A Song Twice Over (89 page)

All too clearly his fractures or his severed tendons or whatever Ned O'Mara had done to his left leg had healed badly. Watching him, she'd hoped, for a savage moment, that he might miss his footing, fall and break his other leg to match. Or his neck. But he had reached the high-perched driving seat, not easily perhaps, but safely enough, leaving her to trot tamely away in her hired, livery stable landau.

And when her quarter's rent fell due she paid it disdainfully to a suave and smiling Oliver Rattrie.

She was free of Christie. It was what she had always wanted. Why was it, then, that freedom still did not seem to be living up to her expectations? Was the habit of captivity too strong in her to be shaken?

‘How is the captain these days?' she suddenly enquired of Oliver, wishing she had bitten out her tongue instead.

‘Planning a trip to Antigua, I believe,' he replied smoothly, not looking up from his ledgers.

With whom?

‘My sister-in-law is going abroad quite shortly,' Gemma Gage told her a few days later, sounding most unconcerned about it. ‘The south of France – she says.'

‘How can she afford it?' Frizingley wondered.

Putting together some sketches for travelling dresses which Miss Linnet Gage had ordered, Cara realized that her mind was spitting out thoughts of a most vicious nature concerning shipwrecks in shark-infested waters, rebellious cutters of sugar-cane brandishing their knives for quite another purpose, death-watch beetles in the linen closet, snakes in the grass. Yes. That was Linnet Gage. A snake. And Christie. They would do well together, discussing their respective pedigrees and the number of dukes and earls to whom they were related, while murderous natives broke down the door.

Linnet and Christie. She was not in the least surprised about it. No more than she had been surprised by Daniel and Gemma. Anna and Luke. Odette and Kieron the Enchanter.

Nor did she care.

She had her child, and her dog. Every fine evening that smoky, gold autumn she put both in her carriage and drove them out to a point beyond Frizingley Green where there were trees and a level stretch of shallow water, leaving the landau on the road while child and dog together rustled through magic mountains of fallen leaves each one turning to gold in Anna's enquiring yet always careful hands.

‘A leaf?
Leaf
?' What riches. What marvels this world had in store. Leaf. And stone. Root. Soil. Beloved
dog
.

Cara laughed at her.

‘Look, Anna. Sunset.' And with the red dazzle in her eyes it was the crackling of those golden leaves underfoot, one step heavier and surer than the other, which warned her of the approach of Christie.

That, and the sudden tight vibrations in the air. The musk.

She was sitting on the wide stump of a tree, with plenty of room for two, and he sat down beside her without a word, his black fur cloak hunched around him like a storm-cloud, his mood she thought, enveloping him in another, both eyes open now and all his gleaming wolf's teeth intact, but the cheek he turned towards her still sliced from eye to chin by an angry scar.

She made no attempt to conceal her interest in it but he did not turn away.

‘That cut is healing badly,' she said. ‘It was infected, I suppose.'

‘Yes.'

‘And the leg, by the look of you. Does it give you much pain?'

‘Oh yes. Constant agony. Every step a torment.'

‘Why walk then?' She had not heard another carriage. And he had come a long way on foot from the station hotel.

He shrugged, quite heavily, as if his shoulders felt the weight of the black, musky fur.

‘My dear,' he said. ‘A man on horseback may not limp but he doesn't come to terms with his disability either. Or learn to overcome it. And, in any case, it has the effect, I find, of tugging at female heart-strings …'

‘Not mine!'

‘I dare say.'

‘Did you do anything to Ned O'Mara?'

‘What should I have done? He seemed to think I had done enough already.'

‘Yes. You went too far. I told you so.'

And now there was nothing more he could do to her either. She was free and unafraid of him. Both his menace and his enchantment dimmed beyond recall. Just a man with a bad leg hunched up in his cape and feeling the cold, a suspicion of pain about him, a frown of effort between his brows telling her that he had paid dearly to get here. Her landlord to whom she owed nothing and who could claim nothing from her, any more, but her rent.

‘That dog's temper was never sweet,' he said. ‘Is the child safe with him?'

‘Oh yes. He loves her.'

‘Indeed?' He watched them for a moment, quietly smiling. ‘Beauty and the Beast, then?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘She is Anna Rattrie's daughter, is she not? Oliver Rattrie's niece?'

‘Yes.'

‘Does that not make Oliver her next of kin?'

She had not thought of that. She thought of it now. Considered what Christie might do with it. And then turned her own, undamaged body very slightly on the tree stump towards him.

‘No. She has been left in the care of her grandmother, who is living with me. And if your boy Oliver makes any attempt to claim her I shall certainly strangle him. Make sure he knows that.'

There was a slight, almost strangled pause and then, in a sudden and quite strangled fashion, he laughed.

‘There is no cause for alarm. He will not approach her unless I tell him. And I shall not.'

‘How kind.'

‘Yes. I think so. She is the only card I had to play and I have willingly surrendered her …'

‘Games,' she said. ‘Games – all over again.' She had had enough of that. ‘I don't think I want to talk to you Christie. I don't
have
to talk to you, do I – unless I want to.'

‘No. Surely not.'

‘And it was vile of you – do you know that? – to have Oliver Rattrie turn me out of the Fleece that night.'

‘I know.'

‘So why did you do it?'

‘Because I wanted you to stay – somewhat too badly.'

For a moment she stared at him, incredulous, aghast.

‘Oh God,' she said. ‘Will you say something, just for once, that I can understand?'

‘Yes. Have you missed me – in any way at all, Cara?'

‘No. Have you missed me?'

‘I should not be here otherwise. Should I?'

She smiled at him. ‘Then you have my leave to go away again.' Had she really said that? Yes. And how she had enjoyed every syllable of it. So much so that she smiled at him again. ‘I'm going home now in any case.'

Jumping to her two sound, elegantly-shod feet, she called the dog and the child and went blithely across the uneven ground to her carriage, still smiling.

‘Won't you give a lame man a ride to town?' he said, having managed to keep up with her.

‘Why should I?'

Once, a long time ago, he had driven off and left her shivering in the snow with two plush tablecloths wrapped around her. A long time ago.

‘Because you think you are getting the upper hand of me and want to enjoy it.'

Because she was a damned fool.

He got in beside her and snapped autocratic fingers at the dog who went obediently under the seat at his command.

‘Dog?' said Anna, who wanted the animal's head on her lap.

‘No,' he said pleasantly. ‘Little girls sit on chairs. Dogs on the floor.'

Anna looked puzzled.

‘Believe me. I know,' he said, smiling down at the child who, to Cara's intense annoyance, lifted up her breathless, eager little face and smiled back.

Beauty and the Beast indeed.

He came with her, as if by right, into the shop and, since he
did
own the premises, she could hardly deny him. Or so she told herself as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, the dog and the man still behind her, both panting hard, the child going off to be cleaned and tidied for bed by her grandmother.

‘A glass of wine?' She had noticed how the three flights of stairs had tired him but did not ask him to sit down. He sat, nevertheless.

‘Brandy would suit me better.'

‘Certainly.' Brandy it should be. And not his brandy either, but her own purchase, her own crystal goblets. She would even take a sip of it herself.

‘You are looking far from well,' she told him joyfully. ‘Rather drawn – and old – in fact …'

‘Thank you.'

‘Never mind. The sunshine in Antigua will do you good. And Miss Gage will look after you.'

Was it the brandy that had gone to her head? So quickly? She doubted it. Triumph, more likely. And a sparkling, tantalizing little imp of pure mischief.

‘Miss Gage has nothing to do with me.'

‘Really?'

‘Why should you think so?'

‘Because she is going abroad too, and certainly can't afford to pay for it herself …'

‘Not with me. She is going abroad to have Ben Braithwaite's child, I imagine. Don't you? Whereas I may not go at all. In fact, I think not …'

‘Don't stay for me,' she said. ‘Because I don't want you. And you can't force me to take you either. Can you?'

‘No. I never could. I think it high time you understood that. It was always in your power to leave me.'

‘Yes. And now I have.'

‘Cara,' and something in his tone cut through her growing smugness to hold her attention. ‘I was immensely jealous of Daniel Carey –
insanely
jealous one might even say …'

‘You had good reason.'

‘He
was
your lover, then?'

‘No. But that doesn't seem to matter. If he sent to me now for help I would do the same things all over again.'

‘Yes. I see. Then perhaps it is as well you will be spared the trouble – since he is to marry Gemma Gage, I understand …?'

‘That he is. And I shall make her look very handsome on her wedding day. Gold satin. I have already done the sketches.'

‘So – could one take it, then, that your affection for Mr Carey is …'

‘None of your business, Christie.'

He looked away from her and then, his hands clenching the arms of the chair, gave her a sombre, haggard look.

He was in pain. She was very glad of it.

‘Do you thoroughly detest me, Cara?'

‘I think you have given me every reason.'

‘Deliberately.'

‘Games again, Christie.'

‘No. A simple need to protect oneself –
my
self …'

‘Games.'

‘Survival, Cara. And that is what I am. A survivor. So are you. Whatever threatens me I destroy. And quickly. I strike first, and fatally if I can. You know that. You even understand the necessity.'

She nodded.

‘What I can use I take, Cara. What I cannot use I discard. What I found necessary to discard in my youth was a certain inconvenient inheritance from my parents – It may not be possible for a child to feel compassion for a father, or a mother. Certainly I felt none for mine. I watched the turmoil they lived in – it would have been hard to miss it – and what I felt was embarrassment. I never pitied them. I was ashamed. They may have thought themselves magnificent in their passion and their jealous rages. I thought them undignified. When my mother fell to her death down the manor stairs I believed she had brought it on herself – thrown her life away. Wastefully. When my father began to destroy himself with drink and all that goes with it, he may have thought himself a hero. I thought him a fool. I did not intend to lose either my life, or my dignity, in that sorry fashion.'

He paused and gave her the same sombre, haggard look which had so pleased her a moment ago.

‘Do you understand any of this, Cara?'

‘Of course not. How could I? I'm just an ignorant peasant from across the water. You're wasting your time, you know, talking to me.'

‘Very likely.' He sighed and stared into the fire for a moment, finding it too small, she supposed, feeling the cold again; and thinking hard.
Scheming
– she never for a moment doubted it – although he was trying not to let it show.

‘However,' he said, ‘the only card I have left is to talk. Isn't it? I did not
like
my father. He offended me. His type still does. And when I realized that I carried a part of his nature in mine as was inevitable – I crushed it. Thoroughly. Or else I channelled it in useful directions. In me his wild jealousy became a straightforward urge to possess for my pleasure. Not women only, but money – authority – the upper hand. And I had no need to force myself into this mould. It came quite naturally to me. I have enjoyed my life, Cara – playing my games. Self-centred perhaps – but not a fool. Safeguarding myself by associating with women like Marie Moon and Audrey Covington-Pym of whom one could hardly be jealous if one tried. And with girls like you who happened to take my fancy. Except that you took rather more, I am sorry to say …'

‘Are you?'

‘Yes. Very sorry. It was the last thing I could have wanted to happen. So I put chains on you. And – to test myself – dared you to break them.'

‘Why didn't you make me fall in love with you instead?'

Silence fell.

‘Could I have done that?' he said.

She shrugged and smiled and, moving around the room, she began arranging and re-arranging the many small objects on her inlaid tables. Little things. Insignificant things. She had not the least intention in the world of giving him an answer.

‘You would have found it uncomfortable, I think,' he said. ‘Loving me?'

‘I suppose I would.'

Another silence. Much longer.

‘Very well, Cara. Hear me out. What I will do is build a house for you. As fine as you like …'

‘Here?'

‘On the outskirts of town. Near enough to get to the shop early every morning, if you wanted to …'

‘Of course I want to. And what about this apartment?'