Dark Summer Dawn
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

SHE was so bone-weary that she could hardly fit her key into the lock of the front door. It had been a long and turbulent flight, and the landing had been delayed through fog. One of the younger girls had become almost hysterical with fright, and it had been Lisa who had sat with her and soothed her while the plane made its ultimate, laborious descent.

She closed the door behind her thankfully and stood for a moment, staring round the living room. It was scrupulously clean and tidy—Mrs Hargreaves had seen to that—but the air smelled stale and unused. Lisa opened the window and let the January evening air stream into the room.

Her body shivered a little, still nostalgic for the sultry heat of the Caribbean sun she had just left, but her tired mind welcomed the invigoration of the icy draught.

A pile of mail awaited her attention on the small dining table by the window, and she had picked up more envelopes from the mat on her way through, but that could wait until tomorrow, she thought, kicking her shoes off. She needed a bath too. She felt cramped and sticky after the long hours in the plane, and then the taxi ride, crammed in with the other girls—but that could wait as well.

She walked into the bedroom, shedding her clothes as she went. The bed waited, its covers invitingly turned back, and her nightdress arranged in a fan shape, because Mrs Hargreaves had once been a chambermaid in a hotel, but Lisa didn’t even bother with that. She simply cleaned off her make-up—the routine she would follow if she was dying, she’d often thought—and fell, naked, into bed and into profound sleep.

She stirred once or twice, even opened her eyes, disturbed by noises in the street outside, a vacuum cleaner operating in the flat above, but she did not wake. When eventually she moved, stretched luxuriously and sat up, yawning, a glance at her watch showed she had slept the clock round. She thought ruefully, ‘I must be getting old.’ She’d felt old on the trip. All the other models had been in their teens; she’d been the only twenty-year-old.

Jos had laughed at her. ‘Found any grey hairs?’ he’d jeered. ‘Don’t complain to Myra about your age. She’s two years older than you.’

Lisa didn’t bother to state the obvious—that Myra was not and never would be a photographic model. She’d been a plump, pretty art student with gentle eyes and a mass of waving hair when Jos had met and married her, and marriage and a baby hadn’t changed her, but neither her face nor her figure would ever be her fortune.

Nor are mine, Lisa thought as she got out of bed, but they’re a living.

She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror as she padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was nothing narcissistic in the action, but it probably wasn’t strictly necessary either. She had been in the West Indies with the others to model a range of very expensive swim-wear for a glossy magazine, and Lisa would soon have heard it from Jos if her slender body had gained or lost a vital pound anywhere. He had known her ever since she came to London looking for work two years before, and he’d taught her all she’d ever needed to know about facing a camera.

Not that she had ever seriously planned to become a model. She had never regarded her own looks as startling in any way, yet it was Jos who had first suggested the idea while she was still at school. He had come to the school to visit his cousin Dinah, who was Lisa’s greatest friend, and taken them both out to lunch. He was already a name in the photographic world, and Lisa wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t been flattered by his interest, but at the same time she had seen her life running along very different lines.

It had been thanks to Jos that she had earned her first big break when she had been featured as the Amber Girl, advertising a new and exclusive cosmetic range. With her long golden brown hair, and wide hazel eyes which could take on green or golden tones depending on what colour she was wearing, Lisa had been a natural choice on which to centre the campaign. It had been an amazing experience for her. Special exotic costumes in shades of gold and amber had been designed for her, and the effect against the faint honey tan of her skin had been stunning. They had ranged from sinuous and semi-transparent caftans in silks and chiffons to the briefest concessions to decency in gold mesh and beading. Her face had stared from the pages of every glossy magazine, her eyes seeming to widen endlessly, while the delicate mouth curled a little, giving an effect which was at the same time innocent and sensual. The French fashion house which was launching the Amber range had been ecstatic, and sales had boomed.

But Jos had seriously advised her against taking part in any follow-up.

‘You’ll be typed if you do. Everyone will associate you with Amber and nothing else,’ he’d warned. ‘That’s fine for a while, but what happens when you get tired of it—or they do?’

She had taken his advice and never regretted it, because offers of work had come flooding in. But she liked working with Jos best. He had been the first to recognise her potential, and she would always be grateful for that. She’d been lucky. From stories she had heard from other girls, the fringes of the modelling profession were grubby in the extreme.

Finding the flat had been another piece of luck, she thought, stepping under the shower and letting the warm water cascade through her hair and down her body. It wasn’t cheap, but with Dinah, who shared it with her, landing a part in a long-running West End comedy almost as soon as she had left drama school, they had few financial problems.

Lisa reached for the shampoo and began to lather her hair. Her long sleep had done her good, and now she was hungry. Presently she would make herself a meal, and open her letters while she ate and dried her hair. Not that there would be anything very exciting in her mail, she reminded herself. Most homecomings were attended by bills and circulars. But she had other friends, besides Dinah, with whom she maintained an infrequent but faithful correspondence. Clare might have had her baby by now, she reflected, and Frances could have made up her mind whether or not she wanted that job in the States.

She rinsed her hair and turned off the shower. She dried herself and put on an elderly white towelling bathrobe. It wasn’t a glamorous piece of nightwear, but it was reasonably cosy for the sort of evening she had in mind, relaxing by the fire and maybe later listening to a radio play.

Mrs Hargreaves had stocked the fridge and the vegetable rack on her last visit, so Lisa, a towel swathed round her wet hair, grilled herself a steak and made a salad to go with it.

She hadn’t an enormous appetite—it had been something which had alarmed her stepfather when she had first gone to live at Stoniscliffe. ‘Doesn’t eat enough to keep a fly alive,’ he’d grumbled at each mealtime. But she liked simple food, well cooked, and was thankful she didn’t have to fight a weight problem.

When she had eaten and cleared away, she carried her coffee over to the sofa and curled up with her letters. As she had suspected, most of them were in buff envelopes, and she grimaced slightly as she turned them over. And then she saw there was a letter from Julie.

Lisa stared down at the square white envelope, and the familiar sprawling handwriting, her brows drawing together in a swift frown. Instinct told her that Julie would only be writing to her because of some kind of crisis, and reminded her that it would probably be something she would rather not know about. Such knowledge in the past had always worked to her disadvantage.

Unless it was about Chas, she thought, a sudden feeling of panic seizing her. He hadn’t been well, she knew from his own rare letters, and it had been a while since she’d heard from him, apart from the usual formal exchange of cards at Christmas.

She went on looking at the unopened envelope, concern for Chas battling with a desire to tear Julie’s letter into small pieces unread. She owed her young stepsister nothing, she thought vehemently. In fact, the boot was very much on the other foot.

But Chas was different. She had never met with anything but kindness and consideration from him, and she owed him something in return. Oh, not the money he had paid into her bank account each quarter, she thought fiercely, although she could have repaid it easily because she never touched it. When she had left Stoniscliffe, she had sworn she would never accept another penny of Riderwood money. She would be independent of them all, especially ….

She stopped abruptly, closing her mind, wiping it clean like an unwanted tape. She tried not to think of Stoniscliffe ever, because it was forbidden territory to her now. She had promised herself she would never go back, although her conscience would not allow her to lose all contact with Chas who had been deeply wounded by her decision to leave. And the awful truth was it had been impossible to tell him why she had to go.

Slowly and reluctantly she opened the envelope and extracted the sheet of notepaper inside.

‘Darling Lisa.’ Julie’s exuberant writing straggled halfway across the page. ‘Guess what? I’m going to be married! I’m actually going to amaze everyone and do the right thing for once. It’s Tony Bainbridge, of course, and Father is over the moon. The wedding is next month, and I want you to be my bridesmaid—maid of honour—what the hell! Please, please say you will, darling. The arrangements are driving me up the wall already, and Mama Bainbridge is threatening to take over. Please come home, Lisa. I need you. Surely you can have some time off. I’ll expect to hear from you. Love, Julie.’

The crunch came at the end, obviously scribbled as an afterthought. ‘Dane, of course, is going to give me away.’

Lisa sat very still, staring down at the sheet of paper, then her hand closed convulsively on it, reducing it to a crumpled ball.

She said aloud, ‘No,’ and then raising her voice slightly, ‘God, no!’

She was shivering suddenly and she pulled the dressing gown further around her, and turned the gas fire full on, just as if the chill which had enveloped her was a purely physical one and could be dispelled by such homely means.

Running her tongue round dry lips, she made herself think of Julie. Of Julie going to be married to the young man Chas had always hoped would be her husband. Julie’s decision might not amaze everyone as she had jokingly predicted, but Lisa found it hard to accept, just the same. It had been two years since she’d seen Julie, and she supposed her stepsister could have matured considerably in that time. But remembering the young, wild Julie she had always known, it seemed almost incredible.

She tried to remember Tony Bainbridge. He had always been there when they were growing up, because his father owned the neighbouring estate, but he had never made a very lasting impression on Lisa. He was fair, she thought, pleasant and undeniably wealthy. Quite a catch for most girls. But for Julie, daughter of a wealthy industrialist herself—spoiled, wilful Julie?

Lisa moved her shoulders wearily. Well, love sometimes made strange matches. And surely Julie, young, beautiful vibrant Julie, with her mass of dark curling hair, must be marrying for love, and not just because she knew that such a marriage had always been the sentimental wish of both families. Not even Julie would give way to such a mad impulse, she argued with herself, but she was not convinced.

Unwillingly, she smoothed out the letter and re-read it, trying to ignore the postscript. It was Julie’s usual breathless style, sprinkled with underlinings and exclamation marks, but was it the letter of a radiantly happy bride-to-be?

She closed her eyes. Since she was ten years old and had first gone to live at Stoniscliffe, she had protected Julie. That first night, still bewildered by the speed with which everything had happened, and struggling with the unfamiliarity of a strange bed in a strange room, she had been startled when her door opened. Julie had said plaintively, ‘Mrs Arkwright says I’m too old for a nightlight, but I’m frightened of the dark. May I get in with you? Please, Lisa, please!’

Lisa had spent an uncomfortable night. The bed wasn’t big enough for two and Julie wriggled. Next day Chas had roared with laughter, totally dismissing the housekeeper’s disapproval, and ordered Julie’s bed to be moved into Lisa’s room.

‘Told you, didn’t I?’ He turned to Lisa’s mother, his face beaming. ‘Told you they’d be sisters.’

Jennifer Riderwood had nodded, her eyes faintly troubled. Because she knew that having to share a room for the first time was only one of many adjustments Lisa would have to make in her new life.

She had been a widow for five years when she had had that unexpected Premium Bond win, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. She hadn’t any particular skills. There was no career for her to fall back on when she was left alone with a small child to bring up. She had to take what work she could, and be thankful. She had to be thankful too that they had a roof over their heads, even if it did belong to her sister-in-law and her husband.

Clive and Enid Farrell were quite aware that it had been good of them to take Jennifer and her child into their home. After all, they’d been under no actual obligation, as they stressed whenever the subject was mentioned. They made it seem as if it had been a gesture of pure kindness, and only they and Jennifer knew that she paid a generous rent in order to be made to feel like a poor relation.

Yet it was never enough. Some of Lisa’s earliest memories were of hearing Aunt Enid complaining about inflation and rising prices. She’d had to learn to remember to switch off every light—‘Wasting electricity’ and how many inches of water were permissible at bathtime—‘Hot water has to be paid for, my girl.’ And she saw her mother’s face grow daily more defeated and tired.

Eventually Jennifer had to supplement her wages as a filing clerk by taking an evening job as a waitress, rarely arriving home before midnight. But basically she was a fragile woman and finally, inevitably she collapsed and had to be brought home, and Lisa could remember how angry Aunt Enid had been. There’d been much twitching of net curtains in the street of semi-detached houses where they lived as Jennifer had been carried up the path, and there’d been talk as well, because even as a child, Lisa had recognised that her aunt and uncle were not particularly liked by their neighbours.

But she had been forced to send for the doctor, and Dr Chalmers had spoken bluntly to Jennifer. ‘You need a break, my dear. A complete rest, well away from all this—yes, even away from your daughter. It won’t hurt her to do without you for a little while. I’m sure that would be her choice, rather than have to do without you permanently.’

There was no money for any kind of holiday. There would be even less money, now that Jennifer had to give up her evening job, so the Premium Bond seemed like a small miracle. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to buy Lisa and herself some new clothes, and book a cruise in the Mediterranean—this on Dr Chalmers’ advice—and even have some left over for a rainy day.

Looking back, Lisa realised how grateful she and her mother should have been to the doctor who had practically frogmarched her mother round to the travel agency. He had known the Farrells for many years, and was quite well aware of the sort of pressure Jennifer would have to suffer unless she used her win for her own benefit.

As it was, there had been outraged glances and muttered remarks about ‘bone selfishness and greed.’ There were repairs needed to the roof of Number Thirty-Seven, and they’d thought that Jennifer might like to help—as it was her roof too.

But this time Jennifer was not going to allow herself to be bullied. She had booked her cruise and paid for it, and she was going to take it. And when it was over, and she was back with them, things were never the same again. It wasn’t just the fact that she was relaxed and sun-tanned and had put on some weight. There were other, subtler differences—a depth to her smile, and a dreaming look in her eyes when she thought she was unobserved.

And then Charles Riderwood had arrived at the house, tall, powerfully built, a square bluff face lent distinction by the greying hair at his temples.

He had smiled down at Lisa. ‘Hello, love.’ There was a faint North-country burr underlying his voice. ‘I’ve got a little girl, a couple of years younger than you.’

Lisa had smiled back a little uncertainly, but she had recognised the kindness in his eyes, and she also realised that he wanted her to like him, although she didn’t understand why.

Enlightenment was to come after his Jaguar car had driven away.

‘Brazen!’ Enid Farrell had stormed. ‘The very idea, allowing your—fancy man to come here. How dare you!’

Jennifer had flushed, but her voice had been calm. ‘Before you say any more, Enid, perhaps you ought to know that Charles and I are going to be married.’

‘Married?’ Enid’s voice had risen almost to a shriek. ‘A man you met on a cruise? Why, you know nothing about him. He could be married already—up to no good.’

Jennifer’s face had blossomed into a smile. ‘I know enough,’ she said. ‘He’s a widower. His wife died several years ago. He has a son of twenty-four and a daughter of eight. His work is something to do with electronics, and he lives in Yorkshire. Is there anything else you want to know?’

Enid Farrell looked outraged. ‘Why is the son so much older?’ she demanded accusingly.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps the little girl was an afterthought.’

Enid’s face had become more grimly disapproving than ever. It was clear she considered that after sixteen years people should be thinking of other things.

She continued to disapprove right up to the day of the wedding. Apart from Lisa, she and her husband were the only guests from Jennifer’s side. But there were a number of people at the register office who knew Charles Riderwood, and obviously liked him, and they all went on afterwards to the champagne reception he had arranged at the London hotel where he had a suite.

Someone was waiting for them there, a tall dark young man who rose slowly from one of the sofas and stood waiting, his hands resting lightly on his hips.

Charles had said on a sharp note of pleasure, ‘Dane, you managed to get here after all!’ He turned to Jennifer. ‘Come and meet your new son. He’s been in America on a postgraduate course or you’d have met him before.’

Dane Riderwood had said lightly, ‘It all goes to show I should never turn my back for a minute.’ He had stepped forward to shake Jennifer’s hand, and there had been a general laugh, but Lisa, hanging back hesitantly, had known instinctively that this stranger who was her stepbrother wasn’t amused. He was smiling, but his smile never reached his eyes. And when Charles drew Lisa forward, his hand warm and heavy on her shoulder, Dane’s eyes flickered over her with an indifference bordering on hostility. He had turned away almost at once, leaving Lisa thinking, ‘I don’t like him—and he doesn’t like us.’

She heard her mother say to her new husband, ‘He’s very like you,’ and she wanted very badly to cry out a denial, because surely Jennifer knew—could see that they weren’t a bit alike.

Oh, they were both tall and very dark, but Dane was a much leaner version of his burly father. His face was thinner too, its lines arrogant where Charles’ were genial. His eyes weren’t blue like his father’s either, but a wintry grey, and his mouth was hard.

She had been looking forward to seeing Stoniscliffe, the big grey stone house which her stepfather had told her about. She wanted to meet Julie too.

‘She’s been lonely for someone to play with,’ Chas had told her. ‘I daresay you’ve been a bit lonely too.’

But all the excitement, all the anticipation she had been feeling had been dampened by the arrival of this cold hostile stranger. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to go north to Stoniscliffe if he was going to be there.

She tried to forget about Dane Riderwood and enjoy the reception. People spoke kindly to her, and exclaimed admiringly about her long hair. Chas even gave her a sip of champagne, in spite of her mother’s laughing expostulations.

She was just beginning to enjoy herself when Aunt Enid came towards them. Jennifer and Lisa were standing on their own for a moment and she had obviously seized her opportunity.

‘Well, you’ve certainly done all right for yourself,’ she hissed to Jennifer. ‘Something to do with electronics indeed! You forgot to mention that he owned his own factory. I suppose you’ll be off north with never a backward glance, never a thought for the people who fed you and housed you when you had nothing.’

Lisa saw her mother go pale, saw all the pretty, happy, excited colour fade from her face. She said in a low voice, ‘Enid, please keep your voice down. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I didn’t know until today. Oh, I knew Chas wasn’t on the breadline, but all this—’ she paused and gave a little painful laugh—‘all this was as big a shock to me as it has been to you.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Enid Farrell sneered. ‘We always knew we weren’t good enough for you. Even my poor brother wasn’t that. You always did fancy yourself, with your airs and graces—too good to work or to want. Well, you’ll never have to bother about either again!’

Lisa flinched. There was real venom in Aunt Enid’s voice. It wasn’t just the habitual carping that she and her mother had silently learned to accept. And she had noticed something else too. Dane Riderwood was standing not too far away and judging by the expression of distaste on his face he had heard the tail end if not all of the sordid little passage.

She thought resentfully, ‘I wish he hadn’t heard. He doesn’t like us anyway, and now he’ll just think that we’re as horrible as she is.’

She saw her stepfather coming towards them, beaming, and Aunt Enid moved away then, and not long after that Lisa was relieved to see her and Uncle Clive leaving. All of a sudden she was glad she was going to Stoniscliffe because it meant, she hoped, that she would never see either of them again.

The reception seemed to go on for ever, and Lisa was tired of the new faces and voices going on endlessly above her head. After a while she wandered into the adjoining bedroom. There was a sofa there too, drawn across the window, and she curled up on it, lulled by the distant noise of traffic and the murmur of talk and laughter in the next room.

She didn’t know what woke her, but she opened her eyes, blinking drowsily to realise she was no longer alone in the room.

Somewhere near at hand a man’s voice was saying, ‘Bit of a surprise to all of us, actually. He didn’t tell you?’

‘Not a word, until it was too damned late for me to do anything about it.’ It was Dane Riderwood’s voice, molten with fury. ‘My God, it’s sheer lunacy! He takes a holiday and comes back with some gold-digging little typist and her brat. Heaven knows no one expects him to live like a monk, but surely he didn’t have to pay for his fun with marriage!’

Lying, hidden by the high back of the sofa, Lisa felt sick. She didn’t understand all that was being said, but she could recognise the cold contempt in ‘typist and her brat’. She wanted to jump up and run to Dane Riderwood, to punch him and kick him, and make him sorry, but even as the thought crossed her mind, caution followed. If she did so then other people would come, and they would ask her why she was behaving like that, and she would have to tell them, and her mother’s happy, shining day would be spoiled, some instinct told her. Aunt Enid had been bad enough, but this was a hundred times worse.

This was her new family of which Dane was to be an important part, and he didn’t like them. He didn’t want them. She buried her face in the cushion and put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more.

She was quiet some time later when Chas and Jennifer came to fetch her, to take her up north to Stoniscliffe. They were having a delayed honeymoon, because Chas wanted to show Jennifer his home, and wanted Lisa to settle in there too.

They looked at her pale cheeks and the wariness in her eyes and decided privately that it was over-excitement and nervousness, and didn’t press her for any explanations. It had been a relief to know from chance remarks they had let fall that Dane wouldn’t be joining them at Stoniscliffe. He was going back to America.

Perhaps he’ll stay there, the child Lisa had thought passionately. Perhaps he’ll never come back.

The woman she had become could smile wryly at such naïveté, looking back across the years. Of course he had come back, and gradually the situation had begun to ease although Lisa told herself she could never like him or even wholly trust him, and she was slightly on her guard all the time when he was around.

Grudgingly, she had to give Dane his due. He had never, she was sure, given her mother any distress by even hinting at his true feelings about his father’s second marriage. But then he had no reason to do so, she reminded herself. Chas and Jennifer had been very happy—even someone as prejudiced as Dane would have been forced to admit that. He was always civil, if rather aloof, to Jennifer, and he took hardly any notice of Lisa at all. But then, she thought, he had never bothered with Julie either, who had always shown a strong tendency to hero-worship him.

Sisterly devotion had never been Dane’s style, Lisa thought with a curl of her lips. He had girl-friends, of course—a lot of them. Some of them even came to stay at Stoniscliffe to run the gauntlet of Chas’s indulgently critical appraisal. But it was clear they were for amusement only. Dane showed no signs of becoming serious about any of them, although they were all beautiful and glossy and self-assured—good wife material for a man who stood to inherit a thriving family firm and would need a smooth and practised hostess in his private life.

Julie and Lisa discussed the girls between themselves, tearing their appearances, their manners, their clothes apart mercilessly. Later, they wondered about their sexual potential as well, with avid adolescent curiosity. At least Julie had done most of the wondering. Lis wasn’t that interested in the partners Dane chose for his sexual athletics, although she had little doubt he was an expert in that as he was at everything else.

Locally, he was the golden boy, already managing director of Riderwoods which was expanding rapidly and surely. Chas was proud of him, calling him a chip off the old block, but Lisa thought there was more to it than that, unless the original block had been granite, because there was a ruthlessness about Dane that chilled her.

That was why, quite apart from the original dislike and distrust, she had never been able to accord him the admiration which Julie lavished on him. He wasn’t Lisa’s idea of a hero. She saw no warmth in him, no tenderness.

Even when she was sixteen, and Jennifer who hadn’t been well for some time had died very suddenly in her sleep, there had been no softening in him. He had been away on a business trip, but he came home for the funeral, but even while he had uttered his condolences to her, she had the feeling that his thoughts were elsewhere. She had wanted to scream at him, ‘You’re not sorry! You never wanted her here, or me either.’ All the old hostility and hurt had welled up inside her, and she had said something in a cold, quiet little voice and turned away.

She had thought then that she couldn’t possibly dislike him more than she did at that moment. But she knew better now.

She leaned back against the sofa cushions, trembling a little inside as she always did when she let herself think of the events of two years before. Not that she often thought of them—the mental censorship she exercised saw to that.

She wouldn’t have been thinking of him now—God knows she never wanted to think of him again—if it hadn’t been for Julie’s letter. ‘Dane, of course, is going to give me away.’

She would have to write to Julie, maybe not tomorrow, but some time soon, and make some excuse. Because there was no way she was ever going back to Stoniscliffe while Dane was there, and Dane was always there now. It was a grief to her. She missed Chas, and the big grey house on the edge of the Dales, but she had to keep away because she never wanted to see or speak to Dane Riderwood again.

The ring at the doorbell made her start, because she wasn’t expecting visitors, although there were any number of people who would know she was back from the West Indies by now and could be dropping in. She grimaced slightly at the thought of her appearance, no make-up and hair tied up in a turban, and was strongly tempted not to answer it, but the bell rang again imperatively, and there was little point in pretending she wasn’t at home when the caller could see the light shining under the door.

Pushing the litter of papers and envelopes off her lap, she called, ‘All right, I’m coming!’

She was smiling a little as she opened the door, because it was more than probably Simon who had shown signs of becoming besotted with her just before she had flown off on this last assignment, and she liked Simon even if she was a long way from falling in love herself.

She began, ‘You’ve caught me at a bad moment. I’m …’

And then she stopped, the words dying on her lips as she saw exactly who it was, standing on her doorstep, waiting for admittance.

‘Hello, Lisa,’ said Dane Riderwood.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR a moment she could neither speak nor move, and her breathing felt oddly constricted. It was like a nightmare—as if Dane was some demon that her thoughts had conjured up. All these months she had never allowed herself to think about him at all, she had closed him out, incised him from her brain.

Now Julie’s letter had reluctantly forced open the floodgates of her memory, and she had walked through the past like some forbidden city. ‘Talk of the devil,’ people used to say, ‘and he’s sure to appear.’ And it was true because the devil was here with her now.

She made a grab for the door intending to slam it in his face, but her momentary hesitation had been her undoing, because he had already forecast her intention and walked into the room.

He said, ‘Allow me.’ And he closed the door himself, shutting them in together.

Lisa said between her teeth, ‘Get out of here!’

‘When I’m ready.’ His voice was as cool as ever. He had hardly changed at all physically from the first time she had set eyes on him. The lines on his face had deepened with maturity, but his body still had the spare lithe grace of some predatory animal. He moved forward and she recoiled instinctively. He threw back his head and stared at her for a moment, his eyes hooded, their expression enigmatic.

‘Relax,’ he advised caustically. ‘The sooner you hear what I have to say, the sooner I can be gone, which is what we both want.’

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she almost whispered.

‘I’m not preparing to carry out the fell purposes you seem to have in mind,’ he snapped back at her. ‘For God’s sake, Lisa, sit down and behave like a civilised human being.’

‘What would you know about civilised behaviour?’ She was beginning to tremble inwardly and she folded her arms defensively across her body. ‘Just say whatever you came to say and get out.’

‘Ever the gracious hostess.’ Dane walked past her, looked with a lift of his eyebrow at the littered sofa, then sat down in the chair opposite. ‘You’re very nervous,’ he commented. ‘What’s the matter? You said I’d called at a bad moment when you opened the door. Are you—entertaining?’ His eyes went over her derisively, establishing beyond doubt that he knew quite well she was naked under the old towelling robe, and she flushed angrily.

‘No, I’m not,’ she grated, and could have kicked herself. Perhaps if she’d lied and said, ‘Yes—someone’s waiting for me in the bedroom right now,’ he might have left.

‘Then I’m fortunate to find you alone,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’d like some coffee.’

For a moment Lisa stood glaring at him impotently, then she turned and went into the small kitchen. The towel round her hair was slipping and she tore it off impatiently, thrusting it into the small linen basket next to the washing machine. Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly spoon the coffee into the percolator. She began to set a tray with brown pottery mugs, pouring creamy milk into a matching jug. She heard a slight sound behind her, and glancing over her shoulder, realised that Dane was standing in the doorway watching her.

‘Do you have sugar?’ She made her voice cool and social.

‘You’ve a bad memory, Lisa,’ he said sardonically. ‘How many years did we live under the same roof, and how many cups of coffee did you pour for me? No, I don’t have sugar, and never have done.’

‘Too many,’ she muttered.

‘Well, that’s one thing at least we can agree on,’ he said. He strolled forward, trapping her between his body and the worktop behind her. He put out a hand and tilted her chin, studying her face critically.

His touch sent every nerve-ending in her body screaming. She wanted to strike his hand away. She wanted to use her nails and teeth to free herself like a cornered animal, but it would be no good, she knew. He was the stronger, and he would not hesitate to use his strength.

He said silkily, ‘You don’t change, do you, Lisa? I remember you all those years ago—a little hostile creature, all hair and eyes.’

She smiled, a little meaningless stretching of her lips. ‘How odd you should say that. I was thinking much the same about you. Oh, not the hair, of course, but the hostility—and the eyes. They haven’t altered at all. They’re still cold.’

As cold and as cruel as January, she silently added, meeting their greyness, noticing how their bleak light remained unsoftened by the heavy fringing of dark lashes.

Dane said, ‘Cold?’ and smiled. ‘Is that what you really think? Surely not.’

Her breathing quickened a little. ‘You wouldn’t like to hear what I really think. Now if you want this coffee, you’d better let me make it.’

He flung up his hands in mock capitulation and moved away, and Lisa felt limp with relief.

When she carried the tray through to the living room, he had resumed his seat by the fire and was smoking a cigar. She felt a sudden surge of nostalgia as the scent of the smoke reached her. Chas had always smoked cigars and their faint aroma had hung round the house at Stoniscliffe whenever he was there, as if it was Christmas every day, Jennifer had said, laughing.

She put the tray down. ‘What happened to the cigarettes?’

‘I gave them up about eighteen months ago.’ He gestured to the cigar. ‘Do you object to this?’

‘No, of course not.’ She subdued an impulse to add it was the least objectionable thing about him, and poured the coffee instead. ‘Why do you ask?’

He gave a slight shrug. ‘It doesn’t fit in with the image here. A masculine intrusion into a purely feminine environment.’ He paused. ‘Or at least that’s the assumption I’m making. Perhaps I’m wrong.’

‘Perhaps you are,’ she agreed.

He glanced around, brows lifted. ‘You don’t live alone?’

‘I don’t live alone.’

Dane was very still for a moment, then he moved abruptly, tapping a sliver of ash from the tip of the cigar. ‘Of course not. May one ask where he is?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said calmly. ‘Perhaps now you’d like to tell me what you want from me.’

‘Not a thing, sweetheart—now or ever.’ His voice bit. ‘Let’s get that firmly established, shall we? I haven’t come blundering in on your idyll on my behalf but on Julie’s.’

‘Julie’s?’ She was startled, her eyes flying to the creased letter.

His gaze followed hers and his mouth tightened. ‘It looks as if I’ve made a wasted journey. Nevertheless I’ll say what I’ve come to say. Julie’s panicking because she hasn’t heard from you. She’s desperate for you to come home and help with the wedding. She wants to know why you haven’t written or phoned.’

Lisa said, ‘I only got her letter today. I’ve been away—abroad. I only returned yesterday.’

‘The contents don’t seem to have impressed you very much.’ Dane was leaning back in the chair, watching her from beneath lowered lids.

‘You and I both know,’ she said tautly, ‘that there is no way I’m ever going back to Stoniscliffe. You’ll have to stall Julie—find some explanation that will satisfy her.’

‘I can’t think of one,’ he said. ‘And even if I could, I doubt if it would satisfy Chas. He can’t wait for you to come—back.’

She noted ironically the small hesitation and wondered whether the word he’d stumbled over had been ‘home’.

‘How is he?’ She wasn’t merely trying to change the angle of the subject under discussion. She really wanted to know. Letters were pretty unrevealing, and she had kept hers amusing and busy, providing excuse after excuse for not returning to Yorkshire.

‘If you really wanted to know, you would have gone to see for yourself,’ Dane said harshly. ‘How the hell do you think he is—trapped in a wheelchair for the rest of his life!’

‘A wheelchair?’ She gaped at him, her head reeling in disbelief. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He had a stroke,’ Dane said curtly. ‘It’s left him partly paralysed. He can walk a few yards with difficulty and use one hand.’

Lisa shook her head. ‘He said he hadn’t been well, but he never even hinted …’

‘Why should he? If you’d cared, you’d have gone to see.’

‘That’s your reasoning, not his.’ She glared at him.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘He always was too soft with you—too ready to make excuses. He wouldn’t write and ask you to come back because he’s terrified of pity. He’s a strong man who’s suddenly found a physical weakness he can’t command or overcome, and it’s been a struggle for him. He has a nurse living in, but he doesn’t ask for help or sympathy from anyone else. He’s counting on Julie’s wedding to bring you back to Stoniscliffe. I could have told him it was a forlorn hope.’

‘That’s not true!’ Her throat felt thick and tight. ‘I—I love Chas.’

‘So you’ve always protested. According to you, you asked for nothing better than to be a daughter to him and a sister to Julie. Well, now’s your chance. Live up to your words.’

‘It isn’t as easy as you think.’ She was arguing against herself now, not him, although he wasn’t to know that. ‘I have a career—commitments.’

‘As you’ve already made clear.’ His mouth twisted a little. ‘Couldn’t you convince him that you also have a commitment to Chas—a prior commitment? Unless, of course, you no longer see it that way. As for your so-called career,’ he shrugged, ‘I imagine it would survive a slight hiccup like Julie’s wedding.’

‘You can sneer all you want,’ she said furiously, ‘but it’s my life. It isn’t the sort of success you would recognise, but I’m happy. What did you expect me to do—become a “little typist” like my mother?’

‘When you can capitalise on your considerable assets? Hardly.’ Dane looked her over. ‘You must have one of the best known faces and bodies in the country. How does the man in your life like having to share you with the fantasies of thousands of others?’

She shifted her head. ‘He survives.’ She’d deliberately led him to believe that there was such a man, so there was no point in screaming at him that her face and body belonged to herself alone, that in front of the cameras she played the role Jos had written for her, no more no less, and all it needed now was for Dinah, who was away on tour in the Midlands, to walk in and blow the whole stupid pretence sky high.

‘I’m sure he does more than that.’ His eyes seemed to linger on her mouth, on the deep vee where the lapels of the dressing gown crossed. ‘Even with your hair in rats’ tails, you’re quite something.’

Lisa felt herself shrink inwardly, but there must have been some physical movement as well, because he threw up a hand. ‘Don’t be alarmed. I said I wanted nothing from you, and I meant it. All I need is your co-operation for a few weeks.’ He paused, then added cynically, ‘And you won’t be out of pocket over it. I’ll make it worth your while.’

She said between her teeth, ‘How readily you reduce everything to cash terms. You know what you can do with your bloody money!’

‘Spare me the righteous wrath,’ he drawled. ‘I know quite well Chas has been paying out handsomely for the honour of keeping you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed. I can’t stop him, of course, but perhaps you should remember that there’ll come a time when the gravy train will stop permanently.’

And on that day, Lisa thought savagely, it would give her immense satisfaction to return every unspent penny.

She said with assumed lightness, ‘You disappoint me. There was I thinking I was set up for life. I shall have to take care I don’t lose my looks.’

‘I should just take care generally,’ he said gently. He put down the pottery mug and stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee. I’m driving back to Yorkshire tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around midday.’

‘Thanks, but no, thanks,’ she said. ‘I have arrangements to make, and there are trains.’

‘So there are,’ he agreed. ‘But Chas at least would think it strange that we didn’t travel together. I don’t deny your attractions, but I’m sure there are other models in London.’

‘Plenty,’ she said flatly.

‘Then let’s have no more excuses about arrangements.’ He gave her a long dispassionate look. ‘Play this my way, Lisa, and I’ll see to it that you aren’t bothered in future. You can come back here after the wedding and live whatever kind of life takes your fancy. I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t keep me waiting.’

He didn’t seem to expect her to show him out, and she was glad of that because she didn’t think her shaking legs would support her. She remained on the sofa staring at the door which had just closed behind him and trying to make sense of the last teeming half hour.

In a moment, she told herself, she would wake up and find she’d been having a bad dream. Whenever there had been nightmares, it had always seemed as if Dane was part of them hovering there somewhere on the fringe of her subconscious.

She hoped very much she would wake up soon. She moved restively and her hand caught her undrunk mug of coffee and spilled it across the hearthrug, and she stared for a moment down at the resultant mess, forcing herself to face reality.

Somehow, without knowing quite how it had happened, she was going back to Stoniscliffe to help with Julie’s wedding. She sank her teeth into her lower lip. It was no wonder Dane was such a success in business. No object remained immovable for long under the pressure of his irresistible force. She loathed him!

She cleaned up the spilled coffee while her mind ran round and round like a small animal trapped on a wheel. She could always vanish, she supposed. She had done it once two years ago, and she could do it again. But to do so would be to hurt Julie who didn’t deserve it, and more importantly, it would grieve Chas.

Lisa caught her breath at the thought of him in a wheelchair. He had always been such a strong, positive man. This new weakness would irk him terribly, she knew, and found herself wondering exactly when it had happened.

At the same time, she told herself fiercely that she wasn’t to feel guilty. If her disappearance from Stoniscliffe had had even a remote connection with Chas’s stroke, then Dane would have mentioned it. A mirthless smile curved her mouth. Boy, would he have mentioned it! So she wasn’t to blame herself, although she knew that her conscience would trouble her. Chas had been ill and needing her, and she hadn’t known. Why hadn’t Julie told her? she asked herself almost despairingly, and then shook her head at her own foolishness. Julie would have been obeying orders.

Chas would have wanted her to return to Stoniscliffe under her own steam, at her own wish. He wouldn’t take kindly to any sort of pleading on his behalf from anyone. Not even from Dane.

So that was yet another secret she had to keep, because Chas had never known the real reason why she had left Stoniscliffe in the first place, and that was the most important secret of all. No one knew the truth except herself, and the man who had just left her crouched, trembling like a child, in a corner of her own sofa.

She went across to the telephone and dialled Jos’s number. Myra answered almost at once, and her voice bubbled down the phone as she recognised Lisa.

‘Did you enjoy the trip? Are you worn out? Come to supper tomorrow night and tell me your version.’

‘I’d love to, but I can’t.’ Lisa hesitated. ‘Is he in a good mood, Myra?’

‘Fair to middling. Why, is there something wrong?’

‘In a way. I have to go away for a few weeks, that’s all.’

‘That’ll be enough,’ Myra said blankly. ‘What’s happened?’ She paused. ‘You’re not—ill or anything?’

Lisa guessed the real question behind the tactful words. ‘No, nothing like that. I have to go up north to organise a family wedding. My stepsister is getting married, and there’s a panic on.’

She could hear Myra talking to someone at the other end, her voice muffled and then Jos spoke.

He said sharply, ‘What is all this, Lisa? Myra says you’re going up north. You have to be joking!’

‘I wish I were.’ Lisa rapidly explained about the wedding. ‘But there’s more to it than that,’ she went on. ‘I’ve just found out that my stepfather had a stroke at some time, and that he wants to see me.’

‘Oh, hell!’ Jos was silent for a moment. ‘You realise that all this couldn’t be happening at a worse time.’

‘Please believe that if I could get out of going, I would,’ she said unhappily. ‘But they’re all the family I’ve got, and I owe them a great deal. Certainly I owe them this.’

‘Then obviously you must go, but for heaven’s sake get back as soon as you can. They have short memories in this game,’ he said grimly. He paused. ‘You said they were all the family you’ve got. Wasn’t there a brother as well? I seem to remember Dinah mentioning him.’

‘There was and there is,’ she said. ‘But I don’t regard him as a brother. It was Julie I grew up with.’

‘Lucky Julie,’ Jos commented. ‘Tell the stepfather he did a good job. And phone me as soon as you get back.’

‘That’s a promise,’ Lisa said, and replaced her receiver. Her hand was sweating slightly and she wiped it down the skirt of her dressing gown.

She would have to write to Dinah and she could pay Mrs Hargreaves and give her any necessary instructions in the morning. There was no great problem there.

The towering, the insuperable, the shattering difficulty was getting through, firstly, tomorrow, and then the days after that. If it hadn’t been for the wedding she might have been able to do a deal—to say to Dane, ‘I want to go back. I want to see Chas, to spend some time with him, and I’ll do it on the understanding that you go and stay far away from Stoniscliffe while I’m there.’

But because of Chas’s paralysis, Dane was going to give Julie away. He had to be there, and so there was no bargain to be struck.

Not that Dane struck bargains anyway, she thought. He made decisions and carried them through to his own advantage. If he negotiated, he expected to be on the winning side, and generally was. She had never seen him bested by anyone, although at one time she had dreamed dreams of doing it herself. But not any more. He had shown her brutally and finally that against him, she could not win, and she still had the emotional scars to prove it.

But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She couldn’t let herself think about that because otherwise she would turn tail and run away somewhere—anywhere, and Dane would know then exactly what he had done to her, and triumph in his knowledge.

She was restless, pacing round the flat like an animal in a cage, and she had to make herself stop, and fetch the hairdryer and sit down and do something about her ill-used hair which was going to dry like a furze bush if she wasn’t careful, and contribute nothing to her self-confidence. There was something soothing and therapeutic in sitting there, brushing the warm air through her hair, and restoring it to something like its usual smooth shine. She wished she could smooth out her jitters as easily.

She didn’t sleep when she went to bed, but she told herself that she wouldn’t have slept anyway. She’d had no exercise or fresh air to make her healthily tired.

There was too much to do in the morning to give her time to think. She packed and tried to eat some breakfast, while she gave a surprised Mrs Hargreaves her instructions. Then she found Dinah’s tour schedule and wrote her a hasty explanatory note, addressing it to the current theatre.

She dashed out, posted the letter, and as she walked back from the box on the corner, she saw there was a car parked in the street outside the flat. She lived over a shop—a boutique really where they sold small pieces of antique furniture and jewellery, catering for the connoisseur market, and of course the car could have belonged to one of the said connoisseurs, but somehow she didn’t think so.

She stood for a moment, her hands buried in her coat pockets, and stared at it, and wished she was able to turn round and walk away again as fast as she could. It was dark and sleek and shining and looked extremely powerful. It proclaimed money and a quiet but potent aggression.

Dane was waiting at the top of the stairs. He swung impatiently to meet her.

‘I was beginning to think you’d run out on me.’

‘I had to post a letter.’ Lisa despised herself for the defensive note in her voice. She had nothing to apologise for. She wasn’t late; he was early. She took her key out of her pocket and Dane calmly appropriated it and fitted it into the lock.

‘Thank you,’ she said between her teeth, and went past him into the flat.

‘If you’re ready, I’d like to leave as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘The weather forecast isn’t too good for later in the day.’

It would be brave weather that would dare interfere with his arrangements, she thought bitterly as she went into the bedroom to close her case. She tugged russet suede boots on over her slim-fitting cream cord jeans, and pulled a matching coat, warmly lined, on top of her cream Shetland sweater. She had left her hair hanging loose round her shoulders as she had worked and packed, but now it was a moment’s task to sweep it into a smooth coil and anchor it securely on top of her head. It was a severe style, but it suited her, highlighting the line of her cheekbones and her smooth curve of jaw.

She picked up her case and the weekend bag that matched it and went into the living room. Dane was standing by the window looking down into the street.

‘Is that all you’re taking?’ His glance ran over her luggage.

‘It’s enough,’ she returned shortly. ‘I’ve learned to travel lightly.’

‘But not alone.’ There was a barb in the smooth words which angered her, but she decided to ignore it. The journey ahead was going to be trying enough without a constant sparring match going on between them.

Dane picked up the cases. ‘I’ll put these in the boot while you see to any locking up you need to do.’

She was fastening the safety catches on the windows when the phone rang.

‘Lisa?’ Simon Whitman’s voice sounded plaintively down the line. ‘Jos has just told me you’re off up north for an unspecified time. What’s going on?’

Her heart sank at the note of grievance in his voice, which she had to admit was fully justified. Before the West Indies assignment, she and Simon had been seeing quite a lot of each other. She had met him some months before through her work, because he was a young and promising executive with an advertising agency which often used Jos’s photographs. They had got on well almost immediately, and she had accepted the invitation to dinner from him which had speedily followed. They were starting to be spoken of as a couple, to be invited to places together, and although Lisa wasn’t sure that was entirely what she wanted, she was happy enough with the arrangement to allow it to continue unchallenged as long as Simon didn’t start making demands she couldn’t fulfil. Up to now, he had shown no signs of this. On the contrary, he had seemed quite happy to keep their relationship as light and uncommitted as she could have wished, but just then she had heard a distinctly proprietorial note in his voice.

She said, ‘A family emergency of sorts.’ She should have let him know, she thought. He should have been on her list ahead of Dinah and Mrs Hargreaves really, but the truth was she had never even given him a thought. She went on, ‘It’s been landed on me so suddenly, I haven’t really had a chance to contact anyone.’

‘I didn’t think I was just anyone,’ Simon said, and there seemed no answer to that, so Lisa didn’t make one. After a pause, he said ‘Will you be gone for very long?’

‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘For as long as it takes, and no longer. I do have my living to earn, and as Jos reminded me, they have short memories in the fashion world.’

‘They’ll remember you.’ His voice warmed, lifted a little. ‘I can’t get you out of my mind, night or day.’

That troubled her a little, but she found herself smiling. ‘It would be nice if the other agencies in town felt the same. Do you think you could become contagious?’

She was aware that Dane had come back into the room and was standing by the door, silently watching and listening. Anyone else would have had the decency to withdraw out of earshot, she thought bitterly as she turned a resentful shoulder on him.

She could hardly hear what Simon was saying. She had to force herself to concentrate on his words because she was too conscious of that other dark and disturbing presence behind her.

Simon said with that special note in his voice which belonged to almost everyone who had spent their entire lives south of Potters Bar, ‘It will be awful in the north at this time of year, and they reckon there’s bad weather on the way. You’ll take care, won’t you, love?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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

‘Where are we going?’ she asked sharply.

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

‘Must we stop? I’m not particularly hungry.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘It was a man.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And I think you underestimate yourself,’ he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dane’s face tightened for a moment, then he said, ‘You have to remember she’s been with our family a long time.’

‘I’m not likely to be allowed to forget it,’ she said wryly. Looking back, she could remember how difficult Jennifer’s first months as mistress of Stoniscliffe had been. At first she had been difficult about making changes, a little unnerved by Mrs Arkwright’s usual response to any suggestion—‘The mistress always liked it done this way,’ delivered in a flat tone which brooked no argument. But gradually as she gained confidence and realised that she had Chas’s backing, Jennifer had quietly but firmly taken over and Mrs Arkwright had been forced to retreat, grumbling. But Lisa with a child’s sensitivity had been aware that she had never forgiven or forgotten that she had been replaced as the virtual mistress of the house by someone she regarded as an interloper. As a small girl, Lisa had been made to suffer in various ways, but she wasn’t the only one. Mrs Arkwright hadn’t cared for Julie either and considered children generally to be an obstacle to the smooth running of any house.

In fact, Lisa had since wondered whether Mrs Arkwright’s unthinking harshness in many small matters—making Julie sleep in the dark when she was frightened was only one instance—had been responsible for her stepsister’s acute nervousness. All during adolescence, Julie had been subject to attacks of excitability rising at times almost to hysteria, while at school her wild and often rebellious behaviour had caused constant trouble. Persuasion worked with her most of the time, but attempts to exert any kind of authority over her caused an intense reaction. The only person she had ever seemed to be in awe of was Dane, Lisa recalled ruefully, but she knew that even he had been worried by Julie’s extremes of behaviour, and had always tended to make concessions where she was concerned.

Presumably Lisa’s return to Stoniscliffe had been one of these concessions, especially if Julie had exhibited any signs of becoming hysterical, and it was a weapon she had never hesitated to use whenever it had seemed likely she might be thwarted.

She sighed inwardly, wondering whether Tony Bainbridge realised just what he was taking on, or had he discovered some magic formula to control Julie by. Love could and did work miracles, of course, and yet …

She was suddenly aware that Dane was studying her face, his dark brows drawn together in a frown.

She said, ‘I’m sorry—did you say something? I was thinking.’

‘You were lost in thought.’ His voice was dry. ‘And not particularly pleasant thought by all appearances.’ He paused as if waiting for her to offer some explanation, and when she said nothing, he continued, ‘I was merely asking whether you’d like some coffee.’

‘Yes, I would.’ She finished her last sandwich and sat back with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was delicious. What a lovely place this is, and the rest of the village looks interesting too. It would be nice to stay here.’

He said coolly, ‘I daresay it could be arranged. It’s out of season. They would no doubt have a room.’

Her eyes met his, widening in frank disbelief while the hot blood surged into her face.

She said, her voice shaking, ‘I was making conversation, not issuing an invitation. Perhaps I should have made that clear.’

‘Perhaps you should,’ he said. His eyes slid over her cynically. ‘You may be a tramp, Lisa, but you’re still a beautiful and desirable woman. And you said earlier that no one had exclusive rights to you. Do you really blame me for trying?’

Anger was threatening to choke her, but she forced herself to speak calmly. ‘Blame—no. Despise—yes. And now can we change the subject? I find the current one distasteful.’

‘Thus speaks the vestal virgin,’ he drawled. ‘Only we both know how far from the truth that is—don’t we, Lisa?’

For a long moment his eyes held hers, and her rounded breasts rose and fell under the force of her quickened breathing, while her small hands clenched into impotent fists.

Then she said unevenly, ‘Can we go now, please? I don’t think I want any coffee after all.’

‘Just as you wish,’ he said, and signalled for the bill. Lisa made an excuse and fled to the powder room. For a long time she stood, her fingers gripping the porcelain edge of the vanity unit, staring at her reflection with unseeing eyes. Just what had she invited by agreeing to return to Stoniscliffe? she asked herself despairingly. She must have been insane to agree.

She ran the cold tap, splashing drops of water on to her face and wrists, making herself breathe deeply to regain her self-control. She hated him, she thought. She loathed him. She had nothing but contempt for him. So why when he had looked at her, his eyes lingering on her mouth, her breasts, had there been that small stirring of excitement deep within her, that tiny flicker of something which could only be desire?

She felt sick with self-betrayal. The poise she had so painfully acquired over the past two years seemed to have deserted her, but then Dane had always had the power to bring her confidence crashing in ruins about her. Yet it was imperative that she give no sign of this. Somehow she had to convince both Dane and herself that the most she felt for him was indifference, and that not even his most barbed remarks could hurt her any more.

It would be hard, but it had to be done. Either that or she would have to run away again, and she couldn’t run for ever.

She drew a long quivering breath and went slowly back to the bar. Dane was standing talking to the landlord’s wife. He was smiling, and as she looked at him Lisa was again reluctantly aware of the tug of his attraction. No woman could be proof against it, she thought. And yet she had to be. Because she could never, never let herself forget that two years ago Dane had violated her, body and soul.

It began to rain just south of Doncaster, big icy drops which battered against the windscreen with more than a hint of sleet. It seemed like an omen. Lisa thought, looking out of her window at the lowering skies, but she was only being fanciful.

They had travelled for the most part in silence. Dane had addressed a few brief remarks to her, usually connected with her comfort. Was she warm enough? Did she want the radio on? After a while, Lisa had pretended to doze. It was easier than sitting rigidly beside him, fighting to think of something to say which would not evoke any disturbing memories, or re-open any old wounds. Not that Dane had ever felt wounded, she thought bitterly.

She would be glad to get to the house now. The car she was travelling in was the last word in comfort, but she felt cramped and cooped up. A cage however luxurious was still a cage, she thought, and she had to share hers with a predator.

Once off the motorway she began in spite of herself to take more interest in her surroundings, to look about her for long-remembered landmarks. So many place names on the signposts struck answering chords within her, and most of them had happy associations—Wetherby with its race track where Chas had called her his mascot because she’d picked three winners for him on the card—Harrogate where she and Julie had been at school—York with its gated walls and towering Minster, and the little winding streets which seemed like a step into the past. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she had missed it all, and a wave of pure nostalgia washed over her. She had been homesick, but she had managed to keep it at bay by reminding herself how impossible it was that she should ever go back.

Yet now she was back, brought by the man who had driven her into flight in the first place. And again she thought, ‘I must be insane.’

The motorway was far behind them now, and it was getting dark, too dark to gain more than a fleeting impression of the surrounding countryside, the dale where Stoniscliffe was situated.

But she could remember it, could imagine the sweep of the moor, the tall rocks which pressed down to the very verges of the road, the splashing waterfalls, the march of the dry-stone walls, and the sturdy grey houses set firm against all the wind and weather could do to them.

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