Stormy Rapture Page 5

  Yet as she made her way back to the office shock still eddied through her whenever she thought about the field. Surely Bill must have been mistaken? She didn't want to listen to the small voice which whispered he was not. Obviously, if Simon didn't intend to live at Hollows End him—and there had been little indication so far that he did—then there was every possibility he had his eye on it for other things. And that eye, as Liza was fast beginning to realise, did not overlook anything. His energy and enterprise, she imagined, could only be sustained by sheer single-minded-ness, although at lunch time he had given a slight hint that this was not so. He had as good as admitted that he liked the opposite sex, and a man of his age, not far short of forty, must have had plenty of experience.

  Unaccountably a warning shudder swept through her. His hard vitality was entirely outside her experience, but she didn't intend being crushed by it. Somewhere within herself she must find a solution to the problem which plagued her mother. There must be some way of making contact with the more generous side of Simon Redford's nature without having to sacrifice her own pride?

  Liza had been going to ring her mother before she had gone to have her hair done, but before she could do so Simon's secretary in London rang with a pile of details to be taken down, so there had been no time. But on her way to her appointment she had gone through Accounts, where she had bumped into Bill again, and had asked him to call at Hollows End and tell her mother she would be late. "If you're lucky," she'd laughed, "you might just be offered my dinner!" Bill, she knew, had lodgings on the other side of the city which left much to be desired. Besides, he got on quite well with her mother.

  She didn't get back until after six, and everyone appeared to have gone, with the exception of Simon Redford.

  He glanced at her with some appreciation as they went downstairs again together, out into the yard where his car waited. "You're looking quite beautiful, dear cousin," he quipped, his eyes lingering on the top of her head as he came down behind her. "What did I tell you?"

  "You surely can't expect me to remember," she murmured. "I think you agreed I didn't look attractive…"

  "Surely I didn't put it as bluntly as that?" His eyes sparkled with sudden subtle mockery. "Maybe I was on the defensive against your cousinly enchantment."

  Her voice sounded strangled. "You hadn't had time to view me from that particular angle."

  He laughed as he handed her into the car and slid in beside her. "I've been studying you from every angle these past three weeks, dear Liza, and I haven't a single complaint. Hair can make—or break—a girl. Yours was only suffering from a lack of attention. Now wasn't I right?"

  Mutely she nodded, and after another comprehensive glance he turned away, started the engine, released the brake, and drove slowly out of the yard. As he took his eyes from her face she snuggled back into her seat, glad that he needed to concentrate on the road ahead.

  For some unfathomable reason, her heart was missing beats, and she didn't like it. Maybe it was his oblique hint that he had noticed her, other than a mere piece of office equipment. "Where are we going?" she asked at last, as they swept through the heavy build-up of evening traffic. He drove quickly and well, leaving more cautious drivers behind, yet somehow Liza felt entirely safe.

  "Wait and see," he said, as they joined the A34. "Birmingham's a big city."

  Which was no sort of reply, she thought, restraining her curiosity, but noticing that he seemed to know his way around. "Have you ever been here before?" she murmured. "I mean, apart from the last three weeks?"

  "What makes you think I have?" He parried her question, asking one of his own, but only lightly, as if the idea amused him.

  "You never hesitate, in the way most strangers do. You might almost know the street plan by heart."

  His glance was slightly quizzical. "Maybe that's how I've filled my evenings. But I'm not a complete stranger to your city, Miss Curiosity. As a consultant engineer I've been interested in the modern layout of Birmingham for some time."

  "You mean you haven't always worked for yourself. Owned your own company?"

  "Not while my father was alive. Not entirely. To work for other firms can give an engineer some opportunity to exercise his creative talent, as distinct from applying technical expertise."

  "And in such huge projects as we have here—new buildings, new roads, new bridges—you found sufficient scope?"

  "I wasn't involved here personally, but yes, Cousin Liza, that just about sums it up."

  Tentatively Liza glanced through the car window at the wide impressive thoroughfares, the modern developments, attempting to assimilate what he had just told her. She said curiously, "Engineering is a science, I suppose, but whoever designed the new Birmingham was certainly something of an artist, too."

  Simon nodded, glancing at her thoughtful face. "An engineer, Liza, who has not got the artistic ability to create will never make a top-class engineer. In my opinion, if a structure is properly designed it should be aesthetically pleasing."

  Momentarily confused that they did agree about something, Liza said haltingly, her mind still on the massive skyscrapers which they had just passed on Queensway, "It's all on such a large scale. Occasionally, by comparison, I feel dwarfed."

  He grinned. "You don't sound too enthusiastic!"

  "Oh, but I am. There's absolutely everything here that anyone could wish for. Only sometimes I think it's a bit regrettable that cities have to grow so much. I remember Silas once saying that we're recorded in the Domesday Book as a tiny settlement, worth twenty shillings. Now we're the second largest city in the country."

  He teased, even as he nodded appreciatively, "How about night spots, Liza? Somehow I don't think industry arouses your enthusiasm."

  "No, not exactly," she frowned, hesitating a little. "But then neither do night spots entirely, although there are plenty of them. I like the theatre and concerts, and there are discotheques and jazz clubs and…"

  "Lots more besides," he interrupted without apology as she paused. "I have some idea what a city of this size can produce in the way of entertainment. But we'll get out of the city this evening, I think. I've booked dinner at a place I know in Stratford. I can almost guarantee you'll like it."

  Stratford-upon-Avon. Birthplace of William Shakespeare.

  "Oh yes," Liza breathed, her small face lighting up. "I do like it, and it's some time since I've been. In fact, I've almost forgotten," she confessed ruefully.

  Simon's lips quirked at the corners. "One evening we could go to the Memorial Theatre, see one of Shakespeare's plays. Once I took my father—he was a great enthusiast."

  "But you're not?"

  "Not to the same extent."

  She asked impulsively, encouraged by a friendlier atmosphere, "Did you ever know exactly why your father quarrelled with his family?"

  "I'm not sure." He frowned, his expression changing slightly as his mind went back. "As I grew up my father's life was busy and involved, and prosperous. I wasn't really aware of or very curious about his past. I was busy too, and enjoying the present. Actually, as far as I can remember, I believe he was outvoted on policy—two against one. And you know how things blow up? My father was clever, but he was not a forgiving man, Liza."

  Neither was Silas, she could have said. He hadn't ever forgiven her for not having Redford blood in her veins. But she hadn't decided yet whether Simon was to know this or not. It might be better to know first about him. "Have you inherited this trait?" she queried, with apparent innocence, keeping her voice deliberately light.

  Simon laughed, but briefly. "I think it's a fairly common failing, Liza, not necessarily hereditary. I'll admit not being able to overlook very easily that which is important to me."

  Without stopping to think she prompted, "Such as?"

  "Oh, business deals, I expect. This is what we're talking about."

  "Sometimes business is easier to overlook than personal relationships."

  His glance touched her sideways. "You wouldn
't happen to be probing again, would you, Liza?" His voice enveloped her dryly, as they approached Stratford. Left far behind were the urban centres of the Midlands. Here, willows edged the river Avon where it flowed through broad, peaceful valleys. A gentle green countryside, with few spectacular viewpoints, yet with an enticing, unforgettable charm all of its own.

  Reluctantly Liza wrenched her eyes away from the wide summer meadows to look down at her hands. She was curious, but not in the way he thought. Nor was her curiosity idle, but he had her at a disadvantage because she couldn't explain. "Sometimes," she replied a little wildly, not very coherently, "it helps to know a little."

  "If we're talking about the same thing, and," his voice was still dry, "I doubt it. It's not always necessary. One day I might tell you about a small boy who fished in the Thames, and usually only caught two wet feet. Women usually love small boys—or didn't you know, Liza Lawson?"

  "Didn't they continue to love you as you grew up?" she uttered, not able to imagine him a small boy.

  "Now why should you ask that, I wonder?" His eyes glinted a warning which she didn't see.

  "Well… you aren't married…" Liza's lips caught between small white teeth. Too late she tried to stop the impulsive words escaping.

  "No, I'm not married," he agreed, pleasantly enough, but poker-faced, not giving a thing away as they drove into the old market town where glimpses of the past came out to greet them.

  Liza was not deceived. Uncurling her fingers, she managed a faint smile, of pretended indifference, thinking it more expedient to leave the subject. He was in a good mood, which might be more suited for her purpose, but he could change so rapidly.

  Looking at him curiously, she became aware that her heart was beating unevenly again. She studied his dark features through the thickness of her lashes when she should have been concentrating on the architecture of Stratford, as he seemed to be doing. Uneasily she stirred on her soft leather seat. Why was it, she thought, that her senses were so traitorously disturbed by him? There was an arrogance and strength about him which made her respond in a way that alarmed her by its intensity. An inexplicable excitement which she fought to subdue, but which could only be ignored for so long. Even the vibrance of his deep, quiet voice seemed to affect her, and totally unable to accept any of it, rather desperately Liza realised she must endeavour to escape before long.

  They had dinner at one of the many attractive half-timbered hotels with black beams criss-crossing whitewalls. It stood in its own very pleasant grounds which ran down to the river, and she decided he must have been here before to have chosen so well. The cuisine was excellent, and Liza found to her surprise that she was hungrier than she had been for some time. In Simon Redford she found not only a connoisseur of food and wine, but an attentive host, who kept her entertained with conversation light enough to smooth away her suspicions that he had brought her here entirely to remonstrate about her secrecy concerning her relationship with Silas.

  It wasn't until they were having coffee in the low, black-beamed lounge that she inadvertently introduced the subject herself, if in a roundabout way. Relaxing and dreaming with her cup held cradled in her hands, she had only wished to occupy her mind with a lazy study of the flickering fire. The lounge was almost deserted, most other diners being out by the river enjoying the still warm evening sunshine.

  Then suddenly Simon, who was stretched out beside her, said, "I'm considering opening another office, nearer the city centre, shortly. Possibly after Miss Brown returns, which should be any day now."

  "Umm." She stirred, not really listening or paying much attention to his words.

  "In any case I intend to move before the end of the month, and will require you to come as my secretary."

  "Oh, no!" Liza was brought sharply back to earth as she realised he was watching her, and she sat up, almost spilling her coffee. "You see," consternation edged her voice, "I don't know that I'll stay with the firm much longer."

  He continued to watch her as she shook back the fine silkiness of her hair and hastily looked down at her hands rather than meet his eyes.

  "You mean you'll leave if I move. You would rather stay in the old premises?"

  "Oh, no," she repeated, glancing up at him, startled. "I meant I would like to leave the firm altogether."

  "Why?" It was just one uncompromising syllable.

  She tensed, noting his dark brows drawn in a frown. Helplessly she tried to control her suddenly racing heart. "Well…" she floundered, "I've been thinking of moving for some time, of trying something different."

  "Such as?"

  Feeling an unreasonable resentment, Liza lifted her chin and looked straight at him. She had been enjoying herself and now he had spoilt everything. Each time he spoke it was a question—something to stir herself over. An answer to be contrived. She said evasively, "You said yourself, only an hour ago, that industry wasn't quite my thing. Or words to that effect."

  "Which was something quite different, and you know it." Now his voice was laced with more than a hint of firmness, as if he judged her strength, and could more than deal with any opposition. "I don't intend," he went on softly, "that you should leave Redfords—so you'd better think again." There was a glitter of warning in his eyes as he looked at her steadily.

  The little wine Liza had drunk with her meal had warmed her stomach; she could still feel the glow of it stimulating false courage as she wet her dry lips with her tongue, her mother completely forgotten as she rushed into speech. "If I didn't want to stay you couldn't stop me from going."

  "Maybe not. Not in the physical sense, although," his eyes narrowed, "you wouldn't stand much chance in that direction should I choose to assert myself." He took little notice of the flush in her cheeks, his voice smoothed out. "We might pursue another direction altogether."

  Liza leaned forward gripping hard the arms of her chair. A horrible suspicion was fast overtaking her. "Another direction?"

  He watched her closely. One hand reached out and lifted her chin with no pretence of gentleness, jerking her head up and forcing her to look at him. "Your mother enjoys living at Hollows End, I believe." There was no question in his tones, just hard facts.

  Liza stared at him, wide-eyed. His fingers hurt as his grip tightened, sending needles of fire down through her body. Yet, numbed, she didn't try to escape. "So you know?"

  His voice was silky. "I talked with your mother this morning, remember, and I saw the old man's solicitor this afternoon. I'm a whole lot wiser than yesterday."

  How could he be so sarcastic! Panic struck as she considered the implications of what he told her. She had no ready defence. She had had time and she had wasted it. Procrastination was the only applicable word.

  When she didn't speak he released her, saying dryly, "You are, it seems, only a cousin about a dozen times removed, dear Liza. I don't owe you a thing."

  Suddenly she hated him, and wished she might be so easily indifferent. He certainly believed in calling a spade a spade. She hadn't even the advantage of knowing exactly what her mother had told him. If only she had had the sense to ring! She spoke through lips gone uncomfortably stiff. "I don't intend to argue about that. You have your facts completely right. I can see you enjoy trying to humiliate me, and it's not easy to plead, not even on behalf of my mother."

  His slightly sensual mouth tightened. "You don't have to, if you'd only be sensible."

  "How do you mean?" Her taut little speech hadn't penetrated his indifference.

  He was adamant, cruel in his insistence. "Stay and work for me and your mother can stay at Hollows End."

  "You're aware that Silas didn't leave her anything?"

  "I'm aware that I'm the sole beneficiary. Which rather strengthens my position."

  Liza drew back, some inexplicable sense of foreboding tightening her nerves until she felt cold with uneasiness.

  "What you're resorting to is blackmail! Or didn't you realise?"

  "Of course." His eyes glinted softly. "But I pro
mise you it could be very nice blackmail, if you're prepared to be sensible."

  "I'm very rarely that," she told him, in a hard, tight voice which hid she hoped the heavy thudding of her heart. With only words it seemed this man could reduce her limbs to water. What would she do if he resorted to anything else? Panic-stricken, she tried to think rationally, avoiding his taunting glance. There was first her mother to be considered. Perhaps a compromise was still possible if she kept cool? "You could quite easily get someone else to run your new office," she suggested with a forced smile. "And if you don't want to live at Hollows End yourself, then perhaps we could rent it from you?"

  "Nothing doing, on either counts," he replied steadily.

  "We aren't tied," she gasped, no longer restraining a growing fury. "We'll leave at once—find another place."

  Simon had his answer ready, almost before she had stopped speaking. "Your mother, Liza, would not be willing to even consider it. This morning she was almost hysterical."

  "Hysterical?"

  "When I asked if she had any plans regarding the future."

  It was his province, certainly, but he'd had a nerve to ask! Liza regarded him darkly, crying impulsively, her own plight overshadowed by that of her mother. "She might agree to stay and look after you. To entertain, as she did for Silas. I could find some place of my own."

  "But you also had a maid who occasionally helped with other things who would be willing to return." He ignored what she said about finding a place of her own.

  Startled, Liza looked at him. "Mary has gone to live with her sister."

  "Just because there was no one to pay her wages."

  "You've certainly been busy!" she snapped.

  "You could say that."