Bride by Contract

by Margaret Rome

  'I wasn't worried!' Cheerfully, Lynda linked an arm into the crook of Troy's elbow. 'I knew she would be perfectly safe, any girl would be in such capable hands. Let's sit on the garden terrace.' She urged Troy forward. 'Percy, would you be a dear and ask Cook to prepare us a pot of her excellent coffee?'

  Wishing she had yielded to the temptation to wear one of the many fashionable outfits her mother had insisted upon packing into a spare suitcase, Morva trailed miserably in Lynda's shapely wake, resenting the ease with which she was monopolising the attention of the man who supposedly regarded her as a sister yet whose amused blue eyes looked far from fraternal.

  Obviously bursting with excitement, Lynda barely allowed them time to settle into chairs drawn up around a wrought iron table before spilling out a breathless catalogue of new experiences.

  'Troy, I've attended the swellest parties, mixed with all the Best People in all the Best Places! Percy took me to the Henley Royal Regatta where we had Pimms on the lawn in the Steward's Enclosure, ate strawberries and cream for tea, then enjoyed a wonderfully childish night at the fair! And do you know what?' she appalled, wide-eyed with wonder. 'I sat side-by-side on the roundabouts with a real, live princess!'

  'I don't believe it!' Troy's tone was so heavily laced with mockery Morva cringed, but Lynda was too carried away to notice.

  'I did!' she nodded triumphantly. 'Also, every night we danced at a different, very exclusive nightclub, places with fantastic names such as Regines, Casserole, Legends and Tokyo Joe's, packed with grand people and well-known stars of showbiz drinking twenties cocktails and pink champagne! One of the very best parties,' she sighed ecstatically, 'was held in a hotel ballroom that had been transformed into a fairyland with tons of tinsel and glittering decorations, and with fountains rising and falling in time to the beat of heavenly music.'

  'But it wasn't all play, remember.' Percy sauntered back on to the terrace. 'Have you forgotten to inform top management about the business deal I negotiated that will stamp the top people's mark of approval on Howgill Holiday, Inc?'

  He sat down hurriedly, as if disconcerted by Troy's narrow, gimlet stare.

  'As you appear to have adopted the role of negotiator on behalf of the company, the communication of facts must be your responsibility,' Troy charged. 'So, what is the deal and who are the people concerned?'

  Morva felt resentment rising inside her as she watched her brother writhe, reduced to the level of a schoolboy miscreant called into the presence of a censorious headmaster.

  He cleared his throat and with a dismal attempt to appear nonchalant airily outlined, 'Due to rapidly rising costs, fellow members of my polo club are looking around for alternative winter quarters for their ponies. During the season when they are needed as often as seven days a week to play practice chukkas and weekend matches, ponies must remain stabled at the club, but after skilful persuasion most of my friends have been sold on the idea of using Ravenscrag as a winter home for their mounts. Consequently,' he concluded with a burst of bravado, 'I have agreed to arrange a polo weekend on a date before the official opening so that interested parties can judge for themselves the standard of pasture and stabling facilities that are available.'

  Even before he spoke, Morva knew that Troy's reaction to Percy's show of initiative would be negative. Consequently, her resentment seethed to boiling point when he vetoed it curtly.

  'It's a great pity that you should have made such an arrangement without prior consultation, for I have no intention of allowing a horde of Hooray Henrys to trample muddy chukka boots over newly cleaned carpets, or to churn up the paddocks playing hockey on horseback. From next weekend onwards every available room in the castle will be occupied by overseas guests being charged a great deal of money for the favour of spending their vacations in aristocratic surroundings. So we have no need to court the patronage of your titled friends who, if rumour does not lie, will expect free board and lodgings in exchange for penning their titled signatures in the visitors' book.'

  'But Troy, darling,' Lynda protested, her bedazzled eyes clouding with disappointment, 'you may be able to afford to be ruthless back home, but here success is measured by acceptance into the exclusive circle of high fliers that counts Percy as a member. Despite the fact that you are now an Earl in your own right, you have yet to be initiated into the rarified upper class atmosphere!'

  Anger forked blue as lightning from his eyes when he pushed back his chair to condemn with amazed vehemence.

  'Heaven forbid that my worth as a human being should depend upon acceptance into the snobocracy! My decision is final. No way will I put myself in the position of having to admit to a proud father that lack of vigilance on my part could be responsible for turning his usually level-headed daughter into a pathetic social climber!'

  When he strode from the terrace with Lynda hurrying in his wake, obviously anxious to placate him, Morva's leaden spirits were not lightened by Percy's explosive observation.

  'Belvoir is being deliberately bloody minded, not so much angry as dog-in-the-mangerish, I'd say! Lynda's obvious enthusiasm for London society has aroused latent possessive instincts he probably didn't realise were present until he sensed she was slipping out of his reach.'

  She flinched from the lash of words delivered without thought for the hurt that might be inflicted upon a sister whose matrimonial bonds he had helped to knot.

  'And is she slipping out of his reach?' she managed to enquire calmly.

  'Not as yet,' he admitted moodily. 'As you've probably discovered for yourself, Canadian hillbillies are not the easy pushovers one might expect. I did my best to get Lynda chateaued—sloshed on wine— expecting her to jump at my proposal, but her giggling response was an evasive soliloquy about needing more time; not being rushed; having to speak to Troy before she could give me a definite answer. If you take my advice, Morva, you'll keep a sharp eye on your husband, for I'm beginning to suspect that Lynda may be biding her time and could still be harbouring ambitions centred upon the man she fell in love with long before his status was heightened by a title.' He jumped to his feet, exploding wrathfully, 'Though what she can see in that cussed, overbearing swine I simply cannot imagine!'

  The sympathy he always seemed capable of arousing swamped her tender heart when he slumped back into his seat with his blond head bowed.

  'What the hell am I to do?' he appealed to Morva. 'Because I relied too much upon your ability to exert influence on my behalf, I've allowed my friends to think that I rather reluctantly allowed myself to be persuaded to accept the post of social director in a subsidiary of my brother-in-law's huge international company, to assist him in his plan to utilise his inheritance by making Ravenscrag the nucleus of his company's first venture into the hotel business! As you can appreciate, within my elitist circle of friends the approved job circuit is strictly confined. Anything to do with manufacturing or industry is deplored as "brass with muck", but working for a company, and specially for a family business, is considered perfectly acceptable. But after spinning them such a tale—with the very best of intentions, mind you—I can't face the thought of being forced to give the chaps the big elbow, knowing that the outcome is bound to be total SOHF!'

  'I beg your pardon…?' Morva looked as bewildered as she felt.

  'Sense of humour failure,' he interpreted desperately. 'Please, Morva, can't you think of some way of helping me out, you must have some influence over your husband, especially after you and he have spent a clandestine night together.'

  At the jab of his cruel finger upon the sore, tender spot she was nursing her face whitened.

  'There was nothing secret or underhand about our absence,' she jerked. Then spurred on by an impulse to shock him out of his self-absorption she defied. 'We were in Scotland visiting Mother. Because a terrific cloudburst had made the roads impassable we were forced to stay the night.'

  'Oh, really? And what did you think of her?' he enquired without the slightest hint of rancour.

  'I found
her radiant, extremely kind, and very charming,' she gasped, feeling the wind had been taken out of her sails.

  'Yes, Mater's not a bad old stick. At least she can always be relied upon for the odd cheque or two whenever funds are running low.'

  She shot to her feet, angered beyond belief by his blatant hypocrisy.

  'Do you mean to say that during all the years you've spent agreeing with Granny's condemnation of our mother's character, helping to turn me against her, you've been in close touch—even accepted her money! Are there no depths you are not prepared to plumb in order to continue living a life of sybaritic idleness?' she condemned bitterly.

  Nonchalantly he stood up to face her, severing their last remaining bond of affection with the unrepentant sneer.

  'I have to fight dirty, to sink to the depths, as you so contemptuously put it, if I am to continue living the only sort of lifestyle I've ever known, because I resent having to learn obedience when I have been taught only how to rule. Nevertheless, my insincerity is not as great as your own, for at least I don't make promises I'm not prepared to keep.'

  'Promises…? Which promise did I make and fail to honour?'

  'Come now, Morva!' he pretended to mock. 'You readily agreed how the cake was to be divided until all of it became yours!'

  She backed away, deeply disgusted yet conscious of having suddenly been cured of physical and spiritual blindness, marvelling at all the things about him that she had not seen, all the faults and weaknesses that had remained hidden. How shrewd of Troy to have rated her brother lowly—how angered he would be if ever he were to discover the extent of the deception Percy was planning to impose upon his protégé.

  Suddenly she saw herself as Troy would be bound to see her, a mute uncaring bystander—an accomplice, almost—to her brother's trickery. The thought was unbearable. Whatever the price, whatever the outcome, she had to prevent Lynda from being exploited, as ruthlessly manipulated into a loveless marriage as she had been herself. 'I'm prepared to bargain with you, Percy,' she blurted recklessly. 'Promise me that you'll leave - Lynda out of your matrimonial plans and in return I'll make every effort to persuade Troy to offer you a more favourable position, preferably in his London office. Also,' she ran her tongue around lips that felt suddenly parched, 'I'll allow you to carry out whatever arrangements you have made with your friends.'

  'You will…!' He sounded hopefully incredulous. 'But what excuse am I to use as a buffer during the inevitable collision with your husband?'

  'All you need do if he should question your actions,' she husked, 'is tell him that I have granted permission—acting upon the authority he bestowed upon me and which he insisted had to be exercised.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  A compromise had been reached. Because the expected invasion of business executives had been postponed, moved to a later date, the sort of pressure Troy appeared to thrive on had been removed, so that the week prior to the arrival of their first contingent of overseas guests had been one of hectic preparation rather than the state of demented chaos Morva had envisaged. But her greatest release from tension had followed Percy's arrogant tilt at authority. Making no attempt to disguise his satisfaction, he had confronted Troy halfway through dinner with the complacent statement.

  'Oh, by the way, Belvoir, as Morva has given the go-ahead to the business proposition I put to my polo-playing friends, all arrangements for their weekend visit have been finalised—except for their actual date of arrival. I was wondering,' he had paused to allow a few sips of wine to add to his moment of triumph, 'whether this weekend would be convenient?'

  Inwardly, Morva had felt her courage shrivel, killed by the laser bright glance Troy had aimed in her direction. She had braced to endure a scene of humiliation, to have her first attempt to exercise authority contemptuously overruled by the hard-headed tycoon whose iron fist controlled the reins, determining every slight alteration in the progress of his company. But the expert manipulator, the boss man who had integrated the power of a lumberjack, the wiliness of a hunter, the skill of an angler into the jousting arena of commerce had donned the impassive mask of an Indian brave copying the possum's habit of avoiding confrontation by lying dormant.

  'I hope you don't mind having your decision overruled by your partner,' Percy had dared to prod further, as if determined to elicit sparks from a smouldering furnace.

  'On the contrary,' Troy had responded on a calm note of quiescence that had not deceived Morva for the briefest moment, 'I'm delighted to learn that my wife has begun acting upon her own judgment. As you both seem convinced that the polo-playing weekend is a good idea, perhaps we should include the sport among the programme of activities that has been arranged for the entertainment of our guests. But bear in mind, Eden,' he had concluded with the mildest of stings, 'that I'll expect to be provided with proof that your abilities can keep pace with your sister's assurance.'

  Whether his attitude had been genuine or a mere front erected to deprive Percy of satisfaction, Morva had had no way of knowing. But the coolness with which he had treated her since, together with the amount of attention he was paying to Lynda, had convinced her that the only part she was to be allowed to play in his life was that of a walk-on, walk-off understudy. A role he had seemed to sanction when, after making several attempts to speak to him in private, she had finally run him to earth in his study.

  Immediately, she had launched into an apology.

  'Troy, I had a very good reason for siding with Percy. I'm sorry if—'

  'So am I,' he had interrupted curtly, 'sorry you appear incapable of transferring your loyalty from your brother to your husband. Percy's ambitions must mean a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't have dared—'

  He had broken off abruptly. 'Let's forget about it shall we,' he had returned to his papers with a weary sigh, 'there's no profit to be gained from raking over cold ashes. And please don't worry about having overturned my decision. So far as I am concerned,' he had dismissed contemptuously, 'any spark of spirit in a marble madonna must be counted as progress.'

  And so Percy's friends had been invited to participate—though not to stay—in providing entertainment for guests who had been ferried in coaches that had swished their cargoes through deserted moorland roads, passed glowering fells and endless stretches of purple heather—scenery that had elicited exclamations of delight from Transatlantic visitors conditioned, by the need to live within handy reach of the hubbub of trade and commerce, to driving through crowded streets, breathing in air polluted by traffic fumes, noise, and odours rising from fast-food emporiums spewing out fuel needed to stoke up the boilers of human money-making machines.

  'Excuse me, Lady Morva!'

  Morva wheeled away from the window where she had been watching Troy marshalling an army of beaters and a variety of yelping, panting dogs into Land Rovers that were to spearhead the first day's attack upon plump, unsuspecting grouse.

  'Come in, Mackay,' she encouraged the anxious-looking cook who was hovering on the threshold of a breakfast room whose sideboards were still waiting to be cleared of heated dishes that had kept a continuous supply of kidneys and bacon, sausages, kedgeree, kippers and scrambled eggs warm and moist beneath high-domed lids. 'Has something gone wrong, and if so, what can I do to help?'

  'Nothing has gone wrong, Your Ladyship.' The cook seemed almost to bristle at the notion of anything daring to interfere with the culinary campaign she had entered into with the enthusiasm of a general determined to win a prolonged and exhausting battle. 'It's just that I've not yet been informed how many guests will be present at the picnic lunch. I must have some estimate of the size of the party, otherwise some of our guests may go hungry.'

  'That is highly unlikely.' Morva had to smile when she thought of the amount and variety of food which for days past Mrs Mackay and her helpers had been busy preparing, stocking larder shelves and filling refrigerators and cold store to their utmost capacity. 'I have the list here.' She handed over a clipboard with a written list of names at
tached. 'Every one of our male guests is taking part in the shoot and quite a number of the ladies. I ticked off their names as they came down to breakfast and enquired which absent partners would be joining the picnic luncheon party. As you can see, I've made out a separate list of the less energetic who prefer to sleep late and eat lunch indoors.'

  'Very sensibly, I dare say!' Her Granny's cut-glass accent tinkled behind Mrs Mackay's shoulder. She waited until Cook had bustled out of the room before sniffing haughtily. 'I've been amazed by the discovery that our grouse moors are about to be visited by a crude rainbow of colours! Never in my life before have I seen men assembled for a grouse shoot wearing loud checks and uniform jackets known, I believe, as windcheaters, coloured lime green, citrus yellow, purple and even a ghastly shade of pink. One would imagine they had come prepared to hunt parakeets on a tropic island,' she shuddered. 'The grouse will be frightened out of their wits by the discordant clash of colours long before they fall to the guns!'

  Morva actually felt her cheeks draining pale when she spotted Troy's bulk looming on the threshold. He looked comfortably prepared to spend a day out of doors in a checked shirt, baggy guernsey, and the inevitable ancient jeans with legs tucked into a pair of dull green Wellingtons. But his features, tanned russet as autumn beeches, set rigid with displeasure when he stepped near enough to overhear her Granny's disparaging remarks.

  'May I remind you, Lady Lucy, that our guests are here to enjoy themselves and that it is in your own best interests to ensure that they manage to do so! Though they may not conform to the rules of dress laid down by one of your Victorian novelists who stated: "I hold that gentleman to be the best dressed whose dress no-one observes", when it comes to rules governing shooting they all know the form. Each one is an experienced marksman, handpicked from an avalanche of applications from would-be guests because of reputations they have gained of being real dead-eyes. So far as I am concerned, the most important badge of membership required of any man about to take part in an exercise involving guns is skill and knowledge of how to avoid turning an enjoyable sport into a very dangerous hazard!'