Dark Summer Dawn (5 page)

Lisa said, 'I can take care of myself.' And froze as she realised what she'd said, the words acting like a key to unlock the secret place in her mind and unleash the nightmares which lurked there. She found she was gripping the phone until her knuckles went white. She answered Simon in monosyllables 'Yes' and 'No', praying that each response was the right one because he might have been talking so much gibberish.

Eventually she said with a kind of insane brightness in her voice, 'Look, I really must go now. I'll see you when I get back.'

Simon said goodbye in his turn. He sounded disappointed, as if for all his warnings about the weather he had hoped she might give him the address she was going to, the telephone number so that he could make contact.

She replaced the receiver on the rest with unsteady fingers, and turned slowly.

Across the room, Dane's eyes met hers, cold and watchful, and she knew that her words had triggered off memories for him too and for an endless moment the past held them in its bleak trap.

If she backed away, he would come after her, a jungle cat stalking his prey. But she had no reason to back off. Because this time what she said was true. She could look after herself, and she would. Neither Dane nor anyone else had the power to harm her.

And sitting beside him in silence, as the car devoured the miles on the motorway, Lisa found herself repeating those words over and over again as if they were an incantation that would keep her safe.

CHAPTER THREE

They had been travelling for over an hour and a half when Lisa realised that Dane had signalled his intention of turning off the motorway.

'Where are we going?' she asked sharply.

'To eat. There's a pub I often use not far from here.'

'Must we stop? I'm not particularly hungry.'

'I intend to stop, yes,' he said coolly. 'If you don't want to join me you can always wait in solitary splendour in the car.'

Lisa compressed her lips angrily. She had no intention of doing anything of the kind, as he was perfectly aware.

The village they eventually came to was charming, with well tended houses clustering round a green and a duck-pond. The inn, set back from the road, was a long low building, whitewashed and spruce, and there were already several cars parked at the rear.

Lisa fumbled with the catch on the passenger door, trying desperately to release it while Dane attended to the security on the driver's side, but it resisted all her efforts, and to her annoyance Dane had to come round and open the door from the outside. For a moment she was afraid he was going to help her out. She didn't want him to touch her, and she scrambled out with none of her usual grace, bitterly aware of the slight mocking smile which twisted his mouth.

As they walked towards the inn door, a large Alsatian came round the corner of the building. He paused when he saw them, his ears cocked inquisitively, the long plumy tail beginning to wave slightly.

'What a beauty!' Lisa exclaimed impulsively, and put out her hand. The dog came up and sniffed at her fingers, then allowed his head to be gently scratched.

'You never learn, do you, Lisa?' Dane said harshly. He took her hand and turned it palm upwards, pointing to a faint white mark. 'Didn't Jeff Barton's collie teach you anything?'

Lisa flushed as she pulled her hand away. It had been her first summer at Stoniscliffe, she recalled unwillingly, and she had seen the dog in the lane outside the house and run eagerly out of the gate to pet it. When it had turned on her snarling and bitten her hand, drawing blood, she had screamed more in terror than in pain, and Dane who was home on a short holiday had been the first to reach her. She had flung herself at him, sobbing, arms clinging, but he had put her away from him and she had been bundled unceremoniously into his car and taken to the local Cottage Hospital for the wound to be dressed, and for an anti-tetanus shot which had been worse. She remembered sitting beside Dane in the car, weeping, while he had said with cool contempt, 'Don't you know better than to put your hand out to a strange dog, you little fool?'

She hadn't told him that she knew very little about dogs at all. Aunt Enid had not had time for pets of any kind, and none of the neighbours in London had apparently been dog-lovers either. She had only wanted to stroke the dog, to play with him, because he had seemed friendly enough, she thought passionately. And she hated Dane more than she did already for not understanding, and for pushing her away. He was worse than the dog!

Now she smiled wryly at the memories. 'If he was treacherous, they'd hardly let him roam round loose. Besides, I've learned to deal with dogs. It's people I'm still not sure of.' As she let the Alsatian go to greet some more newcomers with a final pat, she added casually, 'Even the apparently civilised can behave like animals sometimes.'

As she stole a glance at him, she saw that her jibe had gone home. He was suddenly very pale under his tan, and his eyes were glacial, and she felt a bitter satisfaction as she walked ahead of him.

Inside the inn, she found that only the minimum concessions had been made to modernity. The ceiling still sported the original low beams and a log fire blazed brightly in an enormous stone fireplace. Solid high-backed oak settles flanked the hearth and Dane indicated they should sit there by a slight, silent gesture.

'What would you like to drink?' He fetched a menu from the bar counter and handed it to her. 'They have real ale here.

Lisa shook her head. 'I never touch alcohol in the middle of the day. Just a tomato juice, please.'

The menu was quite short, and seemed to avoid the usual grills and basket meals, offering homely dishes like shepherd's pie and hotpot. There was also home-made vegetable soup and a selection of sandwiches.

'The soup's almost a meal in itself,' said Dane, seating himself beside her on the settle. She had hoped he would sit opposite and it was as much as she could do to stop herself edging away. 'And no doubt Chas has ordered a celebration dinner this evening.'

'For the return of the prodigal daughter,' she made her tone deliberately flippant. 'Very well, then, I'll have the soup and a round of cheese sandwiches.'

'I'll have the same,' Dane told the smiling girl who had come to take their order. Lisa noticed she had greeted him as if she knew him well, as had the landlord's wife who was serving behind the bar.

She sipped her tomato juice, and tried to ignore the curious glances coming her way, as other people in the bar half-recognised and tried to place her. But not all the glances were for her. Most of the women were looking at Dane, some covertly, and some quite openly. There was little to wonder at in that, of course. Women had always looked and more than looked.

Lisa had to acknowledge that if she had been a stranger, seeing him for the first time, she would probably have looked herself. He was incredibly attractive, with an implicit sexuality, and the aura of unquestioned money and success to add an extra spice. And he had charm when he chose to exert it. The young waitress was clearly under his spell, but then, Lisa thought, she had never had the misfortune to cross him in any way. She would have no idea of the strength of that relentless cruelty and arrogant maleness which dwelt just below the surface glamour.

'Dane's a good friend,' she had once heard Chas telling a business associate, 'but he makes a bad enemy.'

Well, she had first-hand knowledge of just how bad that enemy could become, and it had nearly destroyed her.

Dane said, 'I hope I didn't make you cut short an important conversation back at the flat?'

After a few seconds of incomprehension, she realised he was referring to Simon's call, and she flushed a little. 'Not particularly. We'd already said what needed saying before you came back.'

'It was a man.' It was a statement rather than a question.

'It was.' He had overheard too much for her to deny it.

'
The
man?' He picked up his glass and drank from it.

'One of them.' And that had been an invention which could well backfire on her, she thought vexedly.

'You don't bestow your favours exclusively?' It was said lightly, but she could feel the undercurrent of contempt. But why should she care? She didn't want or need his good opinion.

'I'm not actually expected to.' And that at least was the truth. 'Is there any purpose behind this inquisition?'

'Naturally.' He gave her a long hard look. 'I'd like to point out that during your absence, my sister has managed to achieve a measure of stability in her life. I wouldn't want anything to upset that.'

Lisa was very still. 'I don't think I have that measure of influence over Julie.'

'And I think you underestimate yourself,' he said.

'In that case I'm amazed you should have pressed me to come back with you. I'd have thought you'd have done your utmost to ensure that I stayed away permanently.'

'If it had been left to me alone, I probably would have done,' he said levelly. 'Believe me, Lisa, the last thing I wanted was for you to come back into her life—into any of our lives, and I give you credit for equal reluctance.'

'Well, thank you.' She made no attempt to disguise the sarcasm in her voice.

'I did my damnedest to dissuade Julie from writing to you,' he went on. 'But when she enlisted Chas on her side— told him that she was writing, that she needed you, couldn't manage without you—I was left with little room to manoeuvre.'

'Unusual for you,' she said lightly. 'You're quite right, of course, I'd have kept any distance necessary to avoid having to see you or speak to you again. But I won't upset any apple carts. I'll do whatever it is Julie wants of me, and then get back to my own life.'

'That's very reassuring,' he said grimly. 'But what about Chas?'

She shrugged a little. 'I—I'll have to think of some story that will satisfy him.' She paused. 'Perhaps I should seek some assurances of my own. There must have been— speculation as to why I've stayed away all this time. May I know what you've said, if anything?'

'As little as possible, and certainly nothing approaching the truth. Did you imagine I would? Oddly enough, I prefer Chas to have some illusions left about the pair of us. Is there anything else you wanted to know?'

'Nothing,' she said, but her heart was pounding. The way he spoke, no one would credit that they had parted in violence and bitterness. She was almost glad that the waitress arrived at that moment, bringing their soup accompanied by a basket of home-made bread cut into chunks.

Lisa picked up a spoon and forced herself to begin eating. If she could maintain a cool façade, that might be her saving grace. But as she swallowed the hot savoury liquid, an instinctive pleasure in good food began to take over and she began imperceptibly to relax. If it hadn't been for the inimical presence of the man at her side, and the undoubted problems awaiting her in Yorkshire, she might even have been able to enjoy herself.

After a pause, she said, 'Is Mrs Arkwright still reigning supreme at Stoniscliffe?'

'If you want to put it like that.' He offered her the dish of sandwiches. 'You never did like her, did you, Lisa?'

She shrugged again. 'Not a great deal, but then she always made it plain she had very little time for me—or my mother,' she added.