CHAPTER TWO

Rachael knew nothing of a court of law, so she was unprepared for its severity, the enormous difference between the atmosphere of total freedom she was used to and the shocking glimpse into the life of a young man under arrest. Her stomach was tied in knots and her mouth was dry. It was impossible not to become affected by the tension. Impossible not to feel a shaken flame of admiration for the counsel for the defence. He was unquestionably brilliant, everything about him perfect for his chosen profession, streets ahead of the prosecuting counsel, his presence in the courtroom commanding, his voice with a peculiar beauty and clarity, the examinations and cross-examinations, forceful where necessary, powerful, dispassionate, courteous, grave, witty, sarcastic, the numerous clashes with the prosecution seemingly all won. Every eye in the courtroom was fixed upon him whenever he rose to speak and Rachael herself, in the public gallery, became so preoccupied that she ignored the fact that her left foot was developing a cramp.

She was sobered and startled, jolted into harsh reality. A world of suffering, of ugliness, the sordid nightmare moments. Pray God she might never have them, yet tragedy struck everywhere. It happened in families; the rich and the powerful, the comfortable and secure, the poor and oppressed. Murder struck in exclusive circles as well as in slums. This was the other side of life, a dramatic reality, crime and punishment. She felt totally engrossed, her mind sifting every piece of new evidence presented as well as what she had read up in preparation, A queer excitement burned in her. In this day and age she would have thought a man would look a little ridiculous in a wig and gown, but there was Dominic Retford just as striking as a man could be, his blue eyes so lancing one felt he could get anything out of anyone. Certainly the evidence of the last witness for the prosecution had been turned inside out, and had scored appreciably for the defence.

Cleary, the accused, was only a year or so older than Rachael herself. He looked so white and frightened that, guilty or not, Rachael felt a great wave of pity for him. It might well be his last appearance as a free man. The circumstances behind the trial were as old as time. A crime of passion. A brawl over a woman—in this case, Cleary's wife of a few months. There had been an argument at a party, and the young wife had gone home with another man. The facts as brought out by the defence were that neither Cleary nor his wife had met the deceased previously, so there was no premeditated motive for murder. A violent fight had ensued, first in a house and from there to the street, during which the deceased had sustained a fatal head injury. The plea for the defence was manslaughter with extenuating circumstances, but the prosecution had taken and developed the line that Cleary had really intended to kill his young wife's admirer, a man she had become involved with, though so briefly. Cleary at that moment was probably facing a life sentence.

He doesn't look a murderer, Rachael thought. He looked very young and tortured by remorse, but at least he kept his head whenever he was questioned. His wife, who was in the court, kept directing agonised glances towards him, but he never once looked her way. Her testimony confirmed all the evidence her husband had given. She too, it was apparent, was undergoing her own personal hell, a torment from which there was no escape. Whatever happened, whether her husband would be released to her or not, the trial would be a part of them for ever. As long as they both lived. If she was telling the truth, and not motivated by her renewed love and loyalty towards her husband, then the fatal incident had just been a cruel twist of fate, a tragic and needless accident. The deceased had been a strong and hearty young man well able to defend himself. The prosecution had not been able to shake her. The punishment would be in remembering; both of them knew and acknowledged it.

There would be no adjournment. The trial was nearing the end. There was. utter silence in the court when Retford stood up. Rachael felt a strange involuntary thrill of confidence in him, and she recognised her own perversity. Some men had an aura of brilliance and authority that could be turned to tremendous advantage, and Dominic Retford was just such a man. No ordinary mortal with that clever alert face, the power and self-assurance that seemed as much a part of him as his black robe and the formal wig, inexplicably right on him, emphasising the polished tan of his skin, the intense blue of his eyes. Perhaps Cleary had really intended to kill his rival, but here was Retford, very lean and tall in his barrister's gown, about to convince all of them, judge, jury, the press, everyone in the public gallery, that his client was guilty of no more than assault under extreme provocation. So much depended on defence counsel, because Cleary now looked in a sick daze, on the point of collapse.

The judge, a famous one, had his head down, making notes. The jury stared fixedly into Retford's face, seemingly rapt, carried along by his reasoning, his utter conviction, for no sense of confusion was allowed. It had all happened just as he was unravelling. When he had finished there was dead silence. The drop of a pen would have come as an explosion. A short pause before the counsel for the prosecution rose to his feet.

Retford shot a rapier glance around the packed courtroom. Searing blue eyes narrowed and rested briefly on Rachael's young face. She felt the shock of it right through to her bones. He couldn't possibly know her. She had skilfully disguised herself in one of Sally's short bubbly dark wigs. It was like wearing a mask. She looked quite different as a brunette—even Gran said so. There was no reason for her to feel this sharp spurt of panic, engulfed by paralysis. She couldn't face this man on a witness stand. He couldn't know her, yet the blue gaze, after travelling on, came back to her.

She could feel herself flushing. Feel the wave of heat and shame to her hairline. A moment before she had felt numb, wrung out with tension, but now she was burningly alive. He did know her. It didn't seem possible, but that vivid contemptuous gaze conveyed instantly that he recognised her and thought her a silly little fool. The sooner she got away from his hypnotic gaze the better. Besides, she couldn't bear to hear the cold impersonal voice of the prosecuting counsel imputing crime to the most normal human emotions. She couldn't wait to hear the verdict. The tension would be unbearable. She would ache like Cleary, like his young wife, almost fainting. All this was alien to her, as was the man Retford. This was his great arena. He was the victor. She averted her eyes, waiting for the moment when she could slip out without attracting attention. Suddenly, desperately, she needed fresh air. She couldn't endure another blue glance.

Out in the street, she mastered her panic, and now she allowed herself to think he hadn't recognised her at all. Surely a Q. C. could scan a courtroom if he wished. It was all the fault of his blue eyes. No one could be indifferent to that regard. It would be invaluable in cross-examination, a veritable sapphire blaze.

Hours later, the evening papers carried the verdict: Not guilty. In the midst of dressing for a dinner date, Rachael found time to read every word. Cleary, for a young man, looked tired and worn, much as he would if he ever reached old age. There was no photograph of his brilliant defender. One of the prosecuting counsel, looking faintly belligerent. Another of Cleary's wife, a haunted little creature. Cleary's mother and father, hard-working, eminently respectable, their lives shattered in a moment, to be rebuilt again. The verdict had been unanimous. Cleary now had a home to go to, but it seemed he had gone home with his parents. Whether his marriage survived was in the future. In a short time the Cleary case would be forgotten. Other front-page stories would come along to take its place.

Rachael dressed carefully, though it was only the usual foursome; Sally and Dave and Brett and herself. They were going to Lucien's, the superb new restaurant on a high vantage point overlooking the harbour. It would be a first time for her, but Sally had given it a glowing recommendation. Sally was a confirmed party girl and as pretty as a picture. They had been friends since their earliest schooldays, though Sally would not, could not, be serious, but she was altogether easy to be with and very amusing. Rachael, the traditional volatile redhead, took a great many things to heart, not the least of them the loss of her beautiful home and its effect upon the person she loved best in the world, her beautiful, honoured, frail and ageing grandmother.

At last she was dressed. Her shoulder-length hair with its deep natural wave sprang back from her creamy, peach-tinted skin with a life of its own. It was wonderful hair, unquestionably. Gran's hair, as Lady Ross liked to point out. Rachael closely resembled her grandmother. They had the same fine, delicate bone structure that lasted. The same amber-coloured eyes, faintly set at a slant, eyelashes and brows a natural dark brown. Both had the same bearing; in the girl an unassumed, easy elegance, in the woman a certain regality. Only the manner was different. Rachael was her father's child, vivid, vital, loving, over-sensitive. Elizabeth Ross had always been extraordinarily poised and self-contained, even as a young girl, not given to excesses of any kind.

Rachel stared at herself critically, then began hunting around for something to wear around her neck, something to complement a deep V neckline. Her evening dress was very plain, a rich tobacco brown, backless, halter-necked, clinging and narrow as a willow, almost a slip. It was beautifully cut by a master hand but it depended entirely on a beautiful body within it. There! She hadn't worn the gold chain in ages. It was one from Gran's collection, a gleaming single strand with a large, brilliant topaz suspended from it. There were earrings to match, and Rachael had her ears pierced to wear them; circlets of plaited gold set with the glittering gemstones. Gran had worn the set when her portrait was painted. Rachael's eyes matched the stones as well, a luminous gold, though she considered she would never be the extraordinary woman that Gran was.

She glanced at herself indifferently, accustomed to her own reflection, but Allie, their housekeeper and Rachael's childhood nurse, who put her head around the door, whistled appreciatively at the vision.

'Terrific, kid, ravishing, the lot! What I wouldn't do for that figure! '

'Diet? '

'You're kidding! I ask you, what else have I got? Incidentally, your beau's downstairs. '

'Tell him I won't be a minute, ' Rachael said, looking high and low for her gold evening purse. It had been there a minute ago.

'He doesn't seem to be suffering, ' Allie observed in her dry-as-dust manner, at the same time locating the purse. 'Sally's there as well. Perky as they come. Who's the other one? '

'You know Dave! ' Rachael said in surprise.

'I know Dave, ' Allie drawled, 'but this is sort of tricky. It ain't Dave! '

Rachael turned back, puzzled. 'Then who is it? '

'Like I told you, I've never seen him before. ' Allie took a brush to the back of Rachael's hair and flipped up a curl. 'Sally's devouring him like a lover. Brett too. She means well! '

'I'd better check, ' Rachael said thoughtfully. 'It was Dave this morning. '

'Times change. Sally's pretty fickle, as I recall. Don't bother to tidy up, I'll do it for you. '

'Will you? You're an angel. '

'What else keeps me here? By the way, what about our prospective buyer? '

'What prospective buyer? ' queried Rachael.

'Don't simmer with me, young lady. I paddled you as a child, remember? '

'You never smacked me once. '

'My mistake. According to my information, Mr Retford is coming back tomorrow. '

'You're well informed, ' Rachael observed.

'That's right. Your grandmother tells me everything; We understand one another. A very superior gentleman, Mr Retford. Very classy. '

'Not another one! '

Allie raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'Don't you think so? Admit it, girl, he's magnificent. Naturally I'm interested in keeping the family together, and that includes me. '

'We could hardly throw you out at this stage. '

'It'd be difficult! Neither of you would survive without me. I'm the classic retainer. I never give up on the loyalty. '

'I know that, Allie, ' Rachael said, smiling. 'Gran does too. '

'Well then! I'm asking you to do something for me. '

Rachael gave a brief nod. 'Anything to make you happy. '

Allie was silent for a moment looking at her charge. Smooth, beautiful young face, vibrant young body, the childhood curls settled into thick springing waves. 'Suggest to Mr Retford, ' she began persuasively, 'that if you must sell, you'd just as soon see him get it. '

'I'd sooner see him arrested! ' Rachael cried.

'Apparently. But he's the appropriate man. I believe he has an extensive acquaintance with all the top people. '

'Pretty nearly everyone seems to think highly of him, ' Rachael said bitterly.

'Exactly. How did your day in court go? '

'You seem to know everything, Allie. '

'It's my job. No doubt at all. '

'It was a considerably sobering experience, ' said Rachael. 'Harrowing, I think. '

'What was Mr Retford like? That's important. '

'Brilliant. '

'Brilliant, eh? '

'Absolutely brilliant. Isn't that what you expected to hear? '

'Some character, eh? Listen, your gran likes him. '

'You seem to as well. What a coincidence! I thought him a trifle overwhelming myself. '

'Maybe you don't go for the dominant man, ' Allie said. 'Handsome, wouldn't you say? '

'Ah, Allie, what's handsomeness? '

'An advantage. Never had it myself. '

Rachael looked at Allie's dear, plain face. 'You're improving every year. Anyway, you've a heart of gold. '

Allie made a disgusted noise. 'Not the same! All I ever wanted thirty years ago was to look like you. You're my idea of a very provocative, mysterious little lady. Not like your friend Sally. Too obvious—that exuberant kitten act. The subtle touch is better. How come you like this Sally so much? I've never taken to her myself. '

'Sally's fun. '

'I'll grant you that. She's displaying a very lively interest in your young man at the moment. No scruples. '

'Sally's a natural vamp, ' Rachael said, quite unconcerned.

'I'll say! '

'Besides, Allie dear, and make a mental note, I don't have a young man. Brett's just a friend. '

'A boy, I agree. A simple, uncomplicated lad. '

'Then explain your reluctance to let me past. '

'Sorry, love! ' Allie stood aside. 'Run along and enjoy yourself. I can't remember the last time I dined out. '

'You're a better chef than any of them, ' smiled Rachael.

'Granted. But for some reason or other, from time to time, I like sampling a meal not prepared by myself. '

'I know you so well, ' Rachael said, laughing. 'All right, let's have lunch the day after tomorrow. '

'Done. I'll make a note of it. You won't be able to back out. '

'I don't want to. My word lasts. '

'Well, you'd better get downstairs and sort out that little drama. I'm pretty curious myself. '

'So am I, now that you've brought it to my notice. ' Rachael turned about, inviting Allie's last check. 'Look all right? '

'I expect you'll get another declaration. '

'Brett's pretty slow, ' Rachael said, and smiled.

'That pleases me, even if I don't understand it. '

" Night, Allie! '

'Goodnight, my lamb! ' Automatically Allie turned back to the bedroom to straighten up. She would never get the child, organised!

It took Rachael a very short time to decide she didn't like Craig Coburn, Sally's latest friend. That particular type was Sally's weak point, Rachael considered. Not that he wasn't attractive, compact and blond, well tailored, perhaps a little flashy, a fluent talker, determinedly friendly, the type that looked deeply into a girl's eyes the instant he met her. Rachael didn't like him. He was older, too, than Sally's usual admirers— the early thirties, perhaps.

Brett didn't like him either, if for no other reason than that he hadn't taken his eyes off Rachael from the very first moment. He clearly found her a very desirable young woman. The trouble was, of course, that she was, and Brett was making a good show of hiding his mounting agitation. It was part of his training. Even Sally, who had started out the evening in a swinging mood, didn't like it. In fact her pansy brown eyes borrowed a little green from her peppermint dress. Sally liked to vamp all the men and Craig was her date. Rachael, though she was lovely, was not altogether easy to know. Sally rarely had to feel on the defensive when they were out on a date, though she had to admit that Rachael was not deliberately trying to captivate Craig. Indeed she was doing her 'young lady of the manor' act in an effort to discourage Craig, but in vain; he continued to stare at this aristocratic young creature. The only thing that kept Sally in her seat was the fact that this sudden passion wasn't mutual. There was too big a contrast between Rachael and Craig—anyone could see that. Rachael needed someone quite different.

'Well, what are we going to eat? ' Sally demanded aggressively.

'Nothing. Just nothing, ' Brett complained. 'Craig just wants to change places with me. '

Craig gave an easy, practised smile. 'Surely you don't think you're entitled to Rachael's undivided attention? '

'Oh no. Half of it will suffice! '

'Precisely. ' Craig gave his languid grin.

'What are we eating? ' Sally repeated, looking harried.

'Lobster? ' Rachael offered, though she no longer felt like anything at all. If Craig Coburn was trying to upset her he was succeeding. She didn't want or need his languishing hazel glances. Brett, who really was hungry and couldn't fill his gangly six feet, entered into the spirit of the thing and began making any number of delicious suggestions, while Rachael left him to it, leaning her head back against the padded velvet upholstery of the cubicle. It was difficult to restrain her desire to get up and walk out. The events of the day had proved too much for her, robbed her of her usual sparkle. The restaurant was just as she expected, predictably first class, with a stunning new decor and mirrored walls to magnify the size of the room several times over and catch a myriad beautiful reflections, women's faces, lovely dresses and jewellery, bouquets of flowers, soft lights. Judging from the filled cubicles and tables and the heavy sprinkling of well-known personalities it was operating with a considerable degree of success. She seemed to be the only one finding fault with anything. Everyone else appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Brett consulted her briefly regarding the choice of wine, then she retired again, head thrown back, unconsciously showing the lovely line of her throat, feeling inexpressibly melancholy. Her hair glowed with a rich deep fire against the jonquil velvet, and the soft lighting directed a man's glance to the flowerlike perfection of her young skin. Brett, busy with the wine waiter, had no time to be distressed at Craig's very unconventional glances, but they were costing Sally a great deal in the way of self-control. She felt that she could smack his face for him. Craig was very ambitious, but didn't he realise Rachael was no longer an heiress?

'Any more news about the house? ' she attacked in the pursuit of the facts.

'Such a magnificent home you have, Rachael! ' Craig offered. 'Unquestionably the finest home I've been in. '

'Such a heartbreak to lose it! ' Sally murmured sympathetically. 'I ache for you, Rachael! '

'Damn it! ' Brett exploded with a minimum of manners and a good working knowledge of Sally's methods. 'Why talk about it now? It can't do Rachael any good. She's here to enjoy herself. '

'It doesn't make much difference now, ' Rachael shrugged elegantly.

'You mean you have to move out? ' Craig demanded, his smooth face a study.

'Well, yes. We simply can't afford to remain. '

'Rachael, baby, you don't have to explain anything to anybody, ' Brett maintained—very fiercely for him, because he was essentially a very civilised young man.

'No, you sweet thing! ' Sally backed him up. 'The sad fact is, Craig, the death duties on Swans' Reach were enormous, ' she added, her work done.

'Have you any plans in mind? ' Craig persisted, obviously trying to visualise much the same thing perhaps on a smaller scale.

'No. Not particularly, ' Rachael sighed, not wanting to help him out.

'If you don't mind! ' Brett intervened, 'I can't bear to hurt Rachael with all this talk of losing the house. I know what it means to her, and small wonder! I don't know how she can trust herself not to scream. I'm upset myself for Lady Ross. A wonderful old lady like that! Mother is equally upset. She worked quite a lot on Lady Ross's charities, the splendid functions she used to have in the grounds. '

'I wish someone had asked me, ' Craig said facetiously. 'I believe you did extremely well in your finals, Rachael? '

'A real whizz kid! ' Brett supplied fondly.

'I was a very indifferent student myself, ' Sally said crisply, picking up her menu.

'You make up for it in other ways, dear! ' Brett said with no appearance of admiration. 'Actually I was fairly victorious myself. '

'Brett's through law, ' Rachael explained for Craig's benefit, though in fact he wasn't in the least interested or impressed, not even bothering to shift his gaze.

'Which reminds me, ' Sally threw Rachael a speaking-glance. 'Did you get there this morning? '

'Yes, I did. ' Rachael traced a circle on the tablecloth. 'Now I wish I hadn't! '

'What are you talking about? ' Brett looked from one to the other.

'Of course, my dear, ' Sally patted his arm. 'You don't know. Rachael went along to the Cleary Case. In one of my wigs, if you please. '

'You did? ' Brett looked amazed—something he did well, for he had an engaging rather ingenuous face.

'She wanted to see Nick Retford of all people, and listen, Rachael honey, you won't believe this, but look who's just walked in. No doubt to celebrate. Say, he really is something! '

'Who? ' With no finesse whatever, just like a schoolboy, Brett whirled about in his seat to stare at the entrance. 'Hah! ' the great man himself. He's got a terrific charisma. Justified too! '

'And the great man is? ' Craig asked, very much put out at all this staring not only from their table but elsewhere.

'Nick Retford. ' Brett fell back pleasurably to the table. 'Namely the best. You should ask my dad! I've been sent along to observe Nick Retford many a time. He's an inspiration to all of us in the courtroom. '

'A fellow barrister? ' Craig asked rather waspishly.

'Unquestionably the best! ' Brett maintained, missing the sarcasm. 'Worlds away from Gerald Fox, in my opinion, though he too gets wonderful, results. Retford's more human. The way he conducts himself in a courtroom is absolutely masterly. '

'No shortcomings at all? ' Rachael asked with a little bitter-sweet smile that had Brett looking at her searchingly.

'You know him? '

'I've met him. Once! '

'He must have enjoyed it. He's looking this way. Surely that's Vanessa Maybury? ' Sally asked, looking positively intrigued. 'What a super outfit. They look superb together, don't they? She's a bit old. She must be thirty. '

'Ancient! ' Brett murmured acidly.

'Don't turn around again! ' Sally almost shrieked at him, looking embarrassed. 'They're coming this way. I'm talking to Rachael, in any case. She's tall, isn't she, but I suppose it wouldn't matter with him. You've got to introduce us. '

'No, ' Rachael said emphatically. 'Mr Retford wouldn't mix with lesser mortals, I should think. '

'I'm not surprised! Not many people would be in the same street! ' Brett said in support of his idol.

'Hero-worship, Brett, you'll get over it! ' Cautiously Rachael lifted her head, her amber eyes in the ray of light a pure, shining gold.

'Good evening, Miss Ross, ' Dominic Retford said in his beautiful distinctive voice, faintly inclining his raven-dark head.

I could have been spared that! Rachael thought, responding formally, though it was a terrible effort, and receiving a very cool appraisal from Vanessa Maybury as they passed on without stopping.

Sally gave a faint snort. 'Snooty thing! I don't even think she's a born blonde. At least she's not going to be alone with him. They're joining a party. Everyone's smiling. The men are jumping respectfully to their feet. God bless them all. Boy, has he got style! More than any man I've seen. '

It struck the final chord in a bad day for Rachael. Her whole nervous system was in a sudden fret. She couldn't remain here with Nick Retford a few feet away. Facing her, too, as she noted with real anxiety. His blue eyes, resting very briefly on her, just had to be his trade mark, so brilliant was their colour, sparkling against the dark background of his skin. Vanessa Maybury was just right for him. A tall, very cool ash-blonde, easily marked in any company as a beautifully groomed woman, expensive, high-class and intelligent. Her clothes were beautiful and her jewellery though sparing was obviously very valuable. Surprisingly, her light grey eyes darted restlessly about until they marked Rachael's table again, then she removed her glance with complete indolence, half turning her long back in its black and gold glittering cardigan over black silk chiffon.

Brett was plainly gawking and Rachael spoke sharply to him, sorry in the next minute because she was, very fond of him. Heaven help her if this was to be a standard reaction to Nick Retford—a complete loss of composure. At least she could permit herself the excuse that no one could overlook him.

Craig and Sally were at that moment having a mild argument over Mrs Maybury's assets. 'Don't like the type myself! ' Craig observed in his wry-worldly manner. 'A woman's got to look sexy! '

'And she doesn't? ' Brett peered myopically.

'Not so much as a man might easily notice. Too rigid. It's impossible to explain. A woman should look vivid, always manage to give the impression she has been or is about to be made love to. '

'Wouldn't that be awfully indiscreet? ' Brett demanded.

'I don't like thin lips! ' Craig continued, glancing with inordinate approval at Rachael's moulded mouth as though he found it exquisite.

She moved restlessly and he took this to indicate her willingness to dance. There was little else to do but go into his arms, joining the other couples on the small dance floor. The group was very good, as befitted such a place with its extravagant prices. It was a kind of suffering to have his arms around her, his voice in her ear. She felt like objecting violently. Craig was leaning back now, giving her all his attention, taking her favourable response entirely for granted. It seemed to set the pattern for the evening, but at least the food, when it came, was memorable.

'Why don't We come here more often? ' said Brett.

'Dance again, Rachael? ' Craig reached out a hand and before she could find tactful words to decline, Brett, who was still lingering over a very exotic sweet, answered for her:

'Go ahead! '

Characteristically Craig held her too closely, enjoying the feel of her lovely body. Her topaz eyes gleamed and she broke away abruptly while his hand came up in complete consternation. There was a glimmer of something, anger, in the depths of his hazel eyes.

'I think I've had enough! ' she said, breathing a little fast.

'You can't stop here in the middle of the floor. ' He went to slide his arm around her waist again, when a charming, faintly cutting voice forestalled him:

'May I, Miss Ross? I've been wanting to speak to you all evening. You don't mind, do you? ' Retford's tall arrogance neatly shrivelled the other man's opposition. Craig faded away With a meaningless smile, though inside he was spitting.

Nick Retford turned to her, drawing her into his arms while she willed her limbs not to tremble. 'What a very expressive face you have! '

She looked up at him quickly. 'You, of course, are used to reading faces. '

'Perhaps as well. I don't think your partner would have cared for a kick in the shins. '

'As bad as that? '

'I told you I was watching you. Some fairly violent feeling was animating you. '

She sighed in acknowledgment, but she couldn't relax with him. His blue eyes were disturbing, sweeping her face, and suddenly she was trembling, speaking gaily to cover the instinctive reaction of her body. As an antagonist up to his mettle she was a resounding failure. 'Congratulations on winning your case! ' she said, and smiled at him as Jacob had suggested.

He looked down at her ironically as though he guessed the motive behind the slow, sweet smile. 'Did you learn anything from your morning in court? '

'So you did see me? '

'Of course. You're somewhat different from the' ordinary. A few little tricks here and there make no difference. I actually like red hair. '

He moved beautifully and she continued to respond to the rhythm of his body, not even knowing how not to. 'What did you want to speak to me about? '

'That was timely intervention. '

'A rescue? '

'Something like that. I expect I shall see you tomorrow. '

'I might be there, yes. ' She looked up at him, her hair cloudy about her oval face, her creamy skin almost incandescent against the dark, clinging fabric of her dress. Above average height, she still had a good way to look up at him. Some people might think it nothing but an asset to be seen in his company, but she had no intention of joining the charmed circle that hung on his every word. Perhaps he had had a bit too much admiration and adulation. There was a very definite, but controlled sensuality about his face that she hadn't noticed in the court-room. There he had looked dedicated and clever, almost ascetic. Life was full of pain. This man was hurting her and she wanted revenge. His very brilliant eyes were watching her, behind the eyes a logical, trained mind, one step following hard on another. Thank God she wasn't on trial for anything. Her heart lurched With the realisation that he had spoken to her and she had been staring.

'You don't want me to have Swans' Reach, do you, Rachael? '

'No, but I won't embarrass you with my protests. '

''What is your passion apart from protesting? '

'I get very defensive about arrogant men. '

'Really, I thought you enjoyed it. '

'Don't start cross-examining me, Mr Retford. The probing, legal mind and all that! '

'Does it show? '

'It does, along with my protests. I should have stayed home. '

'Come now, you must get some relaxation. As to protests, they, I'm afraid, might prove disastrous. You must take care not to upset your grandmother. '

Colour flared in her high cheekbones, making her look very stormy and dramatic. 'You think I wish to? ' she demanded.

'I didn't say that! ' he pointed out gently. 'I'm simply pointing out the wisest course. ' Another couple, one a novice, almost careered into them, and for an instant she was cradled protectively against him. Instinct made her lean sharply away, angered and confused by the urgency in her, the odd stirring of her blood. He was unrelentingly magnetic, and by some cruel trick of fate, she was being made aware of his very real fascination. For an instant her glance locked with his and she was caught into a splintered fragment of deep familiarity, as if now, right in front of her, she knew exactly lie planes and shadows of his face, his eyes and his mouth, the cleft, not centre, but almost on the point of his chin. If she was studying him, he was giving her equal attention and she was no match for him.

'We'll have to start some time, so why not now? Shall we be friends, Rachael? ' His grip tightened on her fragile resistance and she realised how strong he was. 'No, don't dismiss the suggestion so lightly. '

'All right! ' she shrugged. 'If you want to be, Mr Retford. '

'I have to be, Rachael. I had the feeling your grandmother might like to remain at the Lodge. '

'I'm afraid I can't comment on that. '

'Yes, you can. A lot, after all, depends on you. I saw the appeal in your grandmother's face when you were being such a horrid little girl to me! '

Rachael almost winced, for it was perfectly true. 'I didn't do it to impress you. '

'I hope not. You would need to do so much more than that. '

'You're very good at cutting people down to size. '

'I'm afraid that's likely. It would be much better if you'd tell me now about the Lodge. If your grandmother really wants it, I'd be happy to lease it to her for as long as she likes. '

'You don't own the Swan yet, Mr Retford. '

'You'll never accept it, will you? '

'I'm sorry, ' she said stormily, 'do you expect me to? '

'Don't cry. '

'I've absolutely no intention of crying. How ridiculous! '

'Obviously something is making your eyes sparkle. Would you take it any better if it was somebody else? '

She returned his blue scrutiny. 'Right now, I think yes! '

'Why is that? '

'Surely you've heard of such cases? '

'Instant dislike, you mean? '

'No one else dislikes me. '

'I wouldn't dream of suggesting they might. I was referring to your crushing little dislike of myself. '

'I should never have made it so obvious. Sometimes the reckless side of my nature gets the better of me. '

'You'll improve, you know. Anyway, I'm not floored quite so easily. '

'A gift from the gods, your splendid arrogance! ' she snapped.

'I'm determined to like you, Rachael. I could have wished you to be different, but I feel if you show a little maturity things will work out. Sometimes painful experiences are all for your own good. '

'As a whole you're a bitter disappointment to me too! '

Unexpectedly he laughed, so that she just wanted to curl up quietly in a corner. 'I expect I sound like a spoiled brat? '

'You ought to do something about it. '

'None of us is perfect, Mr Retford. '

He brought his blaze of blue eyes back to her. 'What about the Lodge? ' he asked so compassionately that all the fight went out of her. In the reckoning he would always win.

'I don't think my grandmother could bring herself to suggest it to you. She's a woman of great sensibility. '

'You resemble her in other ways, ' he said drily.

'Anyway, ' she continued, flashing a speaking glance at him, 'I know she would like to stay there, It's just large enough and very comfortable. It's entirely up to you. My grandmother thought perhaps you wouldn't want us on your doorstep. '

'It would be a privilege to see Lady Ross frequently. '

'Thank you. I can see you're prepared to overlook me. '

'That would be difficult, Rachael. Actually I see you with great clarity. '

'I don't much care where I go. '

'You love your home, don't you? ' he asked with profound and extraordinary charm.

'I've always had a love affair with the Swan. '

'Except now it's time to start considering mortals. Your companion seemed very taken with you, incidentally. '

'I met him tonight for the first time. He's with my friend Sally. '

'Poor Sally! ' He glanced over her head.

'Not poor Sally. It was very nearly because of you I came. I found today very harrowing. Usually Sally is fun. I felt desperate for a little blessed relief from problems. Being forced out of one's beloved home. '

'It's Lady Ross I feel for, ' he told her. 'You'll be sharing your life with some man in due course. You'll have, very likely, a beautiful home of your own. '

'That's news to me, ' Rachael replied firmly.

'No news, Rachael. I daresay you could be married tomorrow if you wished. '

'If I told you I had no intention of marrying? '

'I wouldn't believe you. In fact, I'm surprised at the mature age of what, twenty? you haven't fallen in love. '

'I prefer to arrange my life better! ' she said with young arrogance.

'What a pity things don't work out like that. One's whole life can be changed in the course of a few minutes, Rachael. '

'I know that, ' she said, and frowned at him. 'I'm not a child. '

He looked closely at her and smiled, a very attractive, speaking, smile. 'Perhaps not in everything, but you're very egotistical, like all born beauties. '

'I am not! '

'No, perhaps it will take a few years more. The beauty, I mean. Please don't attack me. '

'I want to so much! ' she said bluntly.

'Doesn't that strike you as odd? I'm sure it's odd. '

She was bristling, left stranded by his cunning tactics, but it was not in her nature to give in. 'There are some things one can never take with composure, and I don't mean all your little digs! '

'The misery of it, Rachael! Don't you really think I know how you feel? '

But she had withdrawn from him, frantic now to make her escape. It was a good opportunity too to get her own back. 'Mrs Maybury is looking this way, ' she said, like a small volcano. 'I suppose the next time I see you congratulations will be in order. '

'I'll let you know, Rachael, the exact date of the occasion. '

'You look as if you want me to apologise for something. '

'That would be too big a shock. I'll escort you calmly back to your table. That will show just what good friends we are. '

'At your insistence. '

'Easy, Rachael! ' he said as if she was nothing more than a nervous, high-strung small creature of the wilds. His control of her was a bitter pill for Rachael to swallow. He was at her shoulder—tall, very elegant, and she could have rushed to the ends of the earth to get away from him. When Sally saw them coming, she broke into a wonderful smile, her dark eyes filled with admiration.

'Hello there! '

Somehow Rachael got through the introductions, poor old Brett almost overcome with the honour, though blessedly he said nothing out of place. She was almost trembling, torn by contending forces. Nick Retford was, without question, the most striking man she had ever met, his clever, probing eyes holding her, yet he had undertaken so confidently, so callously to ruin her life. There were other properties he could snap up and buy. She turned away from him with a jerk, her amber eyes like golden lightning. Sally, on the other hand, looked as if she might reach out a hand and grasp the arm of his jacket. Even Mrs Maybury, so handsome in her cold way, was craning her long neck, For her soon-to-be-fiancé to spend a few minutes with some chit of a girl was the absolute limit. What an idiot I was, Rachael thought, to have come. She almost stumbled past Craig, who grasped her so tenderly and unnecessarily around her narrow waist. She could have hit him, and all of a sudden she looked up and caught the sardonic laughter in Nick Retford's blue eyes.

'I'll see you tomorrow! ' she said, in a mad changeable mood.

Sally glanced at her sharply as if she had revealed some enormously scandalous secret, but Retford only bowed slightly, looking more than ever amused. 'I shall look forward to it, Rachael. Nice to have met you. ' Blue eyes flicked around the table, embracing every one of them. No wonder he was famous. Even Craig, his natural enemy a few moments Before, looked gratified.

'Pinch me, ' Sally said a few minutes later. 'Did I meet the great Nick Retford or didn't I? '

'He did speak to you, yes, ' Rachael answered shortly.

'It seems to me, Rachael, you're a dark horse, ' Sally retaliated.

'Wait until I tell Dad, ' Brett said enthusiastically.

'I didn't think your father was interested in shooting down celebrities? ' Rachael said grimly, and closed her eyes.

'You're tired! ' Brett whispered in a comforting tone. 'Would you like me to take you home? '

'If I stay here I might start to bawl. '

'What's with you tonight? ' Sally asked urgently. 'We can't very well come with you. It's still early. '

'Please stay on! ' Rachael said, looking suddenly contrite, the light falling across her face and her sumptuous hair.

'We'll make out! ' Sally answered grudgingly. All these past hours Rachael had been acting oddly, and now it seemed she was trying to make a run for it. Perhaps it was due to Craig's depressing, unbelievable behaviour. He had already started upwards, a prey to regret as Rachael gathered her evening purse and the triangular shawl, matching her dress, that she sometimes wore mantilla fashion over her head. The miracle was they didn't have to walk past Nick Retford's table on their way to the door. There was plenty of opportunity for him to study her like a butterfly tomorrow.

Alone with her at last, at least Brett was pleased. Dear Brett, so kind and so near! She couldn't very well have a love affair with Brett; he reminded her too much of the schoolboy he had so recently been. If she must experiment it would be with someone much older. Someone totally different from Brett, though Brett had a special faculty for calming her. If only!... incredibly her mind was running on the most peculiar channels. Could the red wine be making her feverish? As she wouldn't speak herself, Brett had taken, of all things, to giving her Nick Retford's entire legal history. She was forced into listening whether she liked it or not. She could never see him the way Brett did, with awe and admiration. She was made of much sterner stuff. It would be hellish to live in the Lodge with Nick Retford around. She would be for ever running into him.

She wanted to scream. He was taking over her past and leaving her with no future. All the lovely past pattern of her life soon would be gone. But Gran was more important than anyone else in the world. She was too fragile now to shift further. She would live out the rest of her days in constant view of the swans. It was more than Rachael could endure to know Nick Retford had needed no one to suggest the Lodge to him. She must remember he was a very clever man, and her continuing opposition to him would certainly influence her grandmother. There would be, in time, other buyers. In six months perhaps the credit squeeze would ease, but they could not afford to wait. Nick Retford would help them and at once. No doubt Mrs Maybury would be joyously excited with such a future carved out for her. They had, both of them, kicked and trampled on her dreams. Living away from Swans' Reach would be like living in a foreign country, and to have Nick Retford in the Big House seemed a betrayal. She felt consumed with anger and resentment.

Brett was still raving on about his brilliant and honourable record, and Rachael felt like whimpering in self-pity. At least Gran felt at home at the Lodge. It had been built as a private retreat for Margaret Ross who had made the long voyage out from Scotland to join her favourite son, James. James had made of it a most desirable home for his mother's lifetime. Afterwards it had been used very gratefully by relatives and guests who found the comfort and privacy just right. Nick Retford had wasted no time making the suggestion, and all of a sudden her rage against him evaporated. Something they both had to learn was not to upset the ageing Lady Ross. The years of her decline had to be passed without turbulence or personal vendettas. She, Rachael, would have to compose herself always in his presence and that of his so charming fiancé e. It would be a close call because she had always been very headstrong and—what? Egotistical. There, he had said it. An exceedingly disturbing man. Brett was speaking to her and she turned to him with an effort.

'Goodness, darling, I thought you'd just died! '

'It's just as well I'm not always like this, ' sighed Rachael. 'Nick Retford is the one who wants to buy Swans' Reach. '

'Good God! ' Brett cried. 'Suddenly I see light. '

'I hope so! That car will be on us in a minute. '

'Poor old kid! ' Brett murmured, all sympathy.

The melancholy in her beautiful eyes deepened. 'I had to tell you. '

'Thank you. We've been friends since the third grade. '

'I didn't tell Sally, ' she went on.

'I should think not. She's such a gossip. '

'You don't like Sally, do you? '

'She's too easy to make out. I like beautiful, mysterious girls with hot tempers and topaz eyes. '

'Then I'd better change. It's nothing to be proud of, a hot temper. '

'I can prescribe a good medicine. Marry me. '

Rachael didn't even answer him. She looked neither gloomy nor happy. She hadn't, in fact, even heard him. Brett stared at her. Nothing about Rachael escaped him. 'You weren't at all polite with the great man, ' he said quietly. 'Not your usual charming self at all! '

'Well, you were so respectful yourself. '

'I have a solid basis for my respect. '

'Suit yourself, ' she shrugged.

'Don't be like that, Rachael. I hate to see you so downhearted. I know you can't be cheerful about losing Swans' Reach, but you have nothing to complain about with Nick Retford as a prospective buyer. '

'Excuse me, ' Rachael said wearily, 'but I don't want to talk about him any more. Monarch of all he surveys. '

'The funny thing is you seemed to enjoy dancing with him. '

'I did not at all! '

'Now who can make women out? If it wasn't so damned silly I would go further and say you looked passionately interested in him, and he never took his eyes off you either. '

'Why so dramatic? ' Rachael sat up straight in the bucket seat of the car. 'What about that ghastly Craig? '

'Sally often makes mistakes, ' Brett pointed out coolly. 'Anyway, Coburn's no account. I was talking about Nick Retford. '

'He's coming tomorrow and bringing Mrs Maybury. '

'Goodness, that makes for complications! Women just don't get on with other women. '

'No news. True, I didn't take a fancy to her myself, though she's predictably right for him. '

'Now I didn't think so at all. Not up to his level, for all her superficial gloss. '

Rachael looked at him in surprise. 'What's all this, Brett? It's not like you to be so critical. '

'I, too, had a good long look at Mrs Maybury. She doesn't look a very stimulating woman. '

'Uncle Jacob said she was very witty. '

'Then I suppose she must be. I still wouldn't have her at my parties looking down her nose at us. She's super-regal. '

'She wasn't delighted to see me, either! ' Rachael observed as though the thought had suddenly occurred to her, which indeed it had. Mrs Maybury's pale scrutiny had been quite piercing. She obviously had acquired some modest skill from Nick Retford.

'Wonder where she met him? ' mused Brett.

'Oh, they belong to the same set, I suppose. '

'He's no pleasure-seeker! ' Brett maintained staunchly.

'All I know is, he wants Swans' Reach and he's going to get it! '

'Simple for a man like that, I suppose. What a pity Mrs Maybury is so close to his heart. I don't fancy her taking your place. '

'I suppose I could always marry him myself! ' Rachael said sarcastically.

'I sincerely hope not, ' said Brett. 'I'm nearer your age and I'll be making pretty good money soon. '

'Not in Mr Retford's epic proportions. Don't let's talk any more about him, otherwise I'll start to work up a hate again. '

'Argue as you will, kiddo, I don't believe you hate him at all. '

'Meaning I'm not being honest with myself? '

'If you want to put it that way, yes. '

'I can take it, Brett. Besides, Mr Retford is not a man to be bothered by any spoilt young woman's feelings, and that's what he thinks of me. Spoilt rotten. '

'I'm afraid Sir Lewis treated you like a princess. '

Rachael nodded simply. Her grandfather had.

'Perhaps I'm putting that a bit strongly, Rachael.

God knows I think you're marvellous. You've no vanity and tonight you look ravishing. I never thought such a funny colour could look so good on you. All I want to do is make love to you, but we're both so respectable. Besides, Allie would brain me. She's the best security in town. '

'I love Allie. She's a special kind of person. Gran and I would be lost without her. She attends to just about everything. '

'It's as plain as the nose on your face both of you need protection. Your grandfather lived a different kind of life. You know, the old school with a whole lot of rules. One of them was to put his womenfolk on pedestals. '

'I must say I like your frankness. My grandmother is wonderful in every detail. '

'Rachael, wait! ' said Brett, holding up a warning finger. 'Your grandmother is wonderful. No one in this town will tell you any different. I'm only saying that in some ways she's led a very sheltered life. She came from a well-to-do family and she married into one. '

'She lost her only son, ' Rachael exclaimed.

'A tragedy, yes, and I don't mean the way this is sounding. It just occurred to me that your reaction to Nick Retford is characteristically violent. You're used to getting your own way. Small wonder this isn't a happy occasion! '

'One thing I've learned, ' Rachael said wryly, 'is when you're down you're down. '

Brett turned a bright red. 'It's your grandmother my heart bleeds for. She's an old lady. You'll be marrying me. '

'Which isn't exactly what I have in mind! You can let me down here! '

They were sweeping between the great wrought-iron gates and Brett groaned audibly. 'Don't let's fight. I really care about you! '

'I'll question that after tonight. It seems to me you've come out very strongly on the side of Nick Retford. '

'Damn it all, Rachael, he's a good man! '

'And you his self-chosen champion. '

For a moment Brett hovered on the brink of anger, then he said quietly, 'I've made this my affair because I love you. One day fairly soon I want to marry you. It's all I've ever wanted. Why do you think I've worked so hard? '

'I think you've been bearing your father in mind. '

'I've been doing it mostly for you—and the parents, of course, but you mean more to me than anybody. '

'Well, you can't come in for supper. You've upset me. '

'That's not very sporting! For the phenomenal ^rice that was a very scant meal. You ate next to nothing yourself. '

'Oh, all right, ' Rachael said, relenting. 'I don't want the additional upset of seeing you lose weight! '

'I adore you! ' Brett said quite truthfully.

Inside the house, neither of them was astonished to see Allie waiting up. She smiled at Brett, deeply fond of him, but inside her heart she had a very different ambition for Rachael, her own, very special charge. That man must be near enough to perfect. A strong man, strong in the head and the heart and the cheque book. Allie had recently met just such a man. Dimly, because it suited her mood, she began to make plans. Every secret romantic ambition she had cherished so vainly for herself, she channelled in her love to Rachael. Looking across the table at her beautiful, moody, wistful face, she felt a rush of pity for Brett. He was a good boy in every way, but Rachael would need a firm hand. One couldn't live by adoration alone. Allie, in her fantasy, pictured someone very different at Rachael's side. Such speculations were fascinating and nothing was impossible!

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