‘So I’ve always guessed,’ Blake said gently. ‘Now, Dominic, go easy on my car.’
‘I’ll drive,’ snapped Sorrel. ‘He’s drunk, or he wouldn’t have said that crazy thing about our engagement.’
‘I don’t mind which of you drives as long as you don’t put her in dock for a week. I’m going to need her a lot.’
He needn’t have been so offensive to either of them, thought Lesley, though both were irresponsible behind the wheel of a car. He was unbearably irritated, she supposed, at the thought of letting anyone else drive his precious car. Some men were like that. Not even the woman they loved was as important to them as their cars.
Lesley found her breath. ‘Suppose all three of you go in Blake’s car and I come back in my own with Dingo. That’s the sensible solution.’
‘Indeed it isn’t,’ Blake drawled. ‘You’re not fit to drive. You’re trembling like a leaf. Your nerves must be all shot to pieces.’
Not my nerves, thought Lesley miserably. Just my heart. Actually she couldn’t keep her hands still and in desperation she pushed them behind her. Oh, God, she thought, I can’t stand much more of this. I shall break down in a minute and make a complete fool of myself in front of them all. If only they’d all go and leave me her! Not that she’d dare to stay here, not for very long. In front of her was the sinister outline of the old church and below it the haunted rectory. She couldn’t see the gravestones or the prow of a ship that had been wrecked many years ago, but she knew they were there, ghostly and terrifying. Behind her, just as frightening, was the darker outline of the old farm, once a monastery. But she’d say nothing, just give herself time to get over these silly jitters and then drive herself back if she killed herself in the attempt.
But she reckoned without Blake. He opened the passenger door of the Mini, pushed Bingo into the back, and snapped at Lesley, ‘Get in.’ Then in a leisurely manner he got into the driving seat beside her and waited.
Sorrel took the hint. She flung herself into the Leopardia, hardly waiting for Dominic to do the same, pressed the ignition switch and sent the engine roaring into life. Then she was away, the loose pebbles flying as she drove over the roughest part of the path.
Blake didn’t even wince. He sat impassively still till she was out of sight and then started up the Mini. Lesley, who was still shaking, managed to stammer,’ I’m sorry about your car.’
‘And so you should be,’ he said grimly. ‘Leading me this dance. I came back from London with everything settled as regards Trevendone driving hell for leather, and found you’d disappeared and nobody had a clue where you were.’
That silenced her for a while as she battled with her misery. The silver ribbon of the moonlit road spun ahead of them and she watched it until she felt able to force herself into speech again, quavery, yet oddly passionate. ‘I wasn’t putting on an act trying to dramatise myself by staying out there. Dingo was on that ledge. I whistled and called him, but he wouldn’t come. Directly I moved away to get help he whined so pitifully I hadn’t the heart to leave him.’
‘Of course you hadn’t,’ said Blake unkindly. ‘He’s got you for a sucker, Lesley, just as the twins have.’
Lesley gritted her teeth. How he loved to bait her, and there was nothing she could do about it. She just rose to it every time, idiot that she was.
They weren’t going in the direction of Trevendone. She had noticed that already. Now he turned into a high-banked lane, stopping where a gate led on to the downs. He turned towards her. ‘And now may one know your plans for the future? The twins have theirs settled, but what about the girl who came from over the sea with her head full of romantic ideas of Tristan and Yseult, a summer sea of turquoise and emerald and those knightly fellows of Camelot? Reality has been very difficult, hasn’t it—a cruel coast and storm-lashed waters and instead of chivalry the hard, hard grind of slavery. How do you feel about it all now, Lesley?’
‘I shall always love it—it’s like a first love, romantic and starry and unreal,’ she flashed back. ‘Nothing can spoil that for me.’
‘And so...?’ he asked smoothly.
She swallowed. ‘I’m not a Trevendone. I never had any place here.’
‘But you made yourself a place here. Gave yourself the job of fighting the slave-master. How much longer is that going on, Lesley?’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ she begged. ‘I’m so ashamed that that name was ever given. As soon as I began to work at Trevendone, I realised the burden you were carrying ... the way you were neglecting your own work, your own career, just to put Trevendone on its feet.’
‘Well, that job’s finished,’ he admitted with a smothered laugh. ‘As to your not being a Trevendone, I knew that almost from the beginning. They’re among the world’s takers, Lesley—you are a giver. Once I asked you to give yourself to me, and your lips said “yes.” How much longer are you going to go on fighting what you know is in your own heart?’
‘I ... I ... don’t understand.’ The dull ache of emptiness in her heart had given way to a tight, excited feeling—But even now she couldn’t believe it.
‘Why do you think I kissed you under the Kissing Trees?’ he asked in tender mockery. ‘You with your head full of those Cornish legends and superstitions. I’m sure you’d heard that those who kiss for the first time under the Kissing Trees remain true lovers for ever and a day.’
‘You heard the superstition?’ she marvelled. ‘Oh, Blake, I—’
All the rest of what she might have said was lost as he held her closely with lips that seemed to steal her senses.
Much, much later, he said,’ I’m glad it’s a new country for us, Lesley. You’re too vivid, too vital for these grey skies. We’re going together, you and I, to a new land, a new life.’
‘But some day, we’ll come back so that I can recapture the magic,’ Lesley smiled, ‘the magic of the land where I met my own true love.’
‘And,’ said Blake, holding her very closely, ‘the place where that Tristan and Yseult caper went all wrong. Where the dark-faced grim King Mark won the day ... and the sweetest girl from over the sea.’
The Girl From Over the Sea Page 22
