Shadow Of Desire

He must have guessed what she was thinking because he said, ‘Oh, no, you don’t, you violent, destructive little bitch!’ Before she could move to defend herself, he had vaulted lightly across the pine kitchen table and seized her by the shoulders in a grip which hurt.

‘Now then,’ he said grimly, ‘who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?’

Dazedly it occurred to her that he didn’t sound like a criminal bent on housebreaking—always supposing she had the slightest idea what such a person would sound like. His voice was educated, low and resonant, and if there was menace in it, it was probably sparked off by the fact that he was good and mad.

She said on a sob, ‘What have you done with Toby?’

‘Toby?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘I’ve done nothing with him, you madwoman. He’s in London as far as I know.’

‘But he was coming down here—I had a message.’

He shook his head decisively. ‘Oh, no, he wasn’t. I’d made it quite clear I’d be using the house myself this weekend. He knows better than to intrude.’

‘You’re the intruder,’ she gasped. She was shaking now from reaction so violently that if it hadn’t been for that bruising grip on her shoulders, she thought she might well have collapsed to the floor at his feet. ‘You’re in his house—you’ve got his car. Why?’

He swore under his breath. ‘So that’s it.’ There was a long silence, then he said, ‘Did Toby tell you this was his house? Answer me, damn you, or I’ll break your neck before I break his!’

There was something in his voice, rather than the threatening words themselves, which caught her attention and held it riveted. Panic was filling her up, and a curious sense of unreality. She looked up into his face, absorbing other details—the firm hard lines of his mouth, and his eyes, as cold and grey as a winter sea, and as perilous, she thought wildly.

She marshalled every vestige of self-control of which she was capable in order to say, ‘Will you let go of me, please. I think there’s been a mistake.’

‘I’m damned sure there has. I still want some answers to my question. Has my feckless cousin been passing off my property as his?’

Ginny said numbly, ‘Your property?’

He nodded. ‘Mine. The car certainly—as for the house, I signed the lease and I pay the rent.’ He looked round the kitchen and his mouth curled derisively. ‘I also pay a generous service charge. There’s supposed to be a housekeeper–caretaker woman living on the premises to keep the place in a permanent state of readiness. If this is a fair sample of the “service” then I’m wasting my money. There aren’t even sheets on my bed.’

She said on a whisper, ‘I’m sorry.’ Her stomach was churning wildly, and she was afraid she was going to be sick. ‘Do—do you mind telling me your name?’

‘It’s Hendrick—Max Hendrick.’ He gave her an impatient glance. ‘Now do you mind telling me how you come to have the run of the place? Or need I ask? No matter how remote the spot, Toby can always be relied on to organise himself a village maiden.’ He cast a wry glance at the fragments of broken china, and the remnants of chicken casserole still adhering glutinously to the wall. ‘And this one can even cook, it seems.’

Ginny felt slow hot colour stealing under her skin as she absorbed the implication in his words.

‘It isn’t what you think.’

‘No?’ He pulled a kitchen chair forward with his foot and motioned her towards it. ‘So tell me about it.’

She moistened her lips frantically. ‘Toby never actually said he owned the house. I’m afraid I assumed …’

‘Altogether too damned much,’ he cut in abruptly. ‘Including that you have the right to come and go as you please. Well, you don’t, my child. I’ve rented this place for peace and privacy, and I have no wish for transient female companionship—or at least’—the flick of his eyes over her body was like the lash of a whip—‘not the nubile but immature brand you represent. Now if you’d care to clear up the mess you’ve made, you can go.’

She said, ‘But you must let me explain.’

‘I don’t think any further explanations are necessary,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if you’re disappointed about Toby. He should have told you that the house and the car were merely temporary loans while I was abroad.’

‘It isn’t that …’ she tried again, but he held up a peremptory hand.

‘I’d like to cancel any further discussion,’ he said coolly. ‘I’ve been halfway round the world in the past few days, and I’ve just driven down from London this afternoon, expecting a few home comforts which haven’t been provided. I’ve even had to switch on the immersion heater in the bathroom to obtain enough hot water for a bath. Whatever my so-called caretaker is taking care of, it certainly isn’t my interests.’

Ginny heard him out, feeling sick. The most galling part of it was that the time she had wasted bathing and prettying herself for Toby had been the time she should have been over in the main part of the house, lighting the kitchen stove, seeing that the water was hot, and making up the bed. Those were the duties she was being paid for, and which she’d failed to carry out, and there was little doubt in her mind that one of the first actions of this angry stranger was going to be to complain to Vivien Lanyon.

Nor had his temper been improved by having a casserole thrown at his head, she thought dejectedly, or by being accused of being an intruder in his own home. There seemed no end to the list of her misdeeds which he could present to Mrs Lanyon.

She got up from the chair, her mind working madly. There was plenty of chicken left—she could easily fetch another helping. And she could fight the range, and make up his bed while he was having his bath. If she did these few basic chores for him, perhaps his temper would cool and he would think twice about complaining about her, she told herself without much conviction.

She said quietly, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a—poor welcome, Mr Hendrick. I’ll clear up in here before I go.’

He nodded curtly, and after giving her one last measuring look he turned and went out of the room.

Hastily Ginny cleaned the mess from the wall and floor, and collected the pieces of broken pottery in a newspaper before depositing them in the kitchen bin. Then she tackled the range, using firelighters and sticks with prodigal recklessness in order to get it going fast. When the fire was burning up well, she rinsed her hands at the sink and started for the door. At the foot of the stairs she paused to remove her shoes, then went upstairs quiet as a cat in her stockinged feet.

The linen cupboard on the landing was well stocked with sheets and pillowcases, and she chose a set at random before tiptoeing across to the door of the master bedroom and listening.

It was quiet, but from the bathroom beyond came the sound of running water. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped quietly into the room. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation with the forbidding Mr Hendrick—not at least until she’d had a chance to put things right. She stripped the covers from the bed and began to make it up, stretching the bottom sheet to an immaculate smoothness with an unsteady hand.

She had behaved like an idiot, she thought miserably. In hindsight, everything pointed to the fact that Toby was not the real tenant, but she had chosen to assume otherwise, and no one had bothered to correct her mistaken impression. After all, her job was to have the house ready for occupation at all times, not to question the identity of the occupier, and Max Hendrick was entitled to lend his house and his car to whomsoever he pleased.

She snatched up a pillow and rammed it into its waiting case with real vindictiveness. It was his own fault if the house wasn’t ready for him, she told herself hotly and without pausing to examine her own logic, expecting her to spring into action like a programmed robot through some vague message from a third party. He was cold and arrogant, and she hated him, though she wasn’t entirely sure why—unless it was because he couldn’t have presented a greater contrast to Toby.

Her newly washed hair flopped across her face as she bent over the bed, tucking in the top sheet, and she pushed it back angrily. She was both disappointed and disillusioned, but the disappointment was paramount. She had built so much on Toby coming down this weekend that this new development was shattering.

But why hadn’t Toby told her—warned her? she asked herself almost despairingly. Presumably because he would assume she already knew of his cousin’s existence—because unlike Max Hendrick and Vivien Lanyon, he did not regard her simply as a mindless automaton whose sole function was the unquestioning carrying out of orders.

She drew the blankets over the bed, straightening them with small angry jerks, and as she did so became suddenly and paralysingly aware that she was no longer alone.

She straightened slowly and turned apprehensively to look towards the bathroom. Max Hendrick was standing in its doorway, his hands on his hips. He was smiling a little, but his smile was not pleasant, and as his cold grey eyes went over her Ginny wished suddenly that her jeans did not fit quite so closely to her rounded hips, or her sweater cling quite so revealingly.

He’d shaved, she noticed inconsequentially, so he looked fractionally less like a vagabond, but it was a very small fraction. He still looked dark and dangerous, and the opposite of a conventional tenant for a quiet country house. She remembered Kathy’s phrase that he was ‘all man’ and felt at last that she understood what Kathy had meant—although the older woman had presumably never encountered him as Ginny was seeing him now—black hair falling damply across his forehead, and his only covering a towelling bathrobe, opening in a deep vee over the mat of dark hair on his chest, and reaching only to mid-thigh length.

She swallowed nervously, and saw him note her reaction and his amusement deepen.

‘What’s this?’ he asked coolly. ‘A broad hint that you’re not Toby’s exclusive property? Do you come with the house, as it were?’

‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose I do.’ Ginny struggled for composure. ‘But not in the way you obviously think,’ she added in haste as she saw his brows lift mockingly.

‘I’d have said you were the one who was being obvious,’ he remarked. ‘I asked you to clear up the mess in the kitchen and leave—yet here you are in my bedroom. And you were clearly all lit up for a weekend of love when you barged in just now,’ he added, his mouth twisting cynically. ‘If I’ve deprived you of your lover’s company this weekend, the least I can do is offer you a replacement. I’m sure you’d find me a more than adequate substitute.’

He took a step towards her and Ginny recoiled instinctively. The edge of the bed caught her across the back of the legs as she moved, and she collapsed on to it.

‘Very flattering,’ he drawled. ‘Must it be at once, or can you restrain your feminine ardour until I’ve eaten?’

‘You insulting swine!’ Uncaring now of the need to placate him, Ginny levered herself off the bed and faced him, her eyes bright with angry tears. ‘You have the most monstrous ego of anyone I’ve ever met in my life! For your information, Toby is not my lover, but even if he were, what makes you think you could ever take his place? As a matter of fact, Mr Hendrick, I find you not only abominably conceited, but totally resistible as well.’ She paused for breath. He had halted, and was staring at her, his dark brows dancing together in an ominous frown. ‘As for being in your bedroom, believe me, it’s duty that brings me here, not desire. I’m your housekeeper.’

‘Oh no, you’re not,’ he said flatly.

‘I can assure you I am. If you contact Mrs Lanyon, she’ll confirm it for you.’

‘I shall be contacting Mrs Lanyon right enough,’ he said grimly, ‘but not to confirm anything.’

‘What do you mean?’ Dismay clutched at her.

‘Do I have to spell it out?’ he asked rather wearily.

‘You mean—you don’t want me as your housekeeper?’

‘I don’t want you in any capacity.’ His eyes were like ice. ‘As I mentioned, I’ve come here for peace and quiet in order to get on with some work. My idea of a housekeeper is someone capable and unobtrusive. You fail on both counts. I can’t imagine what possessed Mrs Lanyon to engage you in the first place.’

There was a long silence, then Ginny said with some difficulty, ‘Mr Hendrick, I know I’ve given you a rather poor first impression of my abilities, but …’

‘There are no buts,’ he cut across her incisively. ‘Even if you carried out your instructions to the letter, I still wouldn’t have been prepared to keep you on.’

‘But that’s very unfair,’ she protested.

‘It’s an unfair world. Didn’t you know?’ he returned shortly. ‘You’re young, inexperienced and volatile—and that’s a mixture I need like a hole in the head. But don’t worry, I’ll simply tell Mrs Lanyon I’ve been forced to make other arrangements. I won’t tell her about the shambles here tonight. You’ll get your reference.’

She stood staring at him, all the colour drained from her face. Only an hour before, life had been happy and settled. She’d been on top of the world, but now after a few careless words from this man, she was facing disaster again. And if it was only herself, she thought numbly. How was she going to tell Tim and Aunt Mary of this sudden reversal in their fortunes?

Max Hendrick said abruptly, ‘There’s no need to look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’ll get another job easily enough.’

‘It isn’t the job,’ she said mechanically. ‘It’s the flat—my family. I don’t know what we’re going to do.’

‘You have a family?’

‘My great-aunt and my young brother. My parents were killed in a road accident three months ago.’

He said incredulously, ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’re the breadwinner?’

She said defiantly, her mouth trembling a little, ‘They’re my family. They’re all I’ve got. I—I had to keep us together. That’s why a residential job seemed ideal, although the money was poor, but I was going to do some part-time typing to earn extra cash.’

Max Hendrick said slowly and very wearily, ‘Oh, my God!’ There was a silence, then he sighed, pushing his hair back from his forehead with an impatient hand. ‘I’m going to put some clothes on. Go downstairs and wait for me. Make a pot of coffee—strong coffee. You know how to do that?’

She flushed. ‘Of course, but …’

‘As I said before, no “buts”,’ he told her drily. ‘Can’t you even carry out a simple instruction without an argument?’

‘Yes,’ she said, hating him.

‘Then prove it.’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her towards the door.

Her mind was in ferment as she made the coffee. It seemed by his sudden change of attitude that she might be given another chance. But did she really want one? she asked herself. Was the fragile security they now enjoyed at Monk’s Dower really worth the cost of having to work for such an arrogant brute? She sighed, watching the coffee filter through into the jug beneath. Only time would tell—and did she really have a choice, anyway? Could she justify making Tim and Aunt Mary homeless again merely because of a clash of personalities?

She was standing by the window staring into the darkness when he came in. He looked at the jug of black coffee on the table with its attendant cream jug and sugar basin, and the single pottery mug, and his brows rose.

‘Won’t you join me?’

She shook her head. ‘Coffee in the evening keeps me awake.’

As if she was likely to sleep anyway, she thought bitterly.

He gave a slight shrug, then poured himself some coffee, tasted it and gave a slight nod. ‘Well, your coffee’s drinkable, so that’s one point in your favour at least.’

‘I’m sure all the minuses cancel it out,’ Ginny said quietly. ‘I’m sorry the house wasn’t ready for your arrival. It—it won’t happen again.’

‘I know it won’t,’ he said in a dry tone. ‘Because I intend to be here for quite some time. The question is—will you?’

‘That’s up to you.’ She would not meet his gaze, but stared down at the quarry-tiled kitchen floor.

‘And that’s tie devil of it,’ he said, half to himself. He was silent for a moment, then said abruptly, ‘Tell me about yourself.’

Taken aback, she said, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Anything you care to tell me.’ He refilled his coffee mug. ‘I’d like to know primarily why you find yourself in this situation. It isn’t every day one comes across someone of your age looking after an old house in a backwater.’

‘I like housework,’ she protested. ‘And I don’t have the heavy cleaning to do. Mrs Petty does that.’

‘That’s hardly the point. You hardly fit the conventional image of a housekeeper.’ He gave the wall where the casserole had landed a long look. ‘An Olympic discus thrower, maybe.’

‘Haven’t you heard about the high level of unemployment?’ she tried to speak lightly. ‘You take what you can get and are thankful these days.’

‘And this was the best you could get?’ His glance was quizzical.

‘We needed somewhere to live,’ she said simply. ‘My father was heavily in debt when he died. Everything had to go, including our home. It isn’t easy finding a place when there’s a child involved.’

‘The young brother. How old is he?’

‘Eleven. And my great-aunt’s in her seventies. She would have—she offered to go into a home, but she’d have hated it. And they wanted to put Tim in care.’ She felt herself begin to shake at the old remembered nightmare. ‘I had to find an answer, and this seemed to be it.’

‘And have you no other family—no one who would have helped?’

‘I have an older sister,’ she admitted, realising with a shock that she had not given Barbie a thought until that moment. ‘She’s an actress. She’s appearing in a new play in the West End.’

‘Oh? Which one?’

Ginny wrinkled her nose in an effort to remember. ‘I think it’s called A Bird in the Hand.’

‘Oh, that one.’ His tone was neutral; Ginny couldn’t figure whether he spoke in praise or blame. ‘What’s your sister’s name? What’s yours, come to that? I don’t think Mrs Lanyon mentioned it.’

‘I don’t suppose she did,’ Ginny said wearily. ‘I’m Ginevra Clayton. My sister’s stage name is Barbie Nicholas—it was our mother’s maiden name,’ she added.

‘Yours would make a good stage name too.’

‘If I had any ambitions in that direction—and the talent to go with it, which I haven’t.’

‘No? Then in which direction do your ambitions lie, Miss Ginevra Clayton? I assume you don’t mean to spend your days as a junior Mrs Danvers. Marriage, I suppose, when the right man comes along.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, also trying for a neutral tone, but she failed because involuntarily an image of Toby filled her mind, and the colour flared in her cheeks.

There was a pause, then he said very drily, ‘The more I hear, the more convinced I am that I should send you packing. Couldn’t this sister of yours put you up until you find somewhere?’

‘No.’ Her eyes sought his in dismay, but there was nothing for her comfort in his dark face. There was a remoteness about him, and even a suppressed anger suddenly.

She said in a subdued tone, ‘I’d better be going. Aunt Mary will be wondering where I am. Shall—shall I finish making your bed before I go?’

‘I think I can manage to add tie quilt unaided,’ he said flatly.

‘Very well.’ Ginny lifted her chin. ‘I’ll be over in the morning to see to the fires. Whatever you ultimately decide about me I—I shall continue to carry out the duties I’m being paid for until I leave.’

‘Bravo,’ he approved sardonically. ‘I doubt if even the actress sister could have delivered that little speech without a rehearsal. Perhaps you should reconsider where your talents lie, Ginevra.’

It was a shock to hear her name on his lips. Under the circumstances it seemed an unbearable intimacy, and she stiffened. She had never felt so torn. Half of her mind wanted to hang on grimly to what security she had, no matter what the cost. The other half longed to damn him to hell and vanish into the night, never to return. But it was hateful to know that her immediate future depended on his whim.

She forced her lips to move in the semblance of a smile.

‘Goodnight, Mr Hendrick.’

‘Goodnight,’ he returned almost absently.

Aunt Mary was waiting in the kitchen, her thin face anxious when Ginny returned.

‘My dear child, wherever have you been? Your supper will be ruined. Timothy and I finished long ago.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ginny assured her almost mechanically. ‘I—I’ve been meeting my employer—the new tenant.’

Aunt Mary frowned a little. ‘What are you talking about, my dear? Toby is the tenant.’

‘Apparently not,’ Ginny said ruefully. ‘He’s just a cousin who’s been allowed to use the place while Mr Hendrick has been abroad.’

‘I see. How strange that Toby didn’t see fit to acquaint you of the fact.’

‘I expect he thought it wasn’t important.’ Ginny began on her supper reluctantly. Her appetite seemed to have completely deserted her.

Aunt Mary said, ‘Hmm,’ rather sceptically, and busied herself making a fresh pot of tea which she carried over to the table.

‘And what’s the new tenant like?’ she asked, pouring the tea.

‘He’s an arrogant, unpleasant, unfeeling swine!’

‘Ginevra!’ her aunt gasped.

‘I’m sorry, Aunt Mary.’ Ginny sounded totally unrepentant. ‘But you did ask me.’

‘I gather the gentleman has been unfortunate to arouse your displeasure, and rather early in the acquaintance.’

‘Whatever he is, he’s no gentleman.’ Ginny’s eyes smouldered as she remembered the embarrassment of their encounter in the bedroom. ‘He didn’t believe I was the housekeeper, and when I did convince him, he was damned rude about it.’ She gave a long, shaky sigh. ‘Oh, Aunt Mary, I’m afraid I’ve made such a mess of it all. I—I’m afraid we may have to leave here.’ And quite suddenly and unexpectedly she laid down her fork and burst into tears.

It was rather like finding that you had slipped back into childhood again. Before many minutes had passed she found rather dazedly that she was upstairs in her room, being put to bed by Aunt Mary. She was tucked in so tightly she could hardly move, a hot water bottle was placed at her feet and a handkerchief smelling of eau de cologne was put gently into her hand. Later, a glass of hot milk appeared which she drank obediently, then, worn out with worry and crying, she fell asleep.

She awoke the following morning later than usual, and exclaimed with horror. She had given her word that she would carry out her duties over at the house, and she was going to be late. She flung on the first clothes which came to hand and raced downstairs. If she followed her usual route across the courtyard, he would see her coming, she thought, but there was another way into the main part of the house. She guessed that once the traditional green baize door had divided the servants’ wing from the family rooms, but now the door was a much more solid oaken affair, with a key and bolts on her side only. If she went that way, she might just be able to make Max Hendrick dunk that she had arrived for work at the correct time.

She felt like a criminal as she unbolted the door and turned the key silently in the lock. Her soft-soled shoes made no noise as she crept along the passage and into the kitchen. Her heart sank a little as she looked round. The room was empty, but the range had been stoked, and there were signs that breakfast had been prepared and cleared away. She had been hoping that Max Hendrick might also have overslept. So where was he now? she wondered. Sitting in that chilly study behind the electric typewriter, wondering why his fire wasn’t lit?

She marched along to the study and opened the door after a perfunctory knock. She had a reluctant apology already trembling on her lips, but it was not needed. That room was empty too. She went quietly upstairs and listened, but there wasn’t a sound, and when she went over to the landing window and looked out, she realised that the car was gone. He’d got up, had breakfast and gone out. But where? Feeling sick, Ginny thought she could probably guess. He’d gone over to Lanyon Manor to complain about his housekeeper and insist on her replacement. She turned dejectedly away and went downstairs again.