommodation, but just the same his assumption that he could deal with her belongings as he thought fit without first consulting her rankled badly.
She felt a quick flash of irritation as she looked at him now. Even at the dinner table he had to be different, to be the one standing out. Julian and Lance were in lounge suits,
comfortably attired for the evening, but Dan was still in the clothes he wore when he came to the cottage during the morning. True, he had removed the blue jersey, and compromised by slipping a lightweight wool jerkin over his shirt sleeves, as if he did not think her presence at the table was worth while dressing for, and wanted to impress that fact on her without actually saying so.
