by Peters, Sue
`You’re admiring your own reflection in the water,’ Dan accused her. ‘Remember what happened to Narcissus, and beware I’
`I’m doing nothing of the sort.’ Startled, she turned hastily, and almost lost her balance.
`Careful, it isn’t very deep, but it’s big enough to wet you if you fall in.’ He put out his hand and steadied her, and she jumped to her feet, scarlet with mortification. Why did she always have to behave in this clumsy fashion when Dan was with her? she wondered, furious with herself. Once again she had made herself an object of derision, and she looked round hastily, half expecting to see Tessa with Dan.
`If you’re looking for Chris, he’s safe enough down by the breakwater,’ Dan misinterpreted her seeking glance.
`You startled me. I didn’t hear you come.’
`The rowlocks made enough noise to warn you,’ he protested. ‘They creaked like a banshee.’
`Creaked? I thought that was a loose board on the breakwater.’
`There’s no tide in to move the boards,’ he pointed out, `and not enough wind either.’
Her own ignorance had let her down again. Jo smarted under his amused smile. Tessa would have recognised the sound, it would have been as familiar to her as the ring of bicycle bells had been to Jo in the university town where she lived for so long.
`I thought you were baiting lobster pots.’ She threw it at him like a challenge, her poise shaken by his unexpected appearance, when she thought she and Chris had the beach to themselves.
‘Er—not exactly baiting them.’ To Jo’s astonishment, Dan looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Just checking to see if the pots have caught anything, that’s all.’
He had said he was baiting them. She remembered his words quite distinctly, they had prompted Chris’s question to Lance, so she could not be mistaken. He had lied to Tessa. Why? A sudden thought struck her. Perhaps Dan was as reluctant for herself and Tessa to be in one another’s company as Jo was herself. Maybe he found her continued presence at Penderick House difficult to explain away to the dark-haired girl. Tessa would be unlikely to look kindly on the presence of a possible rival on what she seemed to regard as her own territory. So why had Dan backed up Julian, when he suggested she stay on at the house? Probably for Julian’s sake. Dan had a strong regard for his family and his home that even his love for the Kittiwake could not outweigh.
`Will you take the lobsters back with you, if you find any?’ Chris joined them; Dan was like a magnet to the boy, Jo thought, and the man seemed in no way averse to the
child’s company, in fact he encouraged his persistent questions.
`Yes, I’ll take any that are there. You can come with me if you like,’ he offered.
`Ooh, please! Are you coming too, Jo?’
`No, I’m going to look for stones, like I said.’ Dan had not asked her. He did not ask her now, even out of politeness after what Chris had said, and Jo’s proud spirit shrank into herself rather than ask to go with them. She would go for a walk by herself. Dan need not be afraid she would foist her company on him, and perhaps embarrass him in front of Tessa.
With a perfunctory wave she turned her back on the departing rowboat, hearing the creak of its rowlocks like derisive laughter behind her. There was a path up the cliffs from the beach. She disdained to walk along the sands any further, the stones for Melanie’s bracelet would have to wait. If Dan intended to check his lobster pots close to the shore she would be under his surveillance the whole of the time she was on the sands, and the idea did not appeal to her.
The cliff path was steep and she paused for breath as the sun came out with sudden warmth, forerunner of the soft air that would soon star the lanes with primroses. With urgent longing, she wished the summer would come, wished the dark winter well behind her, with its troubles and its problems safely solved. Her eyes followed the sunlight where it lit up the brooding cliffs, and caught the field of daffodils that had shown up so clearly from the deck of the Kittiwake the day before.
`I’ll go and have a look at it,’ Jo decided. It would give a point to her walk, and a reason if Dan questioned why she had quit the beach instead of remaining there to look for stones as she originally intended. With renewed energy she started to climb again. Now and then she caught sight of
Dan and her brother in the rowing boat far below, and some way behind her. They appeared to have stopped, probably to check one of the lobster pots, and firmly dismissing the fisherman from her mind Jo gained the soft turf on the cliff top with a puff of relief.
The view was superb across wild, rolling countryside, that in the sunshine lost its bleak look and took on a majesty that caught and held her. She could learn to love this alien countryside as much as she had learned to love one of its sons. The automatic light from the end of Penderick Head winked in a friendly fashion as she turned her back on the fitful wind to get her breath a moment, and she stared at it, a sharp pain in her heart. The light must mean home, to Dan, coming in from the fishing grounds. A welcoming warmth reaching out through storm and wind to draw him back to harbour. He did not need to fish, she knew that from Hannah. Any more than Lance needed to, or Julian to look after the canning factory, but she admired the spirit that scorned to live solely on inherited wealth, and the sense of responsibility that worked in order to provide work for others, in a community that might lose its population and its identity if its people had to leave their birthplace behind in order to seek a living elsewhere. Julian had every excuse not to work, and Dan could easily earn a living if he had to by sketching alone, his draughtsmanship had in it a spark of genius that lifted his work—and his second love, after the Kittiwake—above the level of a mere hobby.
`Oh, do leave me alone !’ She spoke aloud in angry despair. No matter how hard she tried, Dan Penderick was never far from her thoughts. She could not dismiss him from her mind as she wanted to. She had entered his home, and against her will he had entered her heart.
`Oh, how lovely !’ Suddenly, at her feet, the field of daffodils spread a yellow nodding carpet that immediately lightened her mood. ‘I wonder if I could take some back
with me.’ Dan had said the flower farm was deserted. That meant nobody owned the daffodils, so it would be all right for her to pick them. Further along the cliff, the desolate ruin of a cottage confirmed Dan’s statement, and allayed her conscience.
`I’ll take some back for Hannah ‘ They would make a change from the pallid petals and cloying perfume of the narcissus that Tessa had brought with her that morning, and which seemed to pervade the whole entrance hall with their sickly smell that Jo decided she no longer liked.
`These will be more cheerful.’ The gay yellow of the tiny cliff field entranced her, and she cast about for the path that must lead down to it.
`It doesn’t look as if it’s been walked on for years.’ Jo glanced at it dubiously when she found the smooth-looking track that dipped steeply into the field below. It would be awkward to negotiate. But probably Tessa had had to climb down a path just as steep to pick her narcissus. What Tessa could do, so could she. The thought spurred Jo on, and with a quick shrug she sat on her heels and shuffled the first few feet downwards, holding on tightly to clumps of greenery growing on either side of her. ‘It’s not too bad,’ she decided. `Oh, my goodness !’ A clump of grass that had looked firmly rooted gave way under her pull, and gravity did the rest. With a speed that took her breath away she started to slide, and before her clutching fingers could find further purchase to brake her progress, she landed in an undignified heap among the daffodils she had come to see.
`Oh, what a shame, I’ve broken some !’ She was lucky she had not broken her limbs as well, she realised, dusting herself down and gazing in awe at the path by which she descended. ‘Oh well, I’ll find an easier way back when I’ve picked a bunch to take home.’ She checked her thoughts. Penderick House was not her home, and never would be. Maybe it would be Tessa’s. Certainly it would be Tessa’s,
if the girl had her way. With suddenl
y lowered spirits Jo bent to pick her blooms, choosing the ones just showing yellow from the bud so that they would last longer. A lark rose from the tiny meadow, trilling its joy in the approach of the warmer days, and Jo stood upright for a moment to ease her back. The water sparkled below her, and in it a tiny speck that was Dan’s rowing boat butted its way, following the line of the shore.
`Cooee !’ Impulsively Jo waved, her spirits restored by her gay handful of flowers, and after a long minute an arm waved back. A small arm—Chris’s. Dan did not wave. He probably thought it was beneath his dignity, Jo thought, vexed with herself for drawing attention to her whereabouts in the first place. Or maybe he did not want to loose his oars. Charitably she gave him the benefit of the doubt.
`If it was Tessa he’d have waved,’ she told herself forlornly, and watched the rowboat turn about. It headed for the beach, at an abrupt right angle to its previous steady course.
`He’s suddenly remembered another lobster pot,’ she thought, maliciously glad that Dan was human enough to forget where he had sown it in the first place. Maybe they would have the results of his catch at lunch tomorrow. It would be nice with salad.
The thought of mealtime made Jo look at her watch. She would just be in time for lunch if she started back now. She could stroll along the cliff tops and enjoy the view in peace. She eyed the way she had come down with disfavour. It was out of the question for her to return by the same path, the last three or four feet into the field were a sheer drop, fine for descending by, but impossible to backtrack without a boost, and there were no footholds in the smooth sides of the cliff. A sudden prick of fear touched her, and she thrust it aside impatiently. There was bound to be another way up to the top of the cliff from the field. She
derided herself for her momentary panic, and strolled slowly as far as the end corner.
`The path must be on the other side.’ With hastening steps she walked the other way, and realised with growing dismay that she had descended by the only possible path into the field, which lay on a ledge jutting out from the cliff, over a hundred sheer feet from the shore below.
Dan had not said why the flower farm was deserted. Was this the reason? Perhaps there had been a cliff fall that made access to the flower field impossible, or dangerous.
Realisation of her predicament wrung a small moan of fear from Jo’s lips. She was trapped. And it was her own fault.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘DAN!’
Her frightened cry startled a seagull, and it rose squawking from its perch on some unseen ledge below.
`Dan !’
She raced to the edge of the field overlooking the beach and scanned the water anxiously, but Dan and his boat had disappeared.
`I daren’t go near the edge. It might give way.’ A shiver shook her. If the daffodil field suffered the same fate as her cottage garden, she would not stand a chance.
Her fingers flew to her lips. Was that a rumble? It grew louder, and the aeroplane responsible for the noise droned by overhead, oblivious of her plight. Jo sank to her knees, cold and trembling.
`Dan! Oh, Dan !’
From far off she seemed to hear his voice call her name. The mind under stress did strange things, she reflected, with a detached kind of interest. She needed Dan now as never before, and like a mirage his voice called out to her.
`Jo! For goodness’ sake, woman, stop picking those confounded flowers and come away from the edge of the cliff. Have you got no sense?’
It was Dan’s voice. She was not imagining things. And she did not imagine his mood, either. She got to her feet, her daffodils still clutched in her hands, and ran shakily back across the field to the bottom of the path by which she had descended. Dan’s face appeared over the edge and looked down on her, the same as he had looked down into the rock pool, only this time he did not smile.
`What on earth possessed you to climb down there?’ His face was black with anger. ‘You might have been killed.’
`I c-can’t get back.’ Her voice trailed off into miserable silence. She no longer felt afraid, now that Dan was here. Yes, she did. A small, separate part of her analysed her feelings. She was not afraid of being trapped on the cliff any more, but she was afraid of Dan’s anger. And it needed no intuition on her part to see that he was furious with her.
`Take hold of the end of this rope,’ he barked the instruction at her, and tossed down the looped end of a stout rope. It landed at her feet with an uncompromising thud.
Wh—what for?’ She knew, really, and shook at the prospect.
`Slip the loop round your waist,’ he returned impatiently. `It won’t pull tight. Then take hold of the rope in both hands. If you lean backwards against the loop, you can walk your way up the cliff face with me pulling you, the way climbers do.’
`Can’t you come down here, to me?’ However angry he was with her, she longed for the reassurance of his presence at her side.
`No, I can’t.’ He was not disposed to be comforting. ‘If I come down to you we’ll both be stranded. Be thankful I saw where you were,’ he snapped brusquely. ‘Now don’t argue,’ as she raised a fearful face to his, ‘just do as you’re told. Chris isn’t big enough to pull you up, even if I did come down, and there aren’t any trees around to tie the rope to, so you’ll just have to help yourself. Maybe the experience will teach you a lesson.’ He spoke as if he would have liked to spank her, and Jo bridled at his tone.
`Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,’ she snapped back, anger overcoming her dread of both the climb and Dan.
`Slip the loop over you, like I said.’ She complied with an angry wriggle. Now hold on to the rope and I’ll take
your weight. And for goodness’ sake, throw those flowers away !’ he glared down at her bunch of daffodils, which she still held in her hands. ‘You’ll need both hands to hold on to the rope.’
`I came down to get them, and I’m bringing them back with me.’ Furious herself, now, she ignored his impatient exclamation, and carefully tucked her bunch of flowers inside the belt of her mac. It did not matter that they dripped fresh, sticky sap down the red waterproof. She disliked the garment anyway, and it gave her an angry satisfaction that it should be the mac Melvin had chosen for her that was spoiled by her adventure.
`Are you ready now?’ Dan enquired sarcastically.
`Quite, when you are.’ She smiled up at him sweetly, suddenly glad she had annoyed him; for some perverse reason that gave her satisfaction, too. It was shortlived. He pulled on the rope, standing well back from the cliff edge himself, and hauled with all his might.
`Don’t pull so fast !’ she protested. She felt like a spider, dangling helplessly at the end of a web, and she thrust out frantically with her feet to save herself from being bumped against the cliff face. A piece of rock dislodged itself, and she ducked hastily as it hurtled past.
`Did it touch you?’ Dan’s enquiry was instant, and strained.
`No, it didn’t,’ Jo shouted back grimly. But it’s no thanks to you. Take it a bit slower, can’t you? I can pick my way more carefully then.’ It was easier for her to choose her path as Dan slackened his efforts and she ascended more gradually, and soon her head was above the cliff top, and she scrambled thankfully on to her knees on the welcome turf.
`Sis!’
`Stay where you are !’ Dan checked Chris’s rush to help her with a curt command, and the boy halted at once,
glancing uncertainly from Dan to Jo and back again.
`Dan …’ She looked at him beseechingly, her courage suddenly evaporating now that the danger was over.
`You’ve got to come to us, not us to you.’ Dan still stood well back, the end of the rope in his hands. ‘Come on, away from the edge.’ He pulled on the rope again, forcing Jo to stumble towards him, like a naughty puppy on the end of a lead, that had to be trained. Fury choked her, and she tore at the rope round her waist with angry fingers, struggling to free herself.
`You can slip it off now.’ Dan loomed over her, blackbr
owed and angry. ‘Though for two pins,’ he gritted, ‘I’d keep you roped until we got home. That way I know you’d be safe.’ He let the rope go slack, and without its support the loop dropped round Jo’s ankles. She went to step out of it, and stumbled as it caught her shoe. Instinctively she reached out to Dan for support, and winced as his fingers caught her arm in a hard grip.
`Don’t fall flat on your face, on top of everything else,’ he growled, and she looked up at him, stung to protest by his manner. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and compunction stung her, blowing away her anger at the realisation that he had hauled her weight up a sheer cliff face, on his own. He was enormously strong, but even his strength must have felt the strain.
`You dropped your daffs when you came over the top.’ The buds had fallen from her belt as she regained the turf, and Chris stepped forward to recover them for her.
`Leave them there.’ Dan grabbed the boy’s windcheater and held him back. ‘How many times have you got to be told—both of you—to keep away from the cliff edge?’ he said sternly. ‘There’s been a rock slide here before, that’s what destroyed the path. There might be another at any time. Your posy would turn into a wreath if you got caught up in a cliff fall,’ he pointed out baldly.
`Dan, I’m sorry.’ Jo blurted it out, the enormity of her own careless action coming home with uncomfortable force. `I’ll walk home by the lanes,’ she promised meekly.
`You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ he retorted. ‘You’re coming back in the boat with me, where I know you can’t get into any more trouble,’ and his tone brooked no disobedience.
The cloying perfume of narcissus met her the moment she stepped into the house. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, and marched towards the stairs to get rid of her sticky mac. Dan came in behind her, but she kept resolutely on. He had not spoken on the way back, and she could think of nothing to say to him now. She preferred not to think of the return journey. He hustled her unceremoniously into the rowboat, which rocked alarmingly as he pushed it out into deep water and got aboard himself. She sat with Chris beside her, facing Dan and trying not to look nervously over her shoulders at odd scrabbling sounds that emerged from a wicker pot just behind them. Could lobsters bite their way out of wicker pots? Or was that crabs? Maybe he had a crab in there. She tensed and looked straight in front of her, trying not to see Dan’s set face as he pulled strongly at the oars, the muscles on his arms standing out with the rhythmic dip and thrust that drove the boat through the choppy water with a steady progress. The squeak of the rowlocks jeered at the black depression that settled on her like a cloud. The aura of it even reached Chris, so that after a while he stopped twisting round to watch the contents of the wicker pot—whatever they were—and sat silent beside her as Dan turned the boat along the more placid waters of the creek, and pulled up beside the landing stage at the foot of the house lawns.
