Deception (10 page)

'Yes, Mr Murray.'
Feeling she was being evaluated like a piece of farm machinery, it took all her
restraint to produce a meek reply. His unexpected appearance had unnerved
her, while his remarks aroused her resentment, but he remained arrogantly cool,
in no way disturbed.

'How about making a
cup of tea?' His sardonic request breaking her reverie, starded her almost as
much as his presence had done. Quickly she averted her eyes from his
dark face and reached blindly for the ketde. As
she filled it,
she couldn't help stealing another glance at his kilt.

'Haven't you seen a
man in a kilt before, Miss Andrews?'

'Of course,' she
stammered, tearing his eyes away from him again, 'but never so-—so
close.'
 
  

'It's nothing to get
alarmed about,' he replied mockingly, without taking his eyes from her.

His glance she could
feel boring into her, causing a peculiar sensation, like pins and needles to
run all over her skin. She swung back to him, a small flicker of desperation
driving her. 'Mr Murray!'

'Yes, Miss Andrews?'
he encouraged sardonically.

'Oh, nothing.'
Regretting her half anxious impulse as she met the green-flecked glitter in his
eyes, she sighed. 'I was merely going to repeat what I've just said, but I
realise you won't listen to me. I'm sure you shouldn't be out of bed. And after
all, I'm here.'

His voice was full of
hard irony, extremely dry. 'Don't you think that's one good reason why I should
be out of bed. I have a would-be housekeeper to interview.'

'Would-be...?'

'Yes, Miss Andrews. No
need to look so surprised. I might be forced to take what I can get, for
Jamie's sake, but you surely don't expect to get a job without having to answer
a few questions first? And gaining, in return, a little information yourself?'

'Information?' Pouring
boiling water in the teapot, Thea was scarcely aware of what she was doing.

'Regarding wages, etc.
Free time, what your duties are to be.' He paused, his eyes roving
contemplatively over her, a slight frown creasing his forehead. 'Haven't you
ever been employed before, girl?'

'Er—yes.' She
almost said no. Her lips had actually formed the first letter which she had
swallowed hastily, but she could see his suspicion was aroused.

'I think you'd better
get yourself sorted out before ten, Miss Andrews, which is when I will see you.
If nothing keeps me outside, I'll be in the library, or what was once the
library, down the hall.'

Nodding a reluctant
agreement, Thea poured the hot tea, then asked what time he took breakfast.
 
 

'About eight.' He was
still staring at her and she wished
he
would look elsewhere. It wasn't as if there was any kind
ness in his
eyes, and his steady regard confused her.

'Am I to take Jamie to
school this morning?' she asked, as he finished his tea and reached for the
shabby tweed jacket which she noticed he had laid on the table beside him.

'Would you?' For a
moment he looked relieved, as though he had found the task of regularly
ferrying a small boy to school irksome.

'I enjoy
driving—and I promise to take care,' she added, again wondering at her
strange desire to reassure him. She was even more surprised at herself when he
merely nodded and went out, without a single word of thanks.

By eight she had
porridge made and ready to serve, kippers under the grill and a pile of toast
waiting to go into the toaster. But only half of her mind was on breakfast, the
other half was with Logan, anxious about what he was doing. He didn't appear to
realise he was still ill, and she knew instinctively he was. The morning was
dark, she could hear the rain. What if he had collapsed, was lying helpless
somewhere with no one to help him?

She was just, about to
go and search for him, without regard for his possible annoyance, when he came
in, fol
lowed by old Martha. Jamie was
already tucking in and she
suddenly remembered she hadn't asked Logan
where he usually took his breakfast. She had set him a place here without
thinking, and she hated to think that she had risked his displeasure yet again.

Her feelings were
mixed when he assured her that the kitchen did well enough. 'I've long since
given up being a gentleman,' he replied dryly. 'I only use the dining-room when
I have guests.'

'Wouldn't you like
your dinner served there?' She wasn't sure why she pursued the subject. 'I
mean, there's Jamie ...'
 
       

As
she slowed to an uncertain halt, he smiled without
humour.
'You mean I should be setting him an example?
Is this what
you're trying tactfully to say, Miss Andrews?'

'Well,
as he doesn't have anyone else!' she exclaimed,
then stopped
abruptly, as his eyes narrowed.

'So,'
he said with deceptive softness, looking around the
table, 'someone's been
busy?'

'I
told her,' Martha confessed unrepentantly, from her
stool
near the fire, where Thea was to learn she always sat
until
Logan had finished his meal. 'She asked and I told
her.'

'Oh,
please ...' Thea found her face going scarlet with
guilt
as she stared at them all, 'I didn't mean to pry or seem
curious...'

'But
you were about the master's wife,' Martha cut in craftily, 'and you'd liked to
have known a lot more than ...'

'Enough!'
Logan snapped, his patience reaching its
limits. 'I'll see you
later, Miss Andrews. If you have any
thing more to ask, then kindly ask me.'

Thea
moved towards the cooker, not realising what she
was doing. When he
spoke like that he shook her pro
foundly, no use
pretending he didn't. Whenever he looked
at her the strangest
sensations came over her, sensations as
sweet as they were
savage. She would have the chance,
when he saw her at ten,
to refuse the job she had hoped he
was going to offer. Much
better to take the opportunity and
go. To go before she got in any deeper!

His
health and temper might not be good this morning,
but
there seemed little wrong with his appetite. She noticed,
as
he accepted a plate of kippers, grilled to perfection, that
he
had finished all his porridge. As she carefully sugared a
huge
cup of hot, strong tea before placing it before him,
she
frowned. He was right, of course; she shouldn't have
mentioned
his wife to anyone, but he could have made
allowances for her, as a
stranger. And she hadn't really
asked out of idle
curiosity. It had been prompted more from
concern. As she passed
him hot toast and marmalade, her
eyes met his, her own
full of unconscious pleading, but she
found nothing even
remotely encouraging in his black,
shuttered stare.

At
ten she went, as he had instructed, to the library. In
her
hands she carried two mugs of coffee. She had meant to
set
a tray, but had been so busy there hadn't been time. It wasn't that she
particularly wanted any coffee herself, but
it might be something to
look at, and to do with her hands
during the forthcoming interview.

Logan
was already there, standing with his back to the
empty hearth.
Thea wished she had thought of lighting a
fire. Without one the
room was cold and sombre in ap
pearance. There were two
easy chairs, but the bookshelves
which lined the walls
were almost empty, while the carpets
and curtains were quite threadbare.

Putting
down the mugs she carried on a low table, Thea glanced slowly around. Why, when
her mother had given
the impression that the Murrays of Drumlarig
were fairly affluent, was Logan Murray living like a man without a
penny
to his name? There seemed only one answer, that
Logan's wife had
spent all his money. Perhaps this was why
he was being so careful
now. It was a shame, though, that
Jamie had to be the one to suffer.

The
slight shiver she gave was misconstrued. 'Are you
cold, Miss Andrews?'

'Not
really,' she shook her fair head, 'but wouldn't you
like a fire?'

'No,
I would not. Maybe when the weather gets colder.'

'Colder?'

A
smile, with its usual hint of cynicism, curled his hard
lips,
'I can see you're full of Southern softness, Miss
Andrews,
but if you are to live here then you must be pre
pared
to put up with somewhat harsher conditions. You
live in London, I suppose?'

'Yes.'
 
    

He took the coffee she
passed him, then put it down again, while she wrapped her ringers around her
own mug in an effort to keep her hands warm. 'Your family? Do they know where
you are? I realise you're quite old enough to be accountable to no one, but I
should appreciate a few particulars.'

'I have no parents,'
she said slowly, 'nor any other relations. My father died before I was born.'

His dark brows rose.
'So you're quite a free agent. What made you leave London?'

'I—I think I was
feeling restless and decided to have a look at Scotland.'

'You didn't choose a
good time of year.'

'Perhaps not, but I
hadn't anything else to do, Mr Murray.'

The quick tightening
of his mouth warned her that he wouldn't tolerate her indifferent tone. 'There
seems little point in another review of the way you arrived here, but have you
ever done domestic work before?'

His sceptical glance,
resting on her slim, pale hands, told her why he felt doubtful about this.
'Yes,' she said, setting her rounded chin stubbornly.

'Where did you learn
to cook the way you do?'

'Cook?' She met the
dark intentness of his gaze hesitantly. 'I have no professional
qualifications, if that's what you're after. I suppose I just picked it up.'
Gran had employed a cook where they had lived in the country and, because
Thea always had to be doing something, she had often watched her to pass the
time. Mabel had occasionally allowed her to try her hand at a few dishes and
pronounced her a born cook. When they had come to London, where the household
had been suddenly smaller, and Gran ill, she had done most of the cooking while
the housekeeper had done the nursing.

Somehow her answer
appeared to satisfy Logan, as if it was one he could understand. 'If I employ
you,' he said
abruptly, 'I will expect you
to work hard for very little,' he
named
a sum which almost made her gasp. As he heard it,
his brows rose sardonically. 'Do you still wish to
stay?'

'I
don't care what you pay me,' she retorted, much, she
suspected, to his
surprise. Had he hoped to drive her
away by
offering an insult of a wage? 'And,' she added
anxiously, 'I don't care what I have to do, just as long as I
can
stay a while.'

He
came closer, until he could stare down into her face,
so
that he might judge without mistake her exact reactions
to
his_ next query. 'It seems you're after some kind of
sanctuary,
Miss Andrews. Are you hiding from a man?'

Silently
Thea cursed the guilty flush which spread over
her face. 'No,'
she stammered, then thinking of Jerry,
though not, she was
sure, in the same way Logan meant,
she finished helplessly, 'Not really.'

'So,'
-Logan's eyes remained fixed on her face, a trace
of
harsh violence lurking somewhere in their green depth,
'there
is someone! Well, I warn you, Miss Andrews, I'll
have no
camp-followers here. Or any man you might pick
up in the
locality. You're attractive enough, with your
childish face and
provocative figure, but whatever you do
in that direction, you will do elsewhere.'

'Mr
Murray!' Rage sparkled in Thea's grey eyes, turning
them
into twin clouds with a storm behind them. Just about
to
tell him he could keep his worthless job, she remembered
she
did need a sanctuary. She thought, too, of all that his
family
had done for her mother; how her mother had often
longed
for the means to repay them, a means which her in-laws, Thea's grandparents,
had always denied her. How
could she walk out on Logan Murray
and his son when
they were so obviously in need of someone?
And where
would she go? Back to London, to her old way of life,
which
was somehow becoming, with every hour, less and
less inviting.