by Pamela Pope
EDEN'S LAW
Pamela Pope
They brought out the worst in each other!
When the death of her fiance sent Meredith home to work for her father's law firm, she never expected to be met with hostility from her new boss, Joss Hamblyn.
They fought incessantly, and yet she was helplessly attracted to him. "There's a strange chemistry between us that you can't deny, " he said. "I've only got to touch you and there's fire in your veins. "
Her scorching feelings for him were impossible to deny--but so was the knowledge that he intended to marry someone else!
CHAPTER ONE
Meredith was not in the best of moods when she pushed open the door of the New Inn and went inside. Her feet hurt from walking nearly a mile downhill in high-heeled sandals, and the case she hadn't liked to leave in an unattended car felt as if it was dislocating her shoulder. So it didn't improve matters when she heard the landlord too engrossed in conversation with someone in the other bar to pay any attention.
It was not until she realised they were talking about her that she listened unashamedly, and she tensed with indignation.
'They tell me the Paxton girl's coming back here to live,' she heard the landlord say. 'How does that grab you?'
'It doesn't,' said another male voice. 'Secretary, and more, to a self-made millionaire who got himself killed in his private plane! Sad they both ran out of luck.' His tone was disparaging, completely lacking in sympathy.
The landlord laughed. 'The newspapers made a meal of it. But I suppose you had inside information.'
'None. The Paxtons are fine people. I only hope their spoilt only daughter will appreciate the fatted calf.'
Her eyes were smarting at the unwarranted attack and anger was a stabbing pain. How dared two total strangers talk about her like that, as if she had committed a sin! What right had they to pass judgment on someone they had never met? It was the two little words 'and more' that really infuriated her, implying a wealth of meaning for which there was no justification. It was unfair, unforgivable!
She put the case down out of the way and went through to the other bar, her back straight as a rod, chin held high and the light of battle in her eyes. The landlord had measured a tot of whisky into a glass and was splashing soda into it before passing it to his customer, but he paused when Meredith tapped on the bar with long, immaculate fingernails.
'Please can you tell me where there's a phone I can use,' she said. 'My car's broken down and I want to get home. I take it there's a public telephone here?'
'There is indeed. Through the door and into the passage. It's in a recess on the left.'
'Thank you.' She inclined her head in acknowledgement. 'By the way, my name is Meredith Paxton.'
The landlord shifted his glasses down to the tip of his nose and peered at her over the top of them, frowning. The other man lifted his head, fixing her with a strange, almost cynical look. A shaft of early evening sunlight found its way through the mullioned window and settled on him. His eyes were the colour of green olives, and the intensity of his gaze disconcerted her, in spite of having the advantage. She was not oblivious to the attraction of craggy features and thick brown hair which feathered straight across his forehead, long enough to tip on the collar of his navy-blue shirt at the back. The suggestion of a smile touched his mouth, but neither he nor the landlord offered an apology for their comments which they must have known she had heard. Not liking the way he scrutinised her, she flicked her head to break the unwanted contact and walked past him disdainfully.
The inn had a warm, malty smell and drowsed in a country quietness. It was going to be difficult to come to terms with the quietness again after city life, but in a way she welcomed it. Or she had done until a few minutes ago. She had loved London, but without Piers there was nothing to stay for and she had thought it would be easier living where she was not continually reminded of things they had done together. But she hadn't been prepared for vindictiveness as soon as she set foot in Edencombe, and she didn't understand it, because surely a family feud was nothing to do with outsiders.
She found five pence for the phone and lifted the receiver, but made no effort to dial the number. Her desire for haste had evaporated. She had chosen to come home via the deserted top road that led down from the moors so that she could stop at the highest point and view the village from a distance first, afraid of being drawn back into the old ways before she was ready. She'd been looking forward to coming home, but she still had reservations. She wouldn't be able to talk about Piers, for one thing, but being reconciled with her parents after two long years was some recompense, and she prayed the feud would now be forgotten.
She dialled the number slowly and waited, half turning so that she caught sight of her reflection in an oval mirror on the opposite wall. The soft light showed up shadows beneath her hazel eyes. Glossy dark hair fell smoothly from a centre parting that started from a perfect widow's peak and was coiled elegantly at the crown of her head, giving her poise, but the radiance that had added so much to an intriguing beauty was no longer in evidence.
'Combe Lodge. Mrs Paxton speaking.'
Meredith was surprised to hear her mother's voice and she fumbled with the money which had been balanced ready to insert for several seconds.
'Mummy, it's me. I'm at the New Inn.'
'Meredith darling!' her mother exclaimed. 'I'm so relieved to hear you, but what on earth are you doing there?'
'Something's wrong with my car,' said Meredith, the warmth of her mother's welcome washing over her like a soothing balm. 'Please will you ask Daddy to come and fetch me.'
'Your father's out, I'm afraid. He went after lunch and I don't know what time he'll be back. And my car is in the garage for servicing, so can you get a taxi? I can do with you here, darling. I'm up to my eyes in jam making for a Sale of Work tomorrow.'
Meredith smiled. Nothing had changed. It was just as if she was still coming home every weekend, being confronted by her mother's never-ending charitable jobs with which she always needed help. She'd never thought she would be pleased to hear the familiar cry, but at that moment it almost brought a lump to her throat. No need to worry whether she was going to be made welcome.
'I'll make it as soon as I can,' she promised.
She put the receiver back and searched her purse for another five pence, but she was right out of change and she clicked her tongue with annoyance. Brandishing a pound note, she returned to the bar, hoping the man with green eyes would have left, but he was still there, his back towards her.
'I'm afraid my father's out and I've got to phone for a taxi,' she said. 'Can you split this for me, please?'
'No problem,' said the landlord, taking the note over to the till. 'You've had a bit of a rough time, Miss Paxton.'
'Yes,' she said. His tone, at least, was now sympathetic and he was trying to make amends without actually apologising. He handed her the change, obviously uncomfortable because he couldn't look at her squarely, and she didn't help him by making any comment. The local paper had probably gone to town on the story anyway.
She turned to go back to the phone, glad she had learned not to show her feelings. By ignoring their slander while at the same time letting them know she was aware of it had strengthened her position, and their discomfort made her smile inwardly. But then the other man stood up, barring her way, and she saw that he was not the slightest bit abashed.
'Perhaps I can give you a lift to the village,' he said.
He was quite a giant and the oak beams came perilously near to the top of his head. His voice was as warm and smooth as dark sherry, and like sherry it went straight to her bloodstream, affecting her legs with a weakness that spread down to her toes. She hadn't noticed it until he towered over her.
Sh
e refused the offer on principle. 'Thank you, but I prefer to get a taxi.' He needn't think she could be placated so easily, and she hadn't really been taken in by the voice. The peculiar trembling in her legs was only to be expected after staggering downhill on precarious heels and wouldn't have occurred if she had worn flat shoes.
The landlord closed the till and looked at the tall man, straight-faced.
'She doesn't trust you, Joss.'
'She doesn't like me, Sid. Can't say I blame her.' He slapped the bar with the palm of his hand before departing. 'Cheers. I'll be in touch.'
Meredith went back to the phone and dialled the taxi number given on a printed card above the coinbox, but with no success. There had been a wedding in the village and the only local taxi was engaged elsewhere, so she was faced with a long walk home. If only she had used the low road to Edencombe like everyone else none of this would have happened. Too late to reconsider her refusal of a lift even if she wanted to, and she didn't really regret it anyway. She'd hated the way the man had stared at her, and she had seen that expression too often not to recognise it. Those green eyes had studied her with expertise, giving her the onceover quite blatantly. No doubt soft-tongued flattery also came easily with a voice like that, and she wouldn't have wanted to give him the chance to practise any.
She went back to the bar, tired, lonely and dispirited. She wished she had packed a more comfortable pair of shoes, but she would not be beaten.
'Seems like I'll have to walk after all,' she said, as she went to lift her case.
'Would you like to leave that case here and have someone pick it up later?' the landlord asked.
'Thanks, but I'd rather take it with me,' she said quickly. It weighed a ton, but it contained the essentials she would need before her trunks arrived, and there was her jewel case inside with a valuable collection of presents Piers had bought her.
'Please yourself.' He turned away, but not before she had seen an aggravating smirk on his lips. 'You should have gone with Joss. He might have introduced himself properly.'
Not bothering to ask what he meant by that odd remark, she left the inn and set off again in the city sandals, hoping she wouldn't get too many blisters.
The sun was low, lending a toffee-coloured glow to everything, and it was still warm. The inn stood alone on a high stretch of road that lay open to all weathers, and some distance below was the North Devon village of Edencombe, a haze of mist tendrils gathering between the chimneys. It was still called a village, though lately it had grown so much in size it had become a small town. To the left was the church, its spire peering above the trees as if on tiptoe, and the original houses clustered round it haphazardly. Among them was Combe Lodge, and to take her mind off her feet Meredith traced the road to it, her eyes travelling westward until she could just make out the firs and tall chimneys. It looked as far away as ever, and she felt as if it was Piers still holding her back by an invisible thread, despising her for accepting the olive branch which she had longed to be offered when he was alive.
She would never forget her parents' reaction when she told them she had met Piers Loring and agreed to put money into a business project he intended starting. They were horrified, incredulous, and convinced they could talk her out of it.
'He's the son of MacDonald Loring,' her father had said, in strident tones, as if that was sufficient condemnation. When she didn't answer he went on, 'The man's gone bankrupt twice. The first time he was going to marry your mother and he took all her money to pay off his debts, then he cleared off and left her.'
'I know all about Mac Loring. I've heard about him ever since I was old enough to understand,' said Meredith. 'It's not him Fm investing money with, and you've got to believe that Piers isn't like him. He has this great idea for making young fashions on a budget, and I don't think it can fail, so I'm prepared to back him. It's my money and I'm twenty-one, so you can't persuade me otherwise.'
'But, Meredith, your law studies ...' her mother protested.
'I'm giving them up. I'm going to be Piers's secretary.'
She remembered how the row had escalated, everyone saying cruel things which couldn't be recalled, but she was adamant. She had met Piers at university and he had been confident enough in his own ability to risk dropping his studies, so Meredith had felt justified in giving up hers.
'And when I've made enough money I'll be able to pay you back what Mac Loring owes you, then perhaps this vendetta can be forgotten,' she had said to her mother.
'I wouldn't touch a penny of it,' said Julia Paxton. 'Tainted money, that's what it would be. Anything to do with that family is rotten.'
'I'll prove you wrong,' said Meredith. 'Next time I come home I'll bring Piers with me.'
'If you throw in your lot with the Lorings, Meredith, you won't be welcome in this house again,' her father had warned, 'so there's no question of your bringing him here to upset your mother.'
Meredith's chin had lifted defiantly. 'That's all right. I'll take all my things with me and find a flat in London. I'm not a child, and you can't arrange my life to suit you.'
Her mother had then tried to become a mediator, heartbroken at the turn of events and desperate to avoid losing her daughter, but Meredith had inherited her father's unyielding spirit and there was no way anyone could get round her. The cloud under which she had left Edencombe hadn't lifted until the news of Piers's death brought the first overture of reconciliation from her parents. Piers would have been ashamed of her for being weak enough to accept it, but without him it was pointless to deny herself the love of parents who had never ceased to be infinitely dear to her, and had agreed to wipe the slate clean and start again.
The bottle-green skirt stopped swirling as she walked down the hill, clinging to her legs as she got hotter. The thin leather straps across her toes pinched harder and every step hurt a little more. She began counting the steps and each time she got to fifty she changed the case over to the other hand, but it was getting heavier all the time and her palms felt raw. It was just as she was making the fourth transfer that the weight seemed to take over and the case swung outwards of its own volition, pulling her off balance. She fell with an undignified thump, one foot doubled under her, and the case slithered away across the warm tarmac just as a car was coming up from the village. The front wheel touched it, sent it skidding further, and the impact was too much for the already over-strained catches, making them burst open. To her horror Meredith saw her belongings scattered all over the road.
She yelled and tried to get to her feet, but a scalding pain shot through her ankle, enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she was helpless. The car pulled up, then reversed until it was level with her, and the driver got out, a murderous look on his face. It was the man called Joss.
'You're damned lucky you didn't cause a serious accident!' he bellowed. 'What on earth do you think you're doing in the middle of the road?'
'Well, I'm not waiting for a bus!' she retaliated. Couldn't the idiot see she had fallen? She made another attempt to stand, but got no further than her knees. She glared at him. 'Nor am I praying for deliverance, so you needn't stand there like an avenging angel! Oh, no! My best silk nightie!'
A van coming down the hill had swerved to avoid them and ploughed through an assortment of costly underwear, leaving tyre marks. Joss surveyed the scene with scorn, but when Meredith sank back with a gasp after trying again to put her weight on her foot he leaned towards her.
'Do you wish me to handle your intimate possessions, or wait until I've handled you first? You obviously need help.'
He went behind her, put his hands beneath her arms and helped her up with ease, but the foot was already swelling and turning a nasty colour and she couldn't put it to the ground. Her face went white. If he hadn't been supporting her she would have fallen.
'I was due at a meeting at seven, but it looks as if I'll have to be late,' he said. 'If you hadn't been so pigheaded in the first place you could have been home by now all in one piece.'
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br /> Without any more preamble he slipped a hand beneath her knees and swung her into his arms, carrying her across the road to his car. Every nerve in her body became tense, fighting against contact with him, but she was entirely dependent on his help, so it was no use protesting, even when a peculiar panic assailed her.
'I'm sorry I've got to take up some of your time and petrol,' she said when he set her down and opened the car door. 'I'm quite willing to pay.... Ow!'
Her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. 'If you ever offer me money again, Miss Paxton, you'll regret it!'
'If you're trying to incapacitate me altogether, you're succeeding. Let me go!'
They glowered at each other, igniting sparks with every word, and when he did as she asked she fell back on to the car seat with a gasp. What force was this she had come up against?
She watched him go to retrieve her things. Another car drove over them and she held her breath when it just missed the suede jewellery box. Joss picked up the case and began ramming things into it without any care, and she didn't take her eyes off him until her jewels were safely stowed away. Before leaving London she had packed everything meticulously, but now, with nothing folded, the case was too full to close and the only way he could fasten it was by sitting on the lid. Meredith pressed her fingers to her temples in despair, shuddering when he finally dropped the case into the boot.
'You might as well have packed the wardrobe as well,' he said.
He slid one long leg over the driving seat and levered himself into the car. Piers had always sat down first and swung his legs round with one lithe movement in keeping with his slim figure. Funny, she had never realised before that even the simple action of getting into a car could differ noticeably from one person to another.
The road was not wide enough to do a U-turn and Joss had to drive up to the New Inn again before he could turn round and head back to the village.
'Tell me, what made you come back to Edencombe?' he asked. 'Surely the Piers Loring Group won't fold without its founder. I would have thought you'd prefer to stay on.'
