Rachel Lindsay - Rough Diamond Lover

by Rachel Lindsay

  "What about Jake? He's asked you out."

  "Only as thanks for giving him dinner!"

  "You underestimate yourself," her father smiled, any further comment forestalled by the doorbell.

  She ran to answer it, expecting Robert, and was dismayed to see Jake Andrews on the doorstep, his broad shoulders blocking the light.

  "From your smile of welcome, I can see you weren't expecting me," he said, stepping into the hall.

  "Do you have to make my father work every weekend? "she said.

  "Happens this is a social call. He asked me around for a game of chess."

  Sniffing her disbelief, she preceded him into the sitting room and had hardly seated herself when the bell rang again.

  "That must be Robert,"she exclaimed and ran out.

  Her greeting to him was so affectionate, her voice so full of warmth that he reached out and enveloped her in a bearlike hug, his thin face alight with pleasure.

  Smitten with conscience, she quickly drew away from him. "I'll get my coat," she said breathlessly, "and we can go."

  "Better hang on a bit. It looks as though we're in for some rain."

  "A bit of rain never hurt anyone."

  Robert glanced over his shoulder to the sheet of water pouring down the hall window. "This might be the second flood!" He grinned and loped exuberantly into the sitting room.

  Laura felt rather than saw the way he stiffened to attention at sight of Jake Andrews sprawling in an easy chair opposite her father. "I didn't know you were here, Mr. Andrews," she heard him say, his voice thinning into constraint."I'm not interrupting anything, am I?''

  "Mr. Andrews came to play chess with dad," Laura said, entering the room and answering before anyone else had the opportunity.

  Robert perched on the edge of the chair, looking so nervous that she could have kicked him. Why did he have to behave as though he were a schoolboy coming into the headmaster's study? Surely he wasn't afraid of Jake Andrews?

  Head high, she moved to Robert's side and leaned casually against his chair. "We might as well have a cup of tea while we're waiting for the rain to stop," she said. "Care for some cinnamon toast?"

  "Not for me, thanks. I had a late lunch."

  "Was I included in that offer?" came a deep voice from the other side of the room. "Cinnamon toast is a great favorite of mine!"

  Not trusting herself to answer, she stalked into the kitchen and mutinously set the tray. Making the toast, she resisted the urge to put on ginger instead of cinnamon. What delight it would have given her to make things really hot for the bossy hunk of male conceit warming himself so contentedly at a fireside that wasn't his!

  When she wheeled in the trolley, the chess set was already set out on the table, although no one was playing.

  "I thought you'd be in the middle of a game," she said, pouring the tea.

  "I didn't fancy playing with sticky fingers," Jake Andrews replied, leaning forward to look at the plate of golden brown toasted fingers."Smells delicious."

  "Help yourself," she said casually and, with deliberate charm, handed Robert his cup.

  With bland disregard for her tone, Jake Andrews did as she had bid, and after her father had refused an offer of a cinnamon finger, proceeded to demolish the lot himself.

  "Didn't you have any lunch?" she asked, looking at the empty plate.

  "No. I was working in my office and forgot about it."

  "That's the best way of getting ulcers," she said before she could stop herself.

  "Don't worry about me. I've the stomach of a goat!" He looked across at Robert. "Talking about food reminds me I haven't yet thanked you for putting in so much of your own time on the canteen."

  "I did it for Laura," Robert said, and then blushed.

  "I'm glad she has such a good influence on you," the older man said dryly. "I'll have to put her on the factory floor if production starts lagging!"

  Robert laughed and lost some of his constraint. "You'll have to increase safety precautions if you do. When Laura's around the men don't have eyes for anything else!"

  "So I've noticed." Gray eyes sought out Laura's own and held them.

  "More tea, anyone?" she asked brightly.

  Only Jake Andrews held out his cup, and keeping her eyes downcast, she filled it and passed it back to him.

  "Looks as if the rain's set in for the afternoon," her father said. "If you and Robert want to watch television, it won't disturb us."

  "There's nothing to see," she replied. "The shows up here are even worse than in London."

  "I'd call that a good thing," Jake Andrews intervened. "At least it means folk talk to each other instead of sitting around the goggle-box like a load of zombies!"

  Although it was a sentiment with which she wholeheartedly agreed, she refused to admit this to a man she almost regarded as her enemy.

  "It's only a matter of being selective," she murmured. "The educational programs are excellent."

  "They certainly are," Robert agreed. "I'm doing one of the courses myself. Economics. It's very good."

  "So it is," Jake Andrews answered. "I did it myself a couple of years back."

  At once Robert lost all trace of his earlier reserve, and with economics as the starting point, the two men began to talk to one another, occasionally interrupted by John Winters. Coversation ranged over many different topics, and Laura listened in silence, dismayed at the frequency with which she agreed with Jake.

  Jake! She caught herself up sharply. What had made her think of him by his first name when she made such an effort to call him Mr. Andrews? It was probably because her father always referred to him as Jake. She must make sure she did not use it herself by accident.

  Talk had now turned to music, and again she found herself agreeing with him. It was disquieting to find there was hardly any comment of Robert's with which she concurred.

  "Why are you so quiet, Laura?" her father asked, unused to her being silent.

  "I don't like interrupting men when they're talking," she said sweetly.

  John Winters bit hard on his pipe, and it was left to Robert to bridge the silence.

  "Don't you agree with what we're saying?" he asked.

  "You've said so many things,"she said evasively.

  "About Mozart. I think he was the Gerschwin of the eighteenth century."

  "I consider him a genius," Jake Andrews said, "which Gershwin wasn't. A great talent, of course—I won't deny that—but not to be compared with Mozart."

  "I agree with you." Laura could not prevent herself from replying. "To compare him with Gershwin is ridiculous. Mozart was a genius and there's been no one to touch him!"

  "Praise be to Mozart," Jake Andrews chuckled. "He's at last forced you into agreeing with me over something!"

  "Only in music, I'm afraid. In art, you're hopelessly old-fashioned."

  "I'll grant you that," came the surprising answer. "I couldn't abide my art teacher, so I didn't do a stroke of work. All I've ever learned about art has come through reading."

  "It would be better for it to come through looking," she replied.

  "There's no point looking if your eyes can't see. One has to know what one's looking at."

  "Just look," she repeated. "Understanding will follow."

  "Not for me. I can't abide looking at summat I don't understand. It's against my character. The only way I'll ever learn to appreciate painting is to have a good guide to take me around the galleries."

  "There's an exhibition on in Manchester," Robert said. "I was going to suggest Laura and I go to see it next weekend. You're welcome to come with us."

  "And be odd man out?" The dark head inclined toward Laura. "Thanks for the offer, but no."

  Aware of the gray eyes looking at her with barely concealed humor, she started to collect the cups.

  "I'll help you," Robert murmured, and followed her out to the kitchen.

  "Did you have to ask him to come to Manchester?" she said crossly the moment they were alone. "Don't you k
now the last thing in the world he wants is to be taught anything, and especially by us!"

  "What an odd thing to say." Robert looked surprised. "I'm sure he wanted to come."

  "Then why did he refuse?"

  "He told you. He thought he'd be in the way." Robert moved closer and put his hand on Laura's arm. "I wish he had some justification. Right now I could do with a bit of encouragement."

  "That's the last thing you'll get from me!"

  She handed him a tea towel, and grumbling good- naturedly, he started to dry the dishes.

  "You won't always be able to fob me off," he muttered.

  "That isn't my intention. I'm just trying to make you see we're friends—nothing more."

  Later that night she again debated the wisdom of seeing so much of Robert. But the alternative was so gloomy that she lulled her conscience by assuring herself she had made it quite clear to him how she felt. Yet remorse returned the next Saturday when she drove with him to Manchester to see a well-reviewed exhibition by an up-and-coming young artist, and walking down Deans- gate, an icy wind blowing in her face, she clutched at his arm in a sudden burst of affection.

  "It's lovely having someone with whom I can share things, "she said.

  "I feel the same way."

  "You've made me appreciate the meaning of the word friend,"she added."Withoutyou, I'd feel terribly lonely inEddlestone."

  " I should bring you to Manchester more often."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're nicer to me here than you've ever been before."

  "It's your imagination. I'm the same as I was an hour ago."

  Though she put conviction in her voice, she was not convincing herself. She knew exactly what Robert meant; knew the reason for it, too. Away from Eddie- stone she was no longer afraid of turning a corner and bumping into Jake Andrews. Yet why should she be afraid of seeing him? It was a question that had plagued her for several weeks, and though many answers had come to mind, none of them had satisfied her.

  Angrily she tried to push him out of her thoughts. Her dislike of him was so strong that she was unable to stop thinking of him. If she were in love with him he couldn't be occupying her thoughts more!

  "Are we far from the gallery?" she asked to change the subject.

  "We're here now." Robert guided her across the pavement to a glass-paned door.

  For the next hour and a half Laura forgot everything except the delicacy of the paintings that adorned the walls around her. Though no lover of muted colors, preferring the more robust medium of oils and the vivid palette of the French Impressionists, she was entranced by the luminous quality the artist had imparted to his work, and even when they left the gallery and made their way to the garage where they had parked their car, she was still under the spell of what she had seen.

  For that reason she was unaware of the slow progress they made out of the city, and the masses of men and boys pushing against the car and forcing Robert to slow almost to a crawl. It was not until he gave a sharp exclamation that she returned to the present and noticed the crowds.

  "Are we in the middle of the rush hour?" she asked.

  "The football hour!" he replied. "I'd forgotten Manchester was playing at home this week."

  "What a way to spend a winter's afternoon," she exclaimed.

  "You're obviously no football fan."

  "I don't understand the game."

  "Not like our beloved boss," came the comment, and Laura followed Robert's gaze till her eyes came to rest on Jake Andrews's burly figure pushing along with the rest of the crowd.

  "Trust him to be in the thick of it," she said acidly. "He's probably a rugger fan, too. I can just see him in the middle of a scrum!"

  "With very unexpected company, too," Robert remarked. "See the girl who's with him?"

  Quickly Laura moved her eyes from Jake, narrowing them in surprise as she saw the slender girl with long blond hair who was clinging to his arm. He had been speaking the truth when he had said he liked sexy- looking women. This one was sex personified, from her tip-tilted nose and glossy lips to her silky hair and provocative shapeliness.

  "Who is she?" Laura asked.

  "Elaine Simpson. I didn't believe the rumor, but it's obviously true."

  "What rumor?"

  "That they're dating each other."

  "Why shouldn't they?" Laura made her voice casual. " Is she the black sheep of Eddlestone?''

  "The gold one," Robert laughed. "Her father's Harold Simpson."

  "The engineering magnate?"

  "Right. And Grantley's biggest rival!" Robert shrugged. "Trust our Mr. Andrews to pick a girl right at the top of the mountain he's trying to climb!"

  Laura's emotions were difficult for her to analyze. So apart from being pretty, the girl was also rich, with a father who was extremely important in Jake Andrews's world. She wondered if the girl's undeniable beauty was more important to him than her father's position and found the question a difficult one to answer and a disquieting one to think about.

  "Shall we offer them a lift?" Robert asked.

  "Whatever for?" Laura made no attempt to hide her scorn, glad of being able to release her pent-up emotion. But why should she feel any emotion where Jake Andrews was concerned? Yet again he was occupying her mind to an alarming degree and with determination she resolved to find out why. Was it because he constantly tried to cut her down to size or because he had openly admitted she did not appeal to him as a woman? Probably both reasons were valid, though the latter one had annoyed her the most!

  "You really do dislike him, don't you?" Robert said.

  "Ofcourse not. I find him irritating, that's all."

  "Irritating enough to let him go back on the bus!" Robert saw an opening in the crowd and picked up a little more speed.

  "Only if the bus is called an Alfa Romeo," Laura responded tartly, inclining her head to where an Italian sports car, driven by the blond girl, was slowly edging away from the curb.

  Robert gave a low whistle and Laura could not help laughing, although it was not an entirely amused sound. "Aren't you sorry my father's only a poor hard-working engineer?"

  "What a thing to say! If your father were Harold

  Simpson I'd never have plucked up the courage to ask you out"

  "Why not? Money barriers aren't important these days."

  "You know you don't believe that," Robert stated. "If a man has the money it's no problem. He can marry a poor girl and people will still give her the benefit of the doubt. But if a girl has the cash, then it's a different story. She can be as beautiful as an angel but everyone will believe the poor guy who marries her did it for her loot."

  "Unless he's loaded, too."

  "In which case," Robert said with a shake of his head, "they'll say money married money—so they could both be sure they weren't taking each other for a ride!"

  "What a cynic you are." She hesitated. "But you're probably right."

  "Thanks for the admission." His hand came out and clasped hers. "At least that's one problem you and I don't have. No one can say we're going out with each other to feather our nests… or our ambitions."

  "Is that what they're saying about Jake Andrews?"

  "No." It was a slow sound. "No one who knows him would ever think him a fortune hunter."

  "But he wants to get to the top of his profession, and Simpson could help him do that."

  "He'd still have to love the girl."

  "You seem to know a lot about our boss's emotional needs," she commented.

  "I was answering intuitively." Robert looked as if he had surprised himself. "Jake Andrews is so hard working he isn't the type to put on an act. If he's seeing a lot of Elaine, it's because he genuinely wants to—not because of who her father is."

  The football crowds had thinned and Robert was able to drive at normal speed. "How about our staying in Manchester for the evening and taking in a show?"

  "Dad will be expecting us back."

  "Phone him."

  She
shook her head." I don't like leaving him alone all afternoon as well as the evening. It's not that he'd mind," she added quickly. "In fact he'd be annoyed if he knew I was saying this. But it's the way I feel myself."

  "I thought your brother often came over?"

  "He hasn't been lately."

  "I'd like to meet him."

  "I'll ask you over next time he comes."

  "Has our beloved boss met him?"

  "No." She turned in her seat. "Jake Andrews doesn't come to the house all that often, you know. He's not a friend of the family."

  "He looked very much at home when I saw him there the other day."

  "Don't act the jealous boyfriend," she said. "I don't find it funny."

  "Sorry." Robert sounded subdued. "But you can't deny that he's everything most girls want. Handsome, clever and very sure of himself."

  "So sure of himself that I find him a bore," Laura said firmly. "He leaves me cold. Stone cold."

  The words reminded her of the ones Jake himself had said to her not long ago, and mortification brought an edge to her voice.

  "I think I will phone dad," she exclaimed. "I rather fancy an evening out."

  "Great. If we can get tickets for a show, we'll go to one. If not, how about a cabaret, if you don't mind blue jokes?"

  "I'll pretend I don't understand them," she teased. "Then you won't be embarrassed!"

  Laughing together, they drove in search of a telephone booth. Robert's humor was fully restored and Laura told herself that she felt equally lighthearted. Yet deep inside her she didn't, and she was more than ever afraid to try to discover why.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Seeing Jake Andrews with a beautiful blonde clinging to his arm had been a blow to Laura's pride. It was one thing to be ignored by a man she considered uncouth and domineering; quite another to find him escorting the most eligible and expensive piece of femininity she had seen since coming to the North.

  Before, she had taken his indifference for granted; now, each encounter she had with him left her feeling gauche and insignificant. Because of this, Robert's adoration was balm to her wounded self-respect, and her earlier decision not to make use of him lessened into mere intention.

  Yet inevitably conscience did rear its sharp head, and one Saturday afternoon a few weeks after their trip to Manchester, she warned him again not to regard her as his girl friend.