Книга - No Gentle Possession

No Gentle Possession
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.Once a heartbreaker, always a heartbreaker…Seven years ago Karen Sinclair fell in love with gorgeous playboy Alexis Whitney – but despite their vibrant chemistry, Alex was not the settling-down type. Now Karen has a good job and a steady boy-friend – and it’s all very calm and pleasant, perhaps a little too much so!But unexpectedly, Alex is back in her life again – and as disturbingly attractive as ever… and yet if Alex wasn’t interested in commitment all those years ago, why should he be bothered now? Especially in view of the interest he clearly feels in the beautiful Michelle…Karen knows she is playing with fire, but when the other alternative is extreme boredom, perhaps it is worth the risk!










Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!


I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.




No Gentle Possession

Anne Mather







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u6999d848-ab9c-52be-9f53-dec3ebec9d18)

About the Author (#u810d1039-1460-5975-967f-2069f77c5dd3)

Title Page (#u2faf3d02-8cf3-5fd2-8533-79ffbf6119a0)

CHAPTER ONE (#ue053022b-054a-5cd3-b7e9-ec66ba5f73e3)

CHAPTER TWO (#uec512c16-58a6-5afc-a315-d5e110e5821b)

CHAPTER THREE (#uff26ae44-141a-51c4-a1b0-d034b47b2d52)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_08991510-b410-5441-a924-f5ca8c86a392)


THE long room with its pine-logged walls and low-beamed ceiling was full of people, most of whom were stamping their feet and clapping excitedly to the sound of Tyrolean music gone slightly mad. The small band of local musicians had all imbibed rather freely of their host’s hospitality, as indeed had everyone else, and by now the party was totally uninhibited, dancing and singing, or keeping time with their feet. At the far end of the room a huge fireplace was filled with logs which blazed brightly, adding their own illumination to the scene, while the atmosphere, thickened by cigar and cigarette smoke, exuded the mingled scents of perfume and shaving lotion, wines and lager, or plain body heat.

At the opposite end of the room to the fire, a man sat apart from the rest, lodged on a tall stool beside the long buffet tables where food and drink were being dispensed by several white-coated attendants. For time to time, someone would approach him with the obvious idea of rousing him from his solitude, but from their expressions when they turned away it was just as obvious that they had not succeeded.

Alexis Whitney was bored. It was no new experience for him. He was often bored, more frequently with people than with places, and right now he was in no mood to appreciate the kind of bonhomie that was created at such a gathering. He was well aware that his attitude would have been noted and commented upon; it wasn’t very kind, it wasn’t even very polite, but quite honestly he didn’t particularly care. He was all too compellingly aware that no matter how rude or objectionable he might be, his so-called friends would forgive him, and if that forgiveness was conceived all the more rapidly because of his father’s undoubted wealth and social position, then who was he to complain? It was a cynical attitude, he knew, but events had generated that cynicism, and looking ahead he could see no reason to change his opinions.

Finishing the remaining Scotch in his glass, he rose to his feet, flexing his back muscles tiredly. He Had spent the day on the ski slopes above the village and although during the past couple of weeks he had done a lot of skiing, today he had really taxed his strength and endurance. It had been another attempt to shed the boredom that seemed to be seeping like a poison into his soul.

His amber eyes surveyed the room critically. There must have been about forty people present, almost all the guests from the Grüssmatte Hotel, in fact. But Axel Fritzlander was like that. He threw open his chalet without reserve, inviting anyone and everyone to his parties. Alexis had known him for about twenty years. He was a contemporary of his father’s, and Alexis could remember coming here years ago when he was only a child and his mother had been alive. They had spent many winter holidays at the Grüssmatte Hotel, and in consequence they knew its owner intimately. Now, of course, Grüssmatte was much busier than it had been then, and there were other small hotels and pensions catering for the ever-increasing influx of tourists, but still the hotel owned by Axel Fritzlander maintained its individuality, and his guests expected and received personal service. It was expensive, of course, much more expensive than the Hochlander, or the Gasthof, but that, said Axel, was the only way to ensure that his guests would be of the right type and background to mix socially. To Alexis, in his present frame of mind, it was all rather pretentious, and he half wished he had chosen to stay at one of the other hotels, just to see what kind of a reaction that would have aroused.

Still, he thought reflectively, these weeks in Austria had served their purpose in that they had taken him away from London at a time when he most desired it. He had come to the Grüssmatte with David Vanning, a young barrister in London, and one of his few real friends. They had gone to school together, but nowadays, since David began his career, they didn’t see much of one another. Alexis recalled with wry humour his father’s astonishment when he had told him he was going away with David. The usual crowd he mixed with didn’t go in much for actual working, and until recently he had been quite happy to go along with their philosophy so long as he remained conscious of his father’s displeasure …

At the moment, David was at the opposite end of the room, sitting near the fire with Rosemary Lawson, whose parents had not joined the party. Rosemary had been David’s prime objective in coming to the Grüssmatte, he had made that clear from the start, but Alexis had not minded. It had suited him to have some time alone; it had given him a chance to think, and while he didn’t particularly care for his thoughts, at least he had enjoyed the sense of release gained in purely physical achievement.

Now he made his way towards the door, but before he reached it, a small, slim, red-haired girl interposed herself between him and his goal.

‘Alex darling,’ she exclaimed appealingly, grasping the sleeve of his dark blue suede suit. ‘You’re not leaving!’

Alexis looked down at her wryly. ‘Aren’t I? I thought I was.’

‘Oh, Alex, you can’t go now! It’s only just after midnight! Darling, why aren’t you joining in the fun like everybody else? It’s not like you to be so – so – detached!’

Alexis shrugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. But it was a refusal.

The girl’s hand dropped from his sleeve. She had to tip back her head to look up at him. ‘What’s the matter? What have I done? You’ve scarcely spoken to me for the last five days!’ Her voice quivered a little. ‘I thought – I thought you liked me.’

Alexis controlled his impatience. He despised women who ran after a man, who could not control their emotions. ‘I do like you, Sara,’ he replied briefly. ‘But right now I’m tired, I want to go to bed.’

Sara Raymond touched a strand of her hair provocatively. ‘I don’t mind where you want to go, if I can go with you.’

Alexis expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘No, Sara,’ he said definitely, and with a faint smile he walked past her to the door.

No one else tried to stop him. Only Axel was likely to have attempted to do so, and he was occupied with a group of people near the band. Alexis cast one last look at the scene, and then went out into the hall.

He collected his sheepskin coat, and fastened it warmly before stepping out into the frosty air. He scorned the fur hats worn by some and his hair, which at first sight could appear almost white because of its silvery lightness, lay thick and smooth against his head. It was a magnificent night, the sky an arc of inky blue above, inset with a million jewel-like stars. All around the chalet, and the village on whose outskirts it lay, the mountains slumbered beneath their pall of snow like rampant giants, their startling whiteness illuminating the scene with brilliant clarity.

Hunching his shoulders, Alexis set off to walk back to the hotel, but as it was only some hundred yards from Axel’s chalet, he decided to walk the length of the village before retiring. Now that he was away from the party, from the thick, cloying atmosphere, his brain felt sharper, and clearer, and the weariness in his bones seemed to ease as he moved.

There were still one or two people about, although most were enjoying the kind of après-ski entertainment Axel provided, and the sound of accordion music drifted on the air. But it was not an unpleasant sound, and Alexis felt more at peace with himself at that moment than at any time he could recently remember.

It did not take long to reach the end of the village where the bare iron supports of the ski-lift stood out starkly against the background of snow. Motionless now, they stretched up towards the line of spruce and pine trees which marked the beginning of the higher slopes. During the day, these lower slopes were thronged with people, young and old alike, but the more rarefied atmosphere of the upper slopes was what Alexis preferred.

He was about to turn back again when a movement some way up the slope caught his attention. Someone was up there, and because they were wearing something light, they had not immediately been noticeable. Alexis frowned. Surely no one was foolhardy enough to be messing about at this time of night without anyone on hand to offer assistance should it be necessary. Even these lower slopes could be treacherous, providing their users with twisted ankles, sprained muscles, and sometimes actual broken limbs.

He hesitated. It was really nothing to do with him. If his eyes were not so accustomed to searching the slopes for possible dangers on his own perilous descends he might never have noticed that there was anyone up there.

But even as he considered this, there was a startled cry and the person, whoever it was, overbalanced and came tumbling down the slope towards him. It was obvious in that undignified descent that whoever it was was not wearing skis, and Alexis gave a resigned sigh before he went to help the unfortunate climber out of the drift of snow into which he had tumbled.

However, as he reached the place where the snow was thickest, the climber was scrambling to his feet, and brushing himself down, so that clearly there was no damage done. Alexis halted, and then said:

‘Are you all right?’

The climber started, as though until that moment he had thought himself alone, but as he looked up Alexis saw that his supposition of which sex had been wrong. It was a girl who stood regarding him with obvious impatience, a tall girl with an oval face, unnaturally pale in the moonlight, and dark, very dark hair that strayed in a deep fringe across her forehead, and pushed out from the bottom of the cream fur hood of the parka she was wearing.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing so that he could scarcely see them between the thick lashes, and then dropping her gaze she said: ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you,’ dispelling any doubts he might have had as to her nationality. Her voice was low and attractive, and unmistakably English.

Alexis inclined his head. ‘That’s good.’ He paused. ‘However, I wouldn’t advise you to do this very often. These slopes have been known to produce quite serious accidents, and as you’re not even wearing skis …’

She looked up then, anger quickening her speech. ‘I’m quite aware of the hazards involved, thank you.’

‘Are you?’ his expression was wry. ‘Is that why you made that ungainly descent from up there?’ His eyes flickered up towards the firs. ‘I’m sorry – it’s something quite new to me. I always thought the idea was to remain in an upright position. Obviously, I was wrong—’

‘Very amusing!’ She made an irritated little grimace at him and giving one last flick to her cream trousers began to walk towards the village.

Alexis smiled, watching her retreating back with humour. Then with a characteristic shrug of his broad shoulders he quickened his stride to fall into step beside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with that innate charm which was so much a part of his attractiveness. ‘But I couldn’t resist it. You looked so indignant standing there, all covered in snow. It’s a pity I was around at all.’

‘Yes, it was.’

The girl looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and something stirred way back in his subconscious. Something about her was vaguely familiar; he had the disturbing suspicion that at some time she had looked at him like that before. But how was it possible? It was obvious from her accent that she was not from the southern part of England, nor did she have the cultured overtones in her voice that he was used to. How could he have met someone like her? Unless it was at university …

He frowned. It was an infuriating impression, and on impulse, he said: ‘Have we ever met before?’

Immediately the words were out he regretted using them. She lifted her dark eyebrows mockingly, and replied: ‘Is that the best you can do? I expected something quite devastating after that introduction!’

Alexis’s frowned deepened. He didn’t like being made to feel small. ‘It was not a line,’ he said. ‘I meant it.’

‘Really?’ She sounded uninterested, and a slow feeling of anger began to burn inside him. It was a long time since any woman had treated him to such a show of indifference, and he resented her assumption that he might be interested in her.

In cool tones, he said: ‘I should have realized it was impossible to ask such a question without you assuming I was necessarily voicing a personal interest in you. I’m sorry if I’m exploding the high opinion you have of yourself, but there it is.’

The girl tensed at this, and for a moment he felt contrite. He felt quite sure that could he have seen her in normal lighting and not the eerie artificiality of the moon he would have found her cheeks to be blazing with colour at the intended slight.

But she made no reply and not really knowing what prompted him to do so, Alexis said: ‘Are you staying long in Grüssmatte?’

There was a moment’s silence while she obviously fought with herself as to whether to reply, and then she said: ‘Actually no. We leave in the morning.’

‘I see.’ Alexis thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his sheepskin coat. ‘Will you be sorry to leave?’

‘Not really,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I – well – two other teachers and myself are responsible for thirty teenagers. It hasn’t exactly been a picnic.’

Alexis was interested in spite of himself, but at that moment she halted and gestured towards the small hotel standing back from the road. ‘We’re staying here,’ she said. ‘Good night.’

Alexis’s brows drew together. All of a sudden he wished they had not had that altercation. He would have liked to have continued talking to her. But she was already walking up the slope towards the hotel and short of going after her and risking another rebuff there was nothing he could do. And he still had that annoying sensation that he had met her before.

He arrived back at the Grüssmatte Hotel, not in the best of tempers, and when the hotel manager stopped him in the hall with a tentative: ‘Herr Whitney!’ he turned to him with ill-concealed impatience.

‘Yes? What is it?’

Jurgen Blass gave an apologetic smile. ‘So sorry to trouble you, Herr Whitney, but there has been a telephone call for you – from your father.’

Alexis sighed. ‘Yes?’

‘He – er – would like you to ring him back as soon as you come in, Herr Whitney. He said it was urgent.’

‘Urgent? At this time of night?’ Alexis glanced at the gold watch on his wrist.

‘Yes, Herr Whitney.’

Alexis considered the man’s impassive face for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Very well. Arrange the call for me, will you? I’ll be in my suite.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The manager bowed his head politely and Alexis went on his way to the stairs. For all its excellence, the Grüssmatte had no lifts.

While he waited for the call to come through, Alexis took a shower. It was when he was towelling himself dry that the telephone in the adjoining bedroom began to ring. Wrapping the huge towel around him, he went to answer it. Until that moment he had not paid a great deal of attention as to why his father should want to speak to him at this time of night, his thoughts had still been absorbed with the girl from the ski slopes, but now as he lifted the receiver recollections of his life in London came back to him, and he felt a sense of resentment that because of this medium there was no real escape.

‘Alexis Whitney,’ he responded automatically.

‘Alex! Alex – is that you?’ His father’s voice was indistinct. It was not a good line.

‘Yes, Howard. Where’s the fire?’ He was laconic. It was a long time since he and his father had had any real communication with one another. They saw one another frequently, they talked frequently; but always there was that unseen barrier between them.

‘Alex! I’ve been trying to reach you since ten o’clock!’

‘I was out.’

‘I know that, dammit. Couldn’t you leave notification as to where you are?’

‘They knew where I was.’

‘Then why the hell didn’t somebody contact you?’

‘I guess you didn’t make the position too clear.’ Alexis was bored with this conversation. ‘In any case, I don’t see why whatever you’ve got to say couldn’t wait until morning.’

‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’ Howard Whitney was breathing heavily down the telephone and Alexis could picture him propped against the desk in his study, his face reddening with frustration as he endeavoured to restrain the temper which Alexis himself had inherited. A big man, as tall as Alexis himself but stockily built with a thickening waistline, he was forced to maintain a rigid diet to avoid the blood pressure which was already evident in times of stress. ‘Damn you, Alex, do you know what Knight has done? He’s attempted suicide!’

‘What?’ Alexis, who had been reaching for one of the slim cigars he favoured, stayed his hand. ‘You mean – he’s dead!’

‘No.’ His father bit off the word harshly. ‘No, fortunately he was found in time. He’s not dead – just off his head, I hear.’

Alexis took a deep breath and wrapped the towel more closely about him. ‘I see.’

‘Is that all you can say?’ Howard burst out.

‘What do you expect me to say?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘Give me a chance to take it in.’

‘You’re to fly home first thing in the morning,’ went on Howard grimly. ‘I want you here, in my office, before noon.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Alexis was controlling his own anger now. ‘I’m not a boy any more, Howard. Don’t try to give me orders!’

‘Alex!’ There was a short explosive silence, and then his father went on more reasonably: ‘Alex, for God’s sake, man, do as I ask. I have to talk to you. And not like this.’

‘Where’s Janie?’

Howard snorted furiously. ‘You’re not still interested in her, are you?’

‘No.’ Alexis was cool. ‘But as one human being to another, I guess I can feel sympathy for her, can’t I? Or don’t you know what that is?’

‘I shouldn’t waste my sympathies on her,’ retorted Howard brutally. ‘But as far as I know, she’s still at the apartment.’

‘Did she—?’

‘—find her husband? No.’ Howard was definite about that. ‘He took an overdose of drugs at the office. The night watchman found him. He telephoned her.’

‘I see.’ Alexis digested this. ‘Okay, okay, don’t distress yourself. I’ll fly back tomorrow. But I don’t see what there is to get so steamed up about.’

‘Don’t you?’ Howard caught his breath. ‘Well, maybe you will tomorrow. You think about it, right?’

‘Right.’ Alexis reached for a cigar and put it between his teeth. ‘Is that all?’

‘Isn’t it enough?’

Alexis lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. ‘Fine. See you some time before dinner. That’s the best I can promise,’ and he rang off.

He smoked his cigar thoughtfully for a while, and then stubbing it out went back into the bathroom to finish drying his hair. When he returned to the bedroom he had put on a towelling bathrobe and he flung himself on the wide bed and stared up at the ceiling. His father’s call had banished all thoughts of sleep he might have had, and he felt a rising sense of frustration at the inadequacy of the information he had been given. But then telephones were not particularly confidential pieces of equipment and he supposed he could understand his father’s reluctance to be too explicit. Even so, it was an unsatisfactory state of affairs.

He thought about Janie Knight. He hadn’t seen her since the beginning of December last year, which must be about six weeks ago now. Of course, after he had stopped seeing her, she had telephoned him, numerous times, and even visited his apartment, although Drake, his manservant, knew better than to let her in. She had not been able to accept that it was all over, and he had hoped these weeks at Grüssmatte would convince her irrevocably that he meant what he said. And now this had happened, and while he didn’t feel any sense of blame, it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

David Vanning was most put out the next morning when Alexis broke the news to him that he was leaving as they had breakfast together.

‘But, Alex, we’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Surely your old man can do without you for longer than that!’

Alexis smiled rather ruefully. ‘It seems not, Dave. I’m sorry, but there it is. Still, I guess Rosemary will find the time to console you!’

David made a helpless gesture. ‘That’s not the point, Alex. Rosemary’s okay; you know I’m very keen on her, and I guess one day we’ll get married and all that, but – well, she’s no athlete, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my holiday hanging round the hotel or making shopping excursions into Innsbruck.’

Alexis rested his elbow on the table, supporting his chin on one hand. ‘Do I detect a note of dissatisfaction in your voice?’ he queried lazily. ‘Surely the romantic idyll hasn’t begun to pall already?’

David looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that – well, her parents are always around. We never get any time alone. Not really alone, that is.’

Alexis looked amused. ‘Well, that’s what comes of doing things by the book.’

‘What do you mean? Coming here with her parents?’

‘More or less.’

‘They’d never have let her come away with me alone.’

‘Hard luck!’

‘I suppose you think in my position you’d have managed to persuade them.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘No, but you thought it.’ David lifted his shoulders dejectedly. ‘Hell, Alex, is it absolutely essential that you leave today?’

‘Absolutely, I’m afraid.’ Alexis finished his second cup of coffee looking idly through the restaurant window on to the groups of holidaymakers making their way towards the ski slopes. ‘I suppose I ought to go and see how they’re getting on with my packing. I shall be sorry to leave all this.’

David grimaced. ‘I half wish I was coming with you.’

Alexis’s lips lifted at his friend’s outburst, but then his attention was arrested by a sleek continental coach that was slowly progressing along the village street. He was suddenly reminded that the girl he had met last night in such unusual circumstances had said she and her group were leaving today. The coach was most probably for them.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

David’s irate tones brought his attention back to the present and he looked at him apologetically. ‘No. What did you say?’

‘I said I’d ring you once I got back to London.’

‘Oh, yes, yes. Fine.’ But Alexis was preoccupied. He rose abruptly to his feet. ‘I’ve got to get moving. What are your plans for this morning?’

David lay back in his chair shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been promising to take Rosemary on the nursery slopes for days. I guess I could do that.’

Alexis nodded, and then with a sense of compunction he patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. But there’s nothing I can do.’ He paused. ‘Be seeing you, then.’

‘Yes. Sure.’

David nodded, managing a faint smile, but as Alex crossed the restaurant to reach the hall, he could see David’s dejected reflection in the long mirrors that flanked the swing glass doors.



The flight from Salzburg landed in the late afternoon. It had been delayed by bad weather conditions, and it was even snowing slightly at Heathrow as Alexis left the plane.

The formalities over with, he emerged from the reception lounge bent on finding the nearest bar and a stiff drink. He knew he was delaying the moment when he would have to take up his life again, but airports were those transient kind of places where one was in limbo, a condition he presently desired.

But as he climbed the stairs to the bar, a voice he recognized only too well, called: ‘Alex! Alex, where are you going?’

He halted reluctantly and turned, looking down into the well of the hall where a fur-clad feminine figure was waving vigorously at him. He hesitated only a moment, and then with resignation descended the stairs again. He knew perfectly well that had he pretended not to hear her and gone on to the bar, she would have followed him.

Reaching ground level, he turned up the collar of his sheepskin coat against the cold draught of air which swept through the hall, and said, in drawling tones: ‘Hello, Michelle. What are you doing here?’

Michelle Whitney smiled up at him warmly. She was an attractive woman of medium height, but wrapped in the expensive sables she looked particularly elegant. ‘Alex darling,’ she cried reprovingly. ‘Where else would I be? I’ve come to meet you, of course. Your father sent me. I’ve been waiting around for simply hours!’

Alexis considered her avid expression without enthusiasm. ‘That wasn’t necessary, Michelle. I’m quite capable of hiring a cab.’

Michelle raised her delicately plucked eyebrows. ‘What a greeting! It’s just as well I’m used to your boorishness, darling, or I’d feel quite hurt.’

Alexis’s lips were wry. ‘Is that possible?’ he queried mockingly, and was gratified to see her colour deepen.

‘Oh, you are a pig, Alex!’ she exclaimed heatedly. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it.’

‘Don’t you?’ He glanced round irritably. ‘Look, Michelle, I want a drink and as I’m perfectly certain that my father did not send you to meet me, in fact I don’t know how you got the information—’

‘I was there when your father phoned you last night!’

‘Okay, I’ll accept that. But now, I suggest you go home, and I’ll see you both later.’

Michelle wrapped her fur-clad arms closely about herself. ‘Why can’t I have a drink with you?’

‘Because I want to be alone.’

‘Alex, please!’

‘No.’ He half turned away and then looked back at her. ‘Don’t worry. Your little secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell the old man.’

Michelle pursed her lips. ‘There are times when I hate you, Alex!’

‘Good. That’s a healthy emotion.’

‘All my emotions towards you are healthy, Alex.’ She put a tentative hand on his arm.

Alex looked down at that soft-gloved hand, and then into her face, and with a muffled gasp she released him. ‘I still don’t see why we can’t have a drink together. I am your stepmother, after all.’

‘Yes. Unfortunately I’m aware of that,’ retorted Alexis, brutally. ‘G’-bye, Michelle. I’ll see you later, at home.’

Without another word, he swung back up the stairs, and didn’t look back, not even as he walked along the gallery.

Alexis’s apartment was the penthouse of a tall block near Hyde Park, and Blake, his manservant, welcomed him home warmly some two hours later. As Alexis shed his coat in the hall of the apartment Blake said: ‘Your father’s been on the phone for you, sir. Several times. I told him you hadn’t arrived back yet, but I’m not sure he believed me. He said he had telephoned the airport, and he knew your plane had landed some time ago.’

Alexis grimaced, and unfastening his tie, he walked ahead into the wide, attractive lounge. This was a room that always gave him pleasure and he looked about him with enjoyment, appreciating its comfortable elegance. There was a turquoise carpet underfoot, patterned in shades of blue and green, while the long settee and armchairs were natural-coloured, soft, buttoned leather. He was lucky enough to be able to afford all the luxurious accoutrements to modern living, but the massive television was seldom turned on, and in recent years his interest in the hi-fi equipment, which had once fascinated him, had dwindled.

Now Blake came behind him, carrying his suitcase. ‘Have you had dinner, sir?’ he asked.

Alexis turned from switching on a tall standard lamp, that had an exquisitely hand-painted shade, and frowned. ‘No, I’ve not eaten. I had a couple of drinks at the airport, that’s all.’ He took off the jacket of his suit and slung it carelessly over the back of a chair. ‘But don’t bother with anything for me. I’ll eat at Falcons.’ Falcons was the name of his father’s house at Maidenhead.

‘Are you sure, sir? It’s no trouble.’

Alexis smiled. ‘No, I know. Thanks all the same. But I need a shower, and quite honestly hunger is not one of the things that’s troubling me at the moment.’

Blake nodded politely. ‘Did you have a good holiday, sir?’

Alexis considered before replying. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that,’ he conceded grudingly. ‘By the way, make me some coffee, will you, and I’ll have it after I’m dressed again. It won’t do to arrive smelling too strongly of alcohol.’

Blake allowed himself a smile at that. He was rather a solemn-faced individual, and as he was inclined to stockiness and was going bald, he did not at first strike one as being particularly amiable. But in fact, he had been with Alexis for six years now, and Alexis was well aware of the sharp sense of humour he possessed. Now, he collected Alexis’s casually strewn jacket before disappearing through a door into the kitchen, and Alexis walked across to his bedroom.

In the shower, Alexis contemplated the evening ahead without pleasure. How much more enjoyable it would have been to arrive home and have nothing more pressing to do than lounge on the couch in front of the television all evening. Such a prospect attracted him. It was strange that someone who should become so easily bored with the so-called fleshpots, should find the idea of simply behaving like any one of another hundred million people so desirable.

He examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dried himself and was relieved to see that the past couple of weeks of exertion had successfully dispersed the faint thickening of his waistline that had been present before he left. Now there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his lean body, and the outline of his rib cage was coated only with muscle.

He dressed soberly in a charcoal grey lounge suit, to fit the occasion, he thought without humour, and drove down to Maidenhead, reaching his father’s house just before eight o’clock. Falcons faced the river, and in summer it was very pleasant to sit in the garden, watching the pageant of craft on the water. But in the middle of January, it had no such connotations, and although Alexis had spent part of his childhood here, he found the sight of the bare trees and the frozen, snow-covered gardens rather depressing.

Searle, his father’s manservant, admitted him. Once Searle had had the title of butler, but in these days of shortages of staff, his duties encompassed so many other things, that such an appellation would have sounded pretentious. However, the old man seemed not to mind, and he welcomed Alexis warmly.

‘It’s good to see you again, sir,’ he exclaimed, taking his overcoat.

‘How are you, Searle?’ Alexis bestowed one of his rare warm smiles upon him.

‘Can’t grumble, sir. Mr. Howard’s waiting for you in the library.’

‘Has my father had dinner?’

‘Not yet, sir. He’s been waiting for you.’

‘Good.’ Alexis found that the drive had awakened his appetite. ‘Thank you, Searle.’

He crossed the hall to double panelled doors, and taking a handle in each hand, he swung them open and stepped into the book-lined room which his father used as his study.

Howard Whitney was seated behind his desk, and he looked up dourly as Alexis closed the doors behind him and leaned back against them, surveying the room thoroughly.

‘So you’ve finally decided to appear!’ he remarked grimly. ‘Not before time!’

Howard Whitney’s voice still had traces of his northern ancestry that no amount of southern intonation could entirely dispel. He rose from his desk to face his son, and in his dark evening clothes he was quite impressive, big and broad and physically dominating.

But Alexis was never dominated. He was as tall as his father and although he was leaner, it was a leanness of muscle and sinew that was far tougher than his father’s loose flesh.

‘I got held up,’ he said now. ‘Besides, I don’t see why I should account to you for my movements. I’m not a boy.’

‘No, you’re not!’ muttered Howard, reaching for a cigar, but refraining to offer one to Alexis. ‘If you were, you wouldn’t create the kind of mess we’re in at the moment.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alexis moved away from the door.

‘I mean Janie Knight, Alex.’

Alexis frowned. ‘I seem to have missed something along the way. As I recall it, last night we were discussing Frank Knight, not Janie.’

‘It’s all the same thing,’ retorted Howard. ‘My God, what is there about you that makes a woman like Janie Knight prepared to go to any lengths to get you back?’

Alexis glanced across at the tray of drinks on a side table. ‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ he advised dryly. ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’

‘Help yourself!’ said Howard Whitney irritably, and Alexis poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘Go on!’ he said.

Howard shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘I wish to God you’d never got involved with her!’

Alexis swallowed half his drink, surveying the remainder in his glass thoughtfully. ‘It was your idea,’ he pointed out.

Howard clenched his fists. ‘Do you think I’m likely to forget that?’

‘Well?’

‘Knight left a note – a suicide note.’

‘I see.’ Alexis was beginning to understand. ‘Where is it? Have the press got it?’

‘Nothing so simple, Janie’s got it. When the night watchman phoned her about Knight’s attempted suicide, she was first on the scene, before the ambulance or the police. She took the note, and she still has it.’

‘You mean she’s attempting blackmail?’ Alexis frowned. ‘What does it say, for God’s sake?’

His father heaved a deep sigh. There were lines of strain around his mouth and it was obvious he was most disturbed. ‘Well, he mentions the difficulties his company has got into, and how he can see no future short of selling out to a larger corporation. He apparently owes money all over the city.’

‘But that’s not what’s worrying you, is it?’ Alexis was impatient.

‘No. No, he goes on to say that – he knows his wife is being unfaithful to him, and that she’s – the mistress of the son of the man who has been systematically trying to ruin him!’

Alexis finished his Scotch and replaced the glass on the tray, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a few minutes he said nothing, and then, when his father was beginning to get agitated, he asked: ‘Have you seen this letter?’

Howard Whitney frowned. ‘What kind of a fool do you think I am? Of course I’ve seen the letter.’

‘When?’

‘Yesterday evening. In my office.’

‘You mean Janie Knight walked into your office with the actual letter her husband wrote?’ Alexis gave his father an old-fashioned look. ‘Wasn’t she afraid you’d take it from her?’

Howard sighed. ‘She wasn’t alone.’

‘You mean someone else knows about this?’

‘Yes. That chap Lorrimer – her lawyer.’

‘Philip Lorrimer?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him!’

‘Maybe not, but there it is.’

‘But how can you be sure the letter was written by Knight?’

‘If it wasn’t, it’s a damn good facsimile. Good enough to fool me!’

‘But not good enough to fool a handwriting expert.’

‘My God, Alex, what good is that? Even if the whole thing is a hoax, even if we take them to court and prove it’s a hoax, it’s going to cause a God-awful stink, and that’s something I could do without right now.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Alexis was bitter. ‘It wouldn’t do to jeopardize your knighthood for services to industry, would it? That’s quite a pun, isn’t it?’

‘Shut up, Alex! If it wasn’t for you there’d be no mess.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alexis was indignant. ‘I wasn’t responsible for buying up the shares in Knight’s company – you were.’

‘I know it, I know it. But don’t you see, if Janie Knight wasn’t so infatuated with you, she’d never have contacted me the way she did. She’d have been just as eager to hush up a scandal as I am.’

‘So what’s the deal?’ Alexis was wary.

‘It’s quite simple really. She wants you back again.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Alexis was half amused.

‘Can’t I?’ But Howard was not joking. ‘She said you love her – you love one another! You only gave her up because Knight’s company was practically ruined, and I told you to do so.’

‘Nobody tells me what to do,’ muttered Alexis grimly.

His father made a frustrated gesture. ‘I did tell her that, but to no avail, I’m afraid. You must have done your job well. I only asked for information – not recruits!’

But Alexis was not amused. ‘Well, whatever her terms, they’re unacceptable.’

‘I was afraid you’d say that. Alex—’

‘No, Howard! Not now – not ever!’

Howard sank down wearily into his chair. ‘She’ll give it to the press.’

‘If there is a letter. Personally, I have my doubts. It’s too convenient. Anyway, let her do it. I know who’ll come off worst in the long run. Besides, what she did, she did for herself, not for me.’

Howard shook his head. ‘And what do you intend to do?’

‘Me? About this? Nothing.’

Howard riffled through his papers. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you returned to Austria. With you out of the way, I might be able to salvage something from the mess.’

‘I do not intend to return to Austria!’ stated Alexis coldly. ‘Quite honestly, I’m sick of the whole bloody round of social back-stabbing. Particularly when there are women involved!’

His father looked up in surprise. ‘What’s got into you?’

Alexis shook his head, and at that moment Michelle Whitney chose to appear. In a long gown of pale green slipper satin that showed off her rounded figure to advantage she was very attractive, and her eyes slid greedily over Alexis’s deeply tanned skin before moving on to her husband.

‘Aren’t you nearly finished, darling?’ she asked, perching on a corner of Howard’s desk and running her fingers down his cheek, looking deliberately in Alexis’s direction as she did so. ‘I’m dying of hunger.’

Howard rose, flexing his back muscles tiredly. ‘Yes, we’re finished, my dear.’

Michelle’s eyes flickered towards her stepson. ‘Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you back again. Did you enjoy your holiday?’

Alexis inclined his head. ‘Very much, thank you.’

‘You can tell Searle to start serving now,’ went on Howard, and Michelle slid off the desk. But although she looked once more at Alexis he seemed to find the pattern of the carpet more than absorbing and she was forced to look away.

After she had gone, Howard turned to his son, and frowned. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Did you mean what you said just now? About being sick of playing around?’

Alexis was cautious. ‘Why?’

‘Well, old Jeff Pierce retired last week and so far they’ve not got anyone to take his job.’

‘Jeff Pierce?’ Alexis stared at his father. ‘You mean – the manager at Wakeley?’

‘That’s right.’ Howard was watching his son’s reactions closely. ‘How does it strike you? Being section manager in a woollen mill?’

Alexis ran a hand round the back of his neck. His father’s suggestion had left him temporarily stunned. It was something he had never even contemplated. He had worked in the company offices in London, of course, he had even taken a degree in economics at university, but to actually enter into the practical side of the business was something entirely different.

‘But I know nothing about wool!’

‘You don’t have to. Business acumen is what’s needed.’

‘I suppose it would get me out of the way just as effectively,’ he remarked dryly.

His father looked embarrassed. ‘You did say you were sick of the same old round,’ he defended himself.

‘Yes, I did say that.’ Alexis was thoughtful. ‘But this! This is something else.’

‘Don’t you think you’ll be able to do it? I’m not putting you in sole charge of the mill, you know. You’ll have to answer to Jim Summerton if anything goes wrong, just as John McMullen does.’

Alexis gave a wry smile. ‘Thank you for your confidence.’

‘No, seriously though, Alex, what do you think?’

Alexis allowed his hand to fall to his side. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I’d have to give the matter some thought.’

‘I realize that. But it does – appeal to you, doesn’t it?’ Howard looked at him searchingly and Alexis raised his eyebrows.

‘It’s a challenge,’ he conceded at last. ‘It’s a long time since I visited Wakeley. Must be six – maybe seven years. While I was at university, I guess. I remember going to see old John McMullen …’

Howard nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right.’ He paused. ‘To think – we used to live in Wakeley. Must be all of twenty years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘That house your mother liked so much – I wonder if it’s still standing.’

Alexis’s jaw hardened. ‘Yes. Well, that’s another story, isn’t it, Howard?’

His father breathed hard down his nose. ‘You won’t ever let me forget, will you, Alex?’ he muttered, and looked up to find Michelle standing by the door.

‘Forget what, darling?’ she queried silkily, looking from one to the other of them curiously. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

Howard walked round the desk to join his wife, glancing at his son with scarcely concealed appeal. ‘Yes, we’re coming, Michelle.’ He tucked her hand through his arm. ‘And what delicacy have you had prepared for us this evening?’

Alexis followed them through to the dining-room, but he was preoccupied with what he and his father had been discussing, and he sensed Michelle’s impatience that she had been excluded from their discussions.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_02af72f4-8c77-56a1-aed8-d323877cff3a)


KAREN could hear her father’s voice raised in anger as she entered the house, and a frown came to mar her wide brow. It was unusual to hear Daniel Sinclair so heated about anything, and dropping the pile of exercise books she had brought home to mark on to the hall table, she pushed open the door and entered the living-room.

Her parents were standing on the hearth before the roaring fire. The room had a cosy lived-in warmth which was presently belied by the coldness of her father’s expression. Karen looked at them both questioningly, noting her mother’s worried frown, and then said:

‘So what’s happened? I could hear you shouting half-way down the street, Pop!’

‘Don’t call me Pop!’ muttered her father irritably. ‘And I wasn’t shouting. I was merely exhibiting my frustration, that’s all.’

Karen dropped down into an armchair near the fire, holding out her cold hands to the flames. ‘What have you got to feel frustrated about?’ she asked, a trace of humour about her mouth.

Daniel Sinclair reached for his pipe off the mantelshelf and put it between his teeth with obvious intolerance. ‘I have my reasons!’

Karen made a move, and looked at her mother. ‘What’s happened? Have I done something?’

‘No, of course not.’ Laura Sinclair shook her head, and gave her husband an impatient look. Then she turned her attention to her daughter. ‘You look frozen! Didn’t you get a lift home?’

Karen shook her head. ‘No. Ray had to go into Wakefield, so I said there was no point in him coming out of his way in weather like this. It’s snowing again, you know. I caught the bus, but it was late as usual.’

Her mother listened, nodding, but Karen could tell her thoughts were still occupied with her husband’s affairs. ‘I thought you were later than usual,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘The meal won’t take long. It’s a chicken casserole. Are you hungry?’

‘Ravenous!’ Karen smiled, and then made a puzzled gesture towards her father. ‘What’s going on? Why was Daddy so upset when I came in?’ She paused. ‘The – the mill’s not closing down or anything, is it?’

Daniel Sinclair turned on her. ‘Now why should you think a thing like that?’ he demanded aggressively.

Karen was taken aback. ‘No reason, Pop. It’s not, is it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Her father chewed irritably at the end of his pipe.

Karen sighed with relief. With so many firms closing down it had been a very real possibility. ‘So what is it?’

‘Jeff Pierce’s job has been filled!’ snapped her father.

Karen digested this before saying any more. ‘And – and you’ve not been considered?’

‘Damn right!’ Daniel snorted angrily. ‘It’s a disgrace!’

Karen hesitated. ‘Ian Halliday hasn’t got it, has he?’ Halliday was her father’s assistant.

‘No. I could almost wish he had.’

Karen sighed. ‘Then who has got it?’ She couldn’t think of anyone else with the qualifications.

‘Only that playboy son of Howard Whitney’s, who’s always getting his name into the papers for one fool thing after another!’

Karen felt some of the colour draining out of her cheeks, and hastily covered them with her palms, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t want her parents to notice her sudden sense of shock. ‘Not – not Alexis Whitney?’ she murmured, controlling the tremor in her voice.

But fortunately no one noticed her. ‘Yes, that’s the chap,’ said her father bitterly. ‘What in God’s name he wants to come to a place like this for I’ll never know! The life he’s been leading these past few years, I shouldn’t have thought Wakeley would be big enough to hold him!’

Laura Sinclair put a calming hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Stop getting yourself so angry about it, Dan!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, so you might as well try and make the best of it. If, as you say, he’s not the type to take to discipline, then no doubt he won’t stick it long.’

Daniel thrust his pipe into the pocket of his cardigan. ‘What I can’t understand is why he should be coming here in the first place. Oh, I know there’s been all that gossip in the press about him and some company director’s wife recently, but Howard Whitney should know better than to send him here.’

‘But they used to live here,’ said Laura mildly.

‘Yes, years ago. Before Howard made his pile. D’you think they’d live here now? No, by God! We’d not be good enough for them.’ He shook his head. ‘But sending that spoiled brat here to be manager, to take over from old Jeff, to even take over his house! Well, it’s downright disgraceful!’

‘He’s hardly a brat any longer, Dan,’ remarked Laura dryly. ‘He must be almost thirty.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Her husband brought out his pipe again and put it between his teeth. ‘What does he know about the job? What does he know about wool! Bloody layabout!’

While her parents went on and on arguing about the new appointment, Karen sat as though frozen in her chair. And she was frozen, mentally at least. Two or three weeks ago, before the school trip to Grüssmatte, this news would have caused her a momentary pang, and then been forgotten. What was past was past, and she would have got on with her life without too much soul-searching.

But ten days ago she had come face to face with a ghost from the past, a ghost she realized had haunted her for years, and she had known that far from being forgotten, he had merely been hidden behind the veils of memory she had deliberately allowed to fall.

Alexis Whitney! She shivered. How much more angry her father would be about this appointment if he knew how closely Alexis Whitney had come to ruining his own daughter’s life. Her lips twisted. Had she changed so much as to be unrecognizable? Or had there been so many in his life that her face paled to insignificance beside others more beautiful?

Her parents’ conversation was breaking up. Her father was leaning down to switch on the television, and her mother was going out to dish up their evening meal in the kitchen. Karen got rather jerkily to her feet, and turning her attention to her father she said, in what she hoped were casual tones: ‘And when does the prodigal arrive?’

Daniel had taken his seat before the television and was concentrating on the programme so that she had to repeat herself before he answered shortly: ‘What? Oh, tomorrow, so I hear. He was in with Jim Summerton this afternoon.’

Karen stifled a gasp. ‘You mean he’s here in Wakeley already?’

Her father looked up, clearly not happy about being distracted. ‘That’s what I said. What’s the matter with you, girl? It won’t affect you, will it? Whether he’s here or not.’

Karen flushed then. ‘Of course not. I was merely showing interest, that’s all.’

‘Well, you keep your interests occupied elsewhere. I wouldn’t have any daughter of mine involved with a rake like him.’ Daniel surveyed her critically. ‘Hmm, I’ve no doubt he’d find you to his taste! Trendy clothes, all that loose hair! Don’t the education authorities care that their staff should look more mature than the pupils? My God, in my day, teachers were teachers, not bits of girls in clothes designed to attract trouble!’

Karen managed to smile at this. ‘Oh, Pop, don’t be so silly. Nobody cares about things like that nowadays. It’s what the pupils absorb that matters, not what they see.’

‘And they see plenty, if you ask me!’ muttered her father grimly. ‘How old are those boys you teach? Fifteen, sixteen? I don’t know how you get them to take any notice of you.’

‘I manage,’ remarked Karen, and escaped to the kitchen to help her mother dish up the dinner.

‘Is Ray coming round tonight?’ Laura asked, as she added butter to the potatoes.’

Karen shrugged, her appetite depleted by her father’s attitude. ‘I expect so,’ she agreed, lifting the lid of the casserole and allowing a rich odour of chicken and herbs to pervade the atmosphere. ‘He had to go and see about the new instruments. Apparently there’s been some holdup or something.’

‘He’s a very conscientious young man,’ observed her mother approvingly. ‘Everyone said at Christmas how much the choir’s improved since he took it over.’

‘Yes.’ Karen spoke absently, moving about the room lifting a piece of cutlery here, a dish there, generally annoying her mother until Laura said sharply:

‘What’s the matter with you? You’re not worrying about your father, are you?’

Karen looked up guiltily. Her father had been far from her thoughts just then. ‘Why – no! Of course not.’

‘That’s good, because I don’t think I could cope with two of you! For heaven’s sake, somebody had to get Jeff Pierce’s job. It could quite easily have been young Ian Halliday. After all, your father’s only got a few years to go to retirement, whereas Ian’s only in his thirties.’

Karen shrugged. ‘But Pop said he would rather it had been Ian!’

‘Don’t you believe it. If Ian Halliday had got the job, there’d have been some hard words said, believe you me.’

‘So he’d have been just as angry whoever got it?’

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Your father’s never really cared for Howard Whitney being so successful. They were boys together here in Wakeley, and while Howard’s father owned a mill even in those days, he never made a lot of money. It took Howard’s brain and know-how to make Whitney Textiles what it is today.’

‘I see.’ Karen digested this slowly. ‘Does Pop know Howard Whitney, then?’

‘Of course he does. He visits Wakeley occasionally—’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant – did he know him well?’

Laura shrugged, lifting hot plates from under the grill. ‘Well, when they were younger they knew one another. And even after Howard got married, they used to occasionally have a drink together, that sort of thing. But then the business developed, Howard was away a lot, and eventually they moved to London. Of course, Howard’s first wife is dead now, and he’s married again. Some ex-fashion model, or something. I remember reading about it seven or eight years ago. Your father was disgusted about that, too, I remember. Howard’s wife had been dead scarcely a year at the time.’

Karen listened with interest, wishing her mother would go on. But Laura was going through to the dining-room now, putting plates and dishes on the table, and Karen had, perforce, to help her. Then, her father was called through to join them, and to her mother’s obvious relief the conversation turned to more general topics.

It was Wednesday, and Karen’s parents usually went to play bridge at the home of some friends on Wednesday evenings, so after they had gone Karen decided to wash her hair. It was snowing quite heavily now, and she didn’t think Ray would come round after all.

However, just as she was finishing rinsing her hair, the doorbell rang. Hastily wrapping a towel turban-wise round her head, she pulled on her navy quilted dressing-gown and ran downstairs. She pulled open the door to a flurry of snow, and then smiled as Ray Nichols stepped swiftly inside.

Closing the door, she exclaimed: ‘I thought you weren’t coming. Do you realize it’s after nine o’clock!’

Ray raised his dark eyebrows at her towel-swathed hair. ‘What a greeting!’ he commented, ‘although …’ He surveyed her more thoroughly, noticing the dark blue gown with approval. ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’

Karen pointed to the living-room. ‘Wait in there while I put some clothes on,’ she said, and Ray bent to kiss her lips before complying.

His kiss was warm and gentle, and Karen responded without effort. He was an attractive young man, a little above medium build with square muscular shoulders and dark curly hair.

‘Why bother?’ he asked, when he lifted his head. ‘I like you the way you are.’

Karen tugged the securing towel off her head, and her hair fell in wet coiling strands to her shoulders, black, and as silky soft as a raven’s wing. ‘And what do you think my father would say if he came back and found me like this?’ she demanded.

Ray shrugged. ‘Who cares? Sooner or later, he’ll have to accept it, won’t he?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean – when we’re married,’ replied Ray quietly.

Karen stared at him in amazement. ‘Are you proposing, Ray? Here? In the hall?’

‘What would you have me do? Get down on my knees?’ Ray shook her gently. ‘Karen, you know how I feel about you. It’s been obvious for months. And I think you feel the same.’

Karen’s lips parted. It was strange that this evening, which had held so many surprises already, should still hold one more.

‘I don’t know, Ray,’ she was beginning, when he put his hand over her mouth.

‘Please, Karen, don’t say anything yet. Think about it.’

Karen sighed. ‘All right.’ She glanced round awkwardly. ‘Will you – er – go into the living-room? I won’t be a minute.’

Ray hesitated, and then taking off his overcoat he slung it over the banister before opening the living-room door. Karen made her way thoughtfully upstairs. She ought not to have been surprised. She had been aware of Ray’s feelings for her for some time. All her friends had commented upon it. But for all that, now that he had proposed, now that it had actually happened, she didn’t know how to answer him.

She put up a hand to her wet hair. If she was really honest with herself, she would admit that the reason she was so unprepared for this today had little to do with Ray himself. It had to do with what had happened seven years ago, and with what her father had told them when she came home this afternoon.

She dressed in close-fitting velvet slacks and a purple sweater, rubbed her hair almost dry and left it hanging loosely about her cheeks, and then went downstairs again. In the living-room, Ray was relaxing in her father’s armchair before the blazing fire, idly watching an American film thriller on the television.

She closed the door and he looked across at her with caressing eyes. Patting his knee, he said: ‘Come here!’

Karen hesitated, and then walked slowly across to him, allowing him to pull her down on to his lap. She rested against him, and he nursed her like a child, his eyes drifting past her again to the television. Karen felt a sense of restlessness assail her. Although she and Ray had been going out together for almost two years, he had never once attempted to make love to her, other than the sometimes passionate little kisses they exchanged on greeting and parting. Not that she wanted him to seduce her, quite the contrary, but after listening to the sexual exploits of her friends she had the feeling that Ray was perhaps a little too cool. Maybe he was one of those men who didn’t need that kind of stimulation, she pondered curiously, and then half smiled. That was the trouble with this generation, she thought. They were so brainwashed by films and television that they were constantly trying to psycho-analyse themselves, instead of accepting what they had and being grateful and letting nature take its course. It was debatable whether the modern idea of discussing everything was right. To those who did not share in that free-thinking revolution, there could be restlessness and dissatisfaction, just as Karen was feeling now.

Abruptly, she sat up, and Ray looked up at her in surprise. ‘What’s wrong?’

Karen hunched her shoulders. ‘Nothing, I guess.’

Ray frowned. ‘Yes, there is. What is it? Is it what I asked earlier?’

‘Well – yes and no!’

‘What do you mean?’

Karen paused. ‘Ray, don’t you ever get restless? I mean, aren’t you ever tempted to – well, make love to me?’

Ray stared at her in amazement. Then he coloured. ‘No,’ he muttered roughly. ‘I want to marry you.’

‘I know that.’ Karen sought about for words. ‘It’s just that – well, I sometimes think you’re a pretty cold fish. I mean, you never go in for petting or that sort of thing, do you?’

Ray struggled up out of his lounging position. ‘Come on, Karen,’ he said. ‘That’s no way to talk. Imagine what your father would think if he could hear you now.’

Karen sighed ‘I’m only talking. I’m not doing anything wrong. I don’t even want to do anything wrong. I just wondered, that’s all.’

Ray snorted. ‘Well, it’s just as well I’m not the sort of chap to take you up on it, that’s all!’ he said sharply.

Karen slid off his knees. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said, walking towards the door, and he made no move to stop her. Indeed, when she glanced back she saw that he was once more engrossed in the television.



Karen taught English and history at Wakeley Comprehensive School. She had been there for the past three years, ever since leaving university in fact, and she enjoyed her work tremendously. She was a popular girl with both staff and pupils, and as Ray taught at the same school they had a lot in common.

The following afternoon, Karen had some shopping to do before going home, and Ray dropped her in the High Street. Although he lived some distance from Karen’s home, he invariably drove her back in the afternoons, and she was grateful. The buses, particularly at this time of the year, were notoriously unreliable.

Karen collected her mother’s books from the library, bought herself some tights and cosmetics, and then walked briskly along towards the bus stop. The snow of the previous day had melted in the town centre and the pavements and roads were slushy and wet. Avoiding the edge of the path because of the filthy mess thrown up by the traffic, Karen’s attention was caught by a sleek green sports limousine that was nosing its way along the High Street behind a heavy goods vehicle. The driver was unmistakably familiar, and she shrank back into a shop doorway, which was quite ridiculous really as in the deplorable weather conditions and the crowded pavements there was no possible chance of him noticing her.

Nevertheless, the small incident shook her, bringing it home to her forcibly that it would be comparatively easy to encounter him in a small place like Wakeley. Still, she consoled herself, he was hardly likely to go far without his car, and Leeds was much more his environment than anywhere else around here.

During the next few days, Karen had to get used to hearing her father talk about Alexis Whitney. Daniel was always grumbling about things the new manager was doing, but underlying that anger she sensed an anxious thread of concern, as though her father was afraid his methods were about to be supplanted. It became obvious that whatever his reasons for coming to Wakeley, Alexis was not prepared to sit back and allow his work to be done for him as Jeff Pierce had been inclined to do, and in consequence the whole section had felt his presence.

Karen knew her mother was concerned about the effect it was having on her husband, but there was nothing either of them could do. Daniel had refused to accept the situation with any degree of resignation, and began working longer hours, keeping his department constantly on its toes.

The weather continued very cold and Karen hated getting out of bed in the mornings. Not that she was prone to colds or sickness; on the contrary she seemed to thrive on the conditions, but her father did not. The way he was driving himself had weakened his resistance and one morning when Karen came down to breakfast she found her mother arguing hotly with him.

‘You’re mad!’ she was saying, as Karen entered the dining-room. ‘Mad! You’ll give yourself pneumonia!’

‘I’ll be all right. Stop fussing, woman!’ said Daniel hoarsely, and Karen looked at him with concern. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, there were splashes of hectic colour in his cheeks, and his nose was sore from constant use of his handkerchief. He was obviously full of cold and when he started to cough she looked at her mother exasperatedly.

‘Surely he doesn’t intend to go to work!’

Laura shrugged, looking anxious. ‘Try and stop him!’

‘Stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘I’ve got a cold, that’s all. Everyone has colds at this time of the year. It’s all this bad weather.’

Karen folded her arms. ‘You look as though you’ve got ‘flu to me!’ she stated. ‘Go back to bed, Pop. You look terrible!’

Her father got to his feet, pushing aside his unfinished plate of bacon and eggs. ‘Lord spare me from women!’ he muttered, raising his eyes heavenward. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that a couple of aspirin won’t cure. You can get them for me, Laura, while I put on my coat.’

Laura made a resigned gesture and turned away to do his bidding, while Karen shrugged and then dropped down into a chair at the table. She was buttering some toast, which was all she wanted, when her father came back, wearing, his coat, a muffler round his neck. She looked up at him worriedly.

‘You will take care, won’t you, Pop?’

Daniel’s expression softened. ‘Of course I will. I’ve told you, it’s just a cold.’

But when Karen arrived home from school that afternoon she found the doctor just leaving the house. Giving him a polite smile, she followed her mother indoors and then exclaimed: ‘Is it Pop? What’s happened?’

Her mother gave her a resigned look. ‘Nothing drastic. Your father was taken ill at work this afternoon, and that Mr. Whitney insisted he came home. Ian Halliday brought him in his car.’

‘Oh!’ Karen’s lips parted. ‘What did the doctor say, then?’

‘It’s ‘flu, just like you said. He was a fool to go anywhere today. Anyway, he’s really done it now. The doctor insists that he stays in bed for at least three days.’ She stifled a chuckle. ‘You should have seen his face when Dr. Thomas said that.’

Karen took off her coat. ‘Well, I’m relieved it’s nothing more serious.’

‘So am I. If he hadn’t come home it could have developed into pleurisy or pneumonia. It’s no use. He’s not a young man any more, and he can’t play around with his health.’

‘I’ll go up and see him.’

Karen left her mother and ran lightly up the stairs. Entering her parents’ bedroom she found her father lying with his eyes closed looking somehow vulnerable. A surge of compassion welled up inside her, but then his eyes opened and it fled as he said harshly:

‘What a mess this is!’

‘You’re only where you belong,’ Karen declared lightly. ‘Good heavens, you weren’t fit to go to work.’

‘Maybe not, but I don’t need a manager to tell me what to do!’

‘I’m sure – Mr. Whitney only did what he thought was best,’ she remarked cautiously.

‘Best for him, you mean.’ Her father moved restlessly in the bed. ‘Sending me home like that. Calling the doctor.’

‘Did he do that?’ Karen was surprised.

‘ ’Course he did. You don’t think I’d have let your mother call him, do you?’

‘Perhaps he knew that,’ murmured Karen quietly.

‘Huh!’ Her father sounded bitter. ‘Anyway, I’m out of the way now for goodness knows how long! He’ll be able to do as he likes and no one to stand in his way.’

‘Oh, Pop! I’m sure you’re exaggerating.’

‘What do you know about it? And I’ve told you before, don’t call me Pop!’

Karen sighed. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘No. I don’t want anything.’ Her father began to cough hoarsely, and she watched him helplessly until he lay spent upon the pillows. ‘All right, all right,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll have some tea.’

Karen hesitated only a moment longer and then left him. In this mood there was no reasoning with him.

After the evening meal, her mother said: ‘I promised I’d go down to Lucy’s this evening. She’s got a pattern for a dress and she asked if I’d help her cut it out. Do you think your father would mind?’

‘Of course not.’ Karen shook her head. ‘Besides, I shall be here. I’m not going out. I expect Ray will come round later.’

Her mother looked at her uncertainly. ‘Well, he’s asleep at the moment. If I go now, I might be back before he wakes up.’

Karen gave her an exasperated smile. ‘Darling, no one’s going to need you for a couple of hours. Go on, go and chat to Lucy; tell her all about Daddy.’

Laura smiled, taking off her apron. ‘It would be nice,’ she admitted.

‘There you are, then.’ Karen lounged into a chair near the fire. ‘Actually, I have some books to mark and I want to work out tomorrow’s schedules.’

Laura nodded. ‘All right. But I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘Fine.’ Karen glanced up as her mother left the room and then settled down to reading a fifteen-year-old’s idea of the reasons behind the collapse of every empire since the days of Kubla Khan. Once she got up and switched on the record player, seducing herself with the rhythmic sound of a jazz piano.

When the doorbell rang she felt a sense of impatience. It was nearly nine o’clock and she had felt convinced that Ray would not come this evening. He knew she had work to do.

Glancing down at her crumpled velvet pants and loose white smock, she sighed. Oh well, she thought resignedly, she hadn’t time to change now. Running a smoothing hand over her straight hair, she went to the door and swung it open.

But it was not Ray Nichols who stood on the doorstep. It was a man, certainly, but he was taller and leaner, and the shafted light from the hall glinted on silvery lights in hair that was unmistakable.

Karen’s heart thumped heavily. Sooner or later, she had known that this would happen, and now it had she felt totally inadequate. He was so much more attractive now than he had been seven years ago, lines of experience adding maturity to his features. And his holiday in Austria had given him a tan which was quite startling when his hair was so pale. But he didn’t have the usual skin that went with such blondness, and he suffered none of the difficulties experienced by people with fair skin. Oh God, she thought weakly, to think she had once gone out with him, and once planned to go away with him for the week-end, alone …




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_9a47493e-f7b7-5589-8501-7514d8c33669)


‘GOOD evening,’ he was saying now, in that lazily attractive voice she remembered so well. ‘I just called to see – my God!’ He stared at her in astonishment, and she felt the hot colour run up her cheeks.

‘Good – good evening, Mr. Whitney.’

His eyes narrowed, strange, amber eyes, like the eyes of a cat, with thick black lashes. ‘I was right!’ he said, almost to himself. ‘We had met before, hadn’t we?’

Karen thought quickly. ‘I – er – of course. We met about a month ago in Grüssmatte.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ he said, frowning. Then he shook his head. ‘No matter.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘The name – I should have guessed.’

Karen shivered. ‘It’s very cold, Mr. Whitney. What can I do for you?’

‘You could invite me in,’ he remarked dryly.

Karen was about to refuse, but then good manners stopped her. He was her father’s superior, after all; the son of the mill owner, even if Howard Whitney had gone on to bigger and better things.

‘Very well,’ she stepped back. ‘Won’t you come in? My father’s in bed, of course.’

‘Naturally.’

Alexis stepped into the small hall which was immediately dwarfed by his presence. Karen felt disturbingly aware of him, and walked quickly ahead of him into the living-room. Gathering together her books which had been strewn all over the couch, she said: ‘Please, sit down. Would you like a drink? There’s only whisky, I’m afraid.’

Alexis unbuttoned his coat, but he didn’t sit down. He stood on the hearth looking about the room, looking at her, until she felt hopelessly out of her depth.

‘Whisky would be fine,’ he agreed quietly. ‘Tell me: how is your father?’

‘Possibly better in health than temper,’ she replied, pouring whisky into a glass from the sideboard cabinet. ‘Do you have anything in this? Water – or ice?’

Alexis shook his head and she put the glass into his hand. ‘That’s fine, thank you.’ He swallowed a mouthful, and then went on: ‘Why do you say your father’s angry? Because I sent him home?’

Karen twisted her hands together wishing he would sit down. ‘I – I suppose so,’ she replied, wishing she had not mentioned it. Her father wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew what she had said.

Alexis nodded, looking down thoughtfully into his glass. Watching him, Karen was aware of every small detail about him, her eyes lingering on the fine material of the dark suit he was wearing, a dark grey fur-lined overcoat on top. His hands holding the glass were lean and hard and tanned, like the rest of him, and a disturbing feeling of apprehension ran through her. She had only been a young girl when she met him seven years ago – seventeen, little more than a child really. But she was a woman now, and whatever it was he had possessed then, he still possessed to a greater degree, and she did not intend to be foolish enough to tamper with it. Her own experience had taught her that if nothing else.

He looked up. ‘I’m afraid your father doesn’t like me.’

Karen glanced round apprehensively, half expecting her father to appear at any moment. But judging from the silence upstairs she could only assume he was still sleeping. ‘I – er – I’m sure you’re wrong.’

‘No, I’m not. He doesn’t think I know anything about the wool trade. He thinks this is only a game to me.’

‘And isn’t it?’ The words were out before she could prevent them.

‘No.’ His brows were drawn together and suddenly he looked very formidable. ‘I intend to do this job to the best of my ability, and it would make things a whole lot simpler if your father accepted this.’

Karen bent to pick up an errant exercise book. ‘Well, it’s nothing to do with me, Mr. Whitney.’

‘Isn’t it?’ His tone was curt. ‘I’m beginning to think it is.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes were very wide and very blue.

‘Surely it’s obvious.’ He finished the whisky in his glass and dropped it carelessly on to the mantelshelf. ‘I’m the man who once tried to persuade his daughter to sleep with me!’

Karen’s cheeks burned, and she pressed the palms of her hands to them. ‘Don’t say that!’ she cried.

‘Why not?’ His lips curved derisively. ‘You do remember, Karen, however much you try to deny it.’

‘All right, all right.’ Karen glanced fearfully over her shoulder, but there was no sound. ‘All right, I remember. But – but my parents never learned the identity of – of the man!’

‘Didn’t they?’ Alexis was ironic. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s the truth.’ Karen’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘Now, if you’ve said everything you came to say, perhaps you’d go!’





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