CHAPTER THREE

It was obvious he was alone. He moved away from his car and began walking purposefully towards the house as though nothing could keep him from this all-important appointment. He moved like an athlete, his lean body disciplined, beautifully co-ordinated. He looked younger too, dressed more casually, the man emerging more clearly from the brilliant Q. C. He was almost beneath the window now; Rachael could see him clearly. He looked very much the kind of man to generate excitement. His clothes too had a lot of dash —a blue and beige check jacket over a fine blue shirt to pick up his eyes, narrow beige slacks. Gran would approve. She was extremely critical of what was happening to men's fashions. Nick Retford couldn't have looked smoother or more sophisticated, and his wealth was obvious though not obtrusive.

He lifted his dark head as though aware he was being watched and Rachael moved back swiftly, turning to speak to her grandmother, who was playing patience. 'Surely you said Mrs Maybury was coming? '

'I thought she was, darling. '

'Well, he's on his own. '

'So much the better! Two women will be quite enough. '

'Didn't he tell you he was bringing her? ' Rachael persisted. 'Now that you ask me, I don't think he did. Perhaps it was Jacob. '

'Did he actually tell you he was getting married? '

'No, of course not! We didn't indulge in personalities. Maggie told me about Mrs Maybury. She's well up in that kind of thing. '

'Really, Gran! ' Rachael couldn't help tutting, 'I'd watch out for second-hand information. Maggie MacAdam loves embroidering her stories. '

'Maggie told me, ' her grandmother said firmly, 'that Mrs Maybury had been his constant companion for about eight or nine months and that everyone was expecting an announcement. '

'Tell me some more gossip! ' said Rachael. 'Gossip. Gossip. How Maggie loves to talk! '

'How long have you been interested in whether he's marrying Mrs Maybury or not? ' Lady Ross asked with a quick upward glance.

'Hush, Gran! That's got nothing to do with it. '

'I suppose not, ' Lady Ross agreed mildly. 'There now, let's go down. Allie's sure to have let him in. '

Allie met them on the branch of the stairway with the news that was no news. Rachael held back, allowing her grandmother to continue on down the beautiful central section, numb with surprise that Gran was actually smiling and laughing at something Nick had said to her. He was standing directly under the big chandelier with its crystal clusters of grapes, still holding Gran's hand, continuing to talk to her, and Rachael was struck by a sense of anticlimax. She had worked herself up to an emotional scene with Gran, denouncing the usurper and postponing all thought of selling. At the very least Gran didn't have to laugh with him. Soon he would be running the whole show, taking absolutely for granted that Swans' Reach would be his before the deeds were in his hands.. Why had Grandfather lived so lavishly? It was so much more of a shock when it was all over.

Exasperated with everyone, Rachael lingered on the stairway, fingering the carved detail of the cedar, cursing Nick Retford for being so good-looking. Gran never shrank from conversation with a handsome, cultivated man. Probably she was asking after the Judge. At this point, Rachael's amber eyes began to glitter. If only she could thrash the whole thing out here and now! It was simply a question of suitability, and Rachael found Nick Retford unsuitable. It was regrettable, but she had thought so from the very instant of meeting him. It was a pity to break up Gran's little interlude. She seemed to be enjoying it, but all females were illogical and Nick Retford was far, far smarter than Gran.

It was bad taste to scowl, so she tried to rearrange her face, but found herself completely incapable of the smiling vivacity other visitors to the house usually encountered. Artlessly Lady Ross turned to her granddaughter, her voice like honey.

'Come on down, darling, and say good morning to Mr Retford. '

Rachael clung to the balustrade, inevitably betraying a little of what she felt. Her golden gaze travelled over his casual perfection. She could feel her heart beating rapidly; she was thrown off-balance by the sight of him. His voice reached her easily over the space that divided them, absolutely civil.

'How are you, Rachael? '

She couldn't very well respond as she wanted to, so she merely answered coolly: 'Welcome to Swans' Reach, Mr Retford. You look quite different out of your black robes. '

'And much more comfortable too, ' he said lightly, aware of the coolness she was pretending.

'Rachael will be able to show you around the house more completely, Mr Retford, ' Lady Ross said graciously. 'Take all the time you want. I'll be in the sun-room. Such a lovely place! The good thing about old age is one doesn't have to make excuses for being idle! '

'You aren't coming too? ' Rachael demanded as though her grandmother had better reconsider.

'No, thank you, darling, ' Lady Ross smiled tolerantly. 'You know the place as well as I do. I was hoping, Mr Retford, you would stay on for luncheon? '

'I'd like that! ' He smiled into Gran's eyes, shocking Rachael further. What kind of game was this he and Gran were playing? The next few hours wouldn't be an easy period for her.

She found it hard to conceal her anger and consternation as Gran moved off to the sun-room with an engaging little wave of her hand. She looked a wonderfully elegant old lady, easy and relaxed instead of trying to pit her frail strength against the invader, Nick Retford. Nothing was going to plan!

He turned his dark head swiftly, pinning Rachael's hostile glance. 'I'd much rather have your grandmother to conduct me, ' he told her, trying to smother the laugh in his voice.

'Please try to remember, Mr Retford, you're staying to lunch. '

'Meaning? '

'I can't forgive you everything, ' she said strangely.

'I don't think you can forgive me anything. It's perfectly ridiculous, when apart from your unreasonable attitude, I almost like you. I'm not out for your skin, Rachael. The house is on the market. '

'You can live anywhere, ' she said at a rush.

He sighed as though the conflict between them was inevitable. 'How would it help you if I don't get the house? Would you jump, for instance, at another offer? '

'You've made the best one! ' she pointed out, her expression challenging.

'I understand a real estate developer was prepared to match me? '

'I know nothing about that, ' she lied.

'Obviously your grandmother doesn't tell you everything. '

'She does. Of course she does. '

His blue eyes narrowed. 'Let's drop this antagonism business, shall we? At least until after you've shown me over the house. '

'Why are you in a hurry? ' She looked at him mockingly.

'Are you? '

'I'm not going to run, Mr Retford. I'm going to stand my ground. '

'You would if you could. I realise that. ' He pressed his point swiftly. 'Tell me, Rachael, if I might ask the question. Is it worth it to fight me? '

'I'll risk it! ' she said, greatly daring.

There was a superb vibrancy about him; his brilliant eyes studied her as if she were an oddity. 'I think, Rachael, ' he said slowly, 'you've been let behave the way you're inclined. '

'Don't you think you're being unkind? ' The soft colour suffused her skin.

'I'm being honest. Do you object? You seem to think it can work for you. '

She stood silently, her head slightly averted. No one made her so conscious of her youth and inexperience. 'What do you want me to do? ' she asked in some perplexity.

'Well, ' he suddenly became businesslike, 'I'm familiar with the ground floor, but I've only glimpsed the basement and the upper floors. Perhaps we can go straight there. Don't look as if you loathe this, Rachael, otherwise you're the most decorative guide I've ever had. '

'Fantasy! ' she said acidly.

'No, the truth again. Sometimes, of course, even beauty falls flat! '

'Thank you. ' Abruptly she turned and led him up the central stairway. Anger, it seemed, was to be her only salvation, because she felt sick with nerves and something about him made her rush ahead where even a fool would fear to tread. It was all very well to think she could deal with Nick Retford, but having him moving there beside her was proving most difficult. She was passionately attached to her home. Perhaps she was a little proud. But he seemed bent on humiliating her. It wouldn't do to lose her temper, because she was sure he would never lose his.

In the main gallery, well supplied with natural light from a huge glass dome, he paused in front of the full-length portrait of Gran, oil on canvas, in an elaborate gilded frame, the work of a very distinguished artist who had died a few months after the portrait was completed.

'Remarkable how alike yet unalike you are! '

'I could mellow with old age, ' she offered briefly.

'I doubt it. '

'Actually I'm supposed to take after my father in temperament. Had he lived, I suppose we might have been in constant friction. '

He turned to look at her, relentless, however charming, his blue gaze long and steady on her face. 'Don't you wish he had? '

'Of course. ' She swallowed on another wave of resentment. 'But I couldn't possibly do anything about it, Mr Retford. Both my parents were drowned in a yachting accident. '

'Yes, I know that. '

'And you look as if you're prepared to make allowances for me. '

'Oh, but I am. ' He turned away from her to the portrait. 'Surely you wore that same set last night, the necklace and the earrings? '

'You're very observant! ' she commented drily.

'I think possibly anyone would notice you, Rachael. You were extremely fortunate to inherit your grandmother's beauty. This is an interesting painting, yet I somehow think it didn't do Lady Ross justice. '

'So Jacob says. Grandfather always liked it. He had quite a collection, some of which you see here. Part of my heritage, now to be put up for auction. Every major Australian artist is represented—the early colonial watercolours, the golden age impressionists, Roberts, Streeton, Condor, McCubbin, the Outback studies, Drysdale, Nolan, Boyd. All the younger talent. My grandfather never stopped buying right up until the week he died. He was a compulsive collector, not only of paintings but sculptures and art works of all kinds. We simply couldn't stop him and he used to laugh about it. There are spillovers everywhere, but we don't have to sell the lot, Mr Retford, just the house. '

'Don't go up in flames, Rachael! ' he advised mildly, moving to the next painting, another family portrait. 'Your grandfather had impeccable taste. This is a very grand and romantic home, and it's furnished very appropriately. Not everyone, however moneyed, could rise to it. I certainly can't rise to the entire collection, but your grandmother has graciously agreed to let me buy such pieces as I want and several of the paintings. The rest, as you say, will go up for auction. It's a great pity it's a buyer's market. '

'It's affected your bargaining power, hasn't it? ' she taunted him.

'No, Rachael, it hasn't! ' Evidently he saw no further need to control himself, for his hand shot out and very firmly cupped her chin. 'You must know from your advisers that you're getting a very good price. '

She couldn't turn her head. She could only shake her hair and it curled in a rich strand over his hand.

'Why, Mr Retford, have I made you angry? '

His eyes were blue flames, but his voice was cool enough. 'I won't go so far as to admit that, though you're doing your best. '

'I'm not going to apologise. '

He released his grasp abruptly, looking down at her flushed, defiant face. 'Never mind. I'll have to accept the fact that you're a very excitable young creature. '

She brushed past him, going ahead to open the door of the main bedroom. It hadn't been used since her grandfather had died. Gran couldn't even bear to go in. It was too recent, all the tears and the heartbreak. She trembled on the; threshold herself. The soft muted colours and the beautiful furnishings, the huge mahogany bed, started to blur before her eyes. Her grandfather had thoroughly spoilt her, loving her from the instant he set eyes on her. If she was outrageous it was his fault. She could even see him at the writing desk. Grief hit her and she walked to the tall windows to look out over the vast green sweep of lawn to the shining reach of the river.

The desire to cry was too strong. Tears stung her eyes and she stared fixedly at a small flotilla of swans. Probably if Nick Retford caught sight of her face he would think her unstable. She wanted to turn around and say something appropriate, but the effort was proving too much for her. Now she knew why Gran hadn't accompanied them upstairs. She didn't want to come into this room. It was too full of Grandfather, dying. The end of their happy life together, the end of the kind of life he had accustomed them to. The intensity of her well-remembered love for him shocked her, hurting her chest, and she put a hand to her heart in an effort to ease the hard knot of pain.

'Rachael? '

Now why did he have such a beautiful voice, capable of entering the very kingdom of the heart? No man called Nick Retford was going to do that. She shifted her hand to the bobbled fringe of the window drapery, continuing to stare down at the parklike grounds. He came to stand beside her, his blue gaze insistent. 'You're a very complex child, Rachael. Was this bedroom your grandfather's? '

'Yes, ' she managed to get out. She wanted to lash out at him even though she knew it was unfair.

'The view through this window is beautiful. '

'It's almost the same from the next-door sitting-room, ' she answered in a very clipped voice through the tears in her throat. Don't seduce me with your voice, she thought bitterly.

His blue eyes rested thoughtfully on her pale profile, the flame of dark auburn hair that sprang back from her forehead. Tears sparkled on the heavy tips of her eyelashes. 'Rachael, please, you'll make yourself ill! ' he said gently. She looked the very picture of trembling nervous energy, too highly strung for her own good, but with such a special luminous beauty and a quick intelligence that it gave her a rare sexual radiance. Again she carried off beautifully a very plain little dress, a mere slip of a thing in a burgundy colour that made the most of her skin and her wonderful colouring. No frills or fuss about Rachael. She didn't need them in any case. If she was lovely, she was also very vulnerable, pulses hammering in her temple and throat. A mixture of a girl. He couldn't decide if he wanted to comfort her or turn her over his knee. It was possible she even understood this, because she turned to him, her topaz eyes shimmering.

'Don't touch me! ' she cried in an anguished tone. 'You just buy Swans' Reach! '

'What am I up against? ' he said, and drew her against him.

Helplessly she buried herself against the soft blue of his shirt. 'You can't do this. You're my enemy. '

'All right, so I'm your enemy. Look at me! No? Why not? You're not one to run away, or so you've been telling me. '

She started to withdraw like a bird fluttering its wings, her amber eyes full of tears. She felt his arms tighten, but she was powerless to block a strange hunger among all her contradictions. She was responding to him compulsively and the situation was getting out of hand.

'I could call for help, ' she said raggedly.

'That would upset everyone. Are you sure you want to? '

Some movement, some shadow of an expression across his face was unnerving her. Incredible thoughts and feelings began to move in her head like a passage of music, wild and sweet and disturbing. These last three days had shaken her whole existence, redefining her life in terms of her future. Whatever she needed she knew she couldn't handle it, and the realisation came into her eyes, colouring them a fantastic, glowing, clear gold. Nick Retford wasn't Brett, whom she could wrap around her little finger, a willing slave.

Retford was a natural autocrat, and he was speaking almost curtly.

'Let's get this straight. I'm not your enemy at all. '

'Prove it! ' She tilted her head back, for Nick's arms were still linked around her like an unbreakable chain. 'I wish I hadn't come with you. '

'Why not? Aren't we totally incompatible, just as you thought? '

'You don't need to convince me, ' she said in answer to his mockery. 'I know my own fatal flaws. '

'What would you list first, inconsistency? All that fiery resentment scattered to the winds. '

'What is this? ' she protested very fretfully. 'A paper war. A battle of words only? '

'You haven't stopped talking, Rachael, yet your eyes are telling me something quite different. '

'A judgement on me, ' she said scornfully. 'I can always close them. '

'Why do that? I want to check the colour. Last night I could have sworn they were blue, but they're transparent gold. '

'You're slightly crazy, ' she said, clinging to the absurd opinion.

'You're no better. '

'But I don't have to be! You're the one with the great talent. '

'I wish you'd remember that, Rachael. '

He was looking at her very steadily, making her look back at him. If she could only ignore the thudding pulses maybe they would quieten. Blue was supposed to be the colour of Heaven, yet his gaze was locking her into a strange limbo, endlessly tempting her. Their whole relationship was brushed with danger. She knew what might happen, yet she. stood there as though rooted to the spot, all her brash opposition made to count for nothing against the touch of a hand. The heat of her own body was convincing her of this. It was ravishing, like a game she had never played before.

It was also intolerable. She wasn't going to accept it, such easy dominance. The tension was too much. She clenched her small fist and hit at his chest just at the moment when he bent his dark head purposefully and kissed her mouth. The shock brought chaos to her senses, too big a price to pay for her young arrogance. It seemed to take a long time. It was a new horizon of experiences, spinning her dizzily like a top. She would never have believed it. The whole violence of her opposition was shown to be invalid. The urgency, the touch of his mouth, her intemperate response. The implication transformed her in her own eyes, leaving her weak and exposed, condemned by her own capricious, sensuous, nature.

When Nick finally released her, his hand still lay around her throat, his thumb on the pulsing, agitating beat. It didn't feel foreign, but triumphant, as if it had a perfect right to remain there, gauging her reactions, bewildering as they were, unspeakably excited, unresistant.

'I can't imagine why you did that, ' she said a little vaguely. 'It was cruel and it was unnecessary. '

'That sounds like a lament, and so exaggerated. Anyone less suited to being kissed I've yet to find. A woman's words, Rachael, what are they? Her appeal is ageless, but she never says what she means. You wanted me to kiss you. Unconsciously perhaps, but you still wanted it. Needed it. A shock makes one see things a whole lot faster. '

'But you don't know me and I don't know you. '

'Well, a lengthy introduction is a bit of a luxury these days. In any case, that's not exactly true. I knew exactly the touch of your mouth. You brought your hand up. What were you going to do with it? Hit me or curl it around my neck? No, you're impulsive, Rachael, and I can't abide by the rules with you. '

'I don't want to remember it! '

'Why, to save your pride? You won't forget it. Neither will I. It was too much to keep up all that crisp young taunting, the sarcastic little greetings. That kiss was a gift. I might have turned you over my knee. '

She tossed her head and her hair fell unrestrained about her flushed face. 'Thank you for your generosity. '

'Nothing at all! ' he said tolerantly. 'You're a dream. I almost wish I was your age. Now, that's settled, are you going to show me the rest of the house? '

'Am I to take it I'm forgiven? '

'Rachael... ' He laid his hand on her restrainingly and she lowered the tilt of her chin. The kiss was the worst of all. A slap might only have irritated her. If she was strong, he couldn't touch or hurt her again, yet she wanted him to follow her.

For the rest of the tour, she kept strictly to architectural details, losing her confusion in talk of moulded ceilings, elaborate cornices, architraves and pediments, the cedar joinery, half columns with Corinthian capitals, great chandeliers, very graceful or ornately lavish, huge gilt-framed mirrors, beautifully etched windows, the white Carrara marble fireplaces. He took it all splendidly, though she had the conviction he was laughing at her. In the parklike grounds he calmly observed all the sculptures and the beautiful fountain that sprang up from the centre of an ornamental lily-pond floating the gold and magenta and white nymphaeas.

'I'll hardly have time for all this! ' He let his hand sweep broadly down the expanse of lawn.

'Grandfather had three gardeners under contract. '

'And how are you managing? ' he asked her, his eyes on her slender figure, the graceful, very cared-for hands.

'Two continue to come from time to time. Mostly as a favour to Gran. I imagine they would be prepared to work for the person who eventually buys the place. '

'That's it, Rachael! ' he said mockingly. 'Never let the tension go slack. What a magnificent old home this is! '

'It will have a few ghosts. '

'Are you intending to haunt me? '

His blue eyes travelling over her were like a shock of lightning. Rachael stared at him for a moment in a trance. She could scarcely credit that such very blue eyes could go with black hair, and a bronze skin. She jerked her head back distractedly, the sunlight making a ruby cloud round her creamy face. 'God knows I'd like to! ' she said shakenly. 'You deserve to suffer. '

'Possibly, but why do you want to make me, particularly? '

'You have that effect on me. Now do you want to see the Lodge? '

'Why not? It's near the main gate, isn't it? '

'Yes. You can scarcely see it through the trees. It was built about 1843, for Captain James' mother. A sort of dower house. '

'And the little pagoda? '

'That's one of Grandfather's extravagances. A folly, a status symbol years ago. To leave all this will be unendurable! '

The misery was in her voice again and he turned to speak to her very directly as though she were indeed a child.

'Look, Rachael, I told you I'm prepared to lease you the Lodge. '

'Now why doesn't that make me happy? ' She stared at him, her young face pure and impassioned at once. Abruptly he swung his head away from her.

'It's a beautiful day. You're young and vivid and you've had an excellent education. Such things are enormously rewarding. The rest you'll hurdle. In time these death duties must be abolished, at least between husband and wife. Don't blame me for circumstances outside my control. '

'Anyway, what does it matter if you upset me? We're direct opposites. I must confess I'm dying to know when you're getting married. '

He glanced at her calmly and it was she who looked away. 'You're all mixed up, Rachael. I never said I was. '

'But surely ‑? '

'Surely what? '

'You can't afford not to have a hostess. A life style like the one you're undertaking absolutely demands one. Anyway, there's considerable talk that you're going to marry Mrs Maybury. She's very suitable, ' she added, with an expression of eternal good will. 'But of course, if she's only a friend? '

His clever face hardened, a frown between his winged black brows. 'If you want to go on with this, Rachael, I might consider marrying you! '

'How unreal! '

'I insist I'm taken with you. However, even I can't indulge myself so far. It would be against my moral code to snatch such an infant from the cradle! '

'You had no scruples about kissing the said infant, ' she said drily.

'You can interpret that as a lesson. All children need them. '

'I can't afford another one. ' She bent and twisted a yellow dandelion from the grass.

'Neither can I, ' he said, looking down at her glistening head. 'Did your informants also tell you I have a son? '

'Yes, they did, ' she said, straightening and looking up at him quite seriously. 'What's his name and how old is he? '

'His name is Jon and he's nearly eight. '

'He's going to love it here, ' she said, and sighed.

'I hope so. It's mostly for him that I'm doing it. '

'You see what I mean? ' Rachael challenged him. 'You need a wife. '

'Very well. What about you? You're little more than a child. You'll be an excellent playmate for Jon. He too is very high-spirited and full of reckless courage. '

'Do you love him? '

'What an extraordinary question! '

Her expression darkened. 'You're not going to send him to boarding school? '

Nick glanced at her curiously. 'Later on, when he's ready to study in earnest. Thirteen or fourteen perhaps. -'

'That's all right, then! '

'I can see Jon, at least, has found a champion, ' he said drily.

She turned to him, her amber eyes glowing, the breeze skeining her hair about her face. 'I had friends at school who used to tell me they sobbed themselves to sleep. '

'It's all a question of alternatives, Rachael. Most of our country children have to come in to boarding school, at least for their secondary and tertiary education. '

'These girls lived down the road. My grandfather would never have let me out of his sight, and Gran and I have always been like that! ' She held up two slender fingers and twined them lovingly.

'You're telling me something important, Rachael. You become deeply involved when you love. '

'Of course. Doesn't everyone? '

He almost groaned. 'Oh, Rachael, Rachael! Love's a word that doesn't seem to mean much any more. I see plenty of hatred in the courts. '

'But love is the core of our lives. '

'So the man said as he strangled his wife. '

Nick's dark head was bent and he looked very serious and remote, his brilliant eyes hooded.

'Is something wrong? ' she asked, sounding troubled. 'Is it a case? '

'One I've declined. Some things I don't enjoy. '

'What made you decide to become a barrister? ' she asked.

'A family tradition. '

'Oh yes, I remember, the Judge. He was madly in love with Gran. '

He turned to her, an irresistible expression in his sapphire eyes. 'I certainly have no difficulty in believing it. Looks like that would put anyone in a tizzy! Young Vickers, is he a special friend of yours? '

'Brett? We've known one another since the third grade. Nothing passionate, just protective. I'm very fond of him. He's just passed his finals, as a matter of fact. Law. '

'Is Martin Vickers his father? '

'The same one. I suppose I can blame the bar for most of my troubles. '

'You'll have me thinking you're addicted to the profession. '

'I would never trust a barrister, for instance. '

Something in his expression made her nervous. 'You'll have to control your statements, Rachael. '

'It would seem so. Gran will expect us on the dot of one. Shall we look at the Lodge? ' She ran away from him over the grass, the wind in her face, cool and scented, accepting his magnetism but willing her body to break free of it.

'There, where's the key? ' she said. 'Ah, here it is. '

She plunged her hand into a huge camellia tub, locating the heavy key and brushing the dust off her fingers.

'This is perfect! ' He came to join her, standing in the sunlight staring up at the small, two-storey building. The walls were of old brick washed the palest pink, the tiled roof rosy, with white shutters on all the windows. It wasn't grand or impressive like the main house, but it was very charming with an Ionic portico and a protective veranda, lotus capitals on the slender white columns.

Rachael stood there almost nervelessly watching Nick, then he came up the four shallow steps and took the key from her. The beautiful fanlight over the double doors was etched with fruit and flowers, and tall glossy-leaved camellias in pots flanked either side of the entrance.

'A front door should always say welcome! ' he said rather suavely, allowing himself a brief glance at her averted profile.

'There's a grape arbour at the back, ' she managed. 'It's beautifully cool in summer. I love the beautiful old cypresses, and the flowers always flourish at the front here and the sunny side of the house. I haven't been in for a while. Allie usually attends to things. '

'I hope you're never swept giddily into hard work. '

'I could manage! ' she said heatedly.

'What, a brilliant, haughty porcelain figure like you? '

'You can't really believe that. I'm perfectly willing to go to work. '

'Really? What would you like to do? '

'I could always open and shut the front gates for you. '

He glanced about. 'If you will talk like that, Rachael. '

'What it's all boiled down to is that you're taking absolutely for granted that my home will be yours. '

'Surely it's a question of who can afford it. At least I thought so. '

'I must keep reminding myself over and over. '

'Rachael, it's easy to see you resent me, in fact, I expected it, but don't go feeling proud of it. '

'Don't delude yourself—I more than resent you! ' she snapped.

'That's perfectly evident. You could hardly have done better when I kissed you. '

'It wasn't intended that way, believe me. '

'I saw nothing wrong in it, Rachael. You're a very desirable child, pure and simple. '

'What sort of an answer is that? ' she asked, trying to control her exasperation.

'Deep down, are you really dreading the prospect of living on my doorstep, as you put it? '

'Can't you see I feel like screaming? '

'You want a little mastering, that's all! ' he said crisply, his blue eyes very masculine and speculative.

'That's just the difference between the new woman and the old. We don't go in for that sort of thing any more. '

'More's the pity! Women are losing their femininity. '

'You mean we're not confused any more. We won't be restricted. '

'Your size must be a stumbling block. It would be a lot easier for you to get your degree than manage those front gates for me. They're extremely heavy and one of them needs attention. I might be able to fix it for you before I go. If it fell on you it would kill you. '

'Well, if you want to! ' Common sense made her retreat. 'Actually we've been keeping them open for just that reason. They came from Italy. Didn't you notice the linked initials J. R.? The ironwork is exquisite, baroque, I think. They were gilded originally, but Grandfather had them painted black, in case someone decided to pinch them. '

'They would have had their work cut out! ' Nick turned to flash a smile at her.

'I know, but it made no difference to Grandfather. He was always on the look-out for burglars and prowlers and such like. Even gangs. He thought the world was sinking into degeneracy. At one time he even boobytrapped the grounds. He was a Colonel during the war and he studied guerrilla tactics. '

'Which reminds me of young Jon's definition of a guerrilla. A year or so ago when he heard guerrillas had hijacked a plane he informed me quite seriously that they were " just men dressed up in monkey suits". I think he was trying to reassure me because I was flying to Perth at the time. '

'What else would occur to him? ' she asked, and laughed. 'Logical too. Does he take after you? '

'He always seems to do things I used to do. He looks like me, yes. '

'He must be a very handsome little boy. '

He rounded on her, one black eyebrow raised. 'Oh, come now, Rachael, is that a compliment? '

'Funny, I guess it must be. What it really adds up to, however, is that I like children. '

'You don't need to convince me. You have that look about you. Jon is very quick and intelligent and he understands a lot of things. He's had to. His mother died when he was little more than a baby. We've been caring for one another ever since. '

'Has he a nanny? ' she asked.

'I have a housekeeper, ' he amended, leaning away from her and picking up a small biscuit porcelain figurine. 'Well, well! ' he said, and put it down again. 'She's an ex-nursing sister, Rachael, and she's very good. Jon isn't alone much, but unfortunately at one time I had to go away a lot. I hired Stevie then. That's Mrs Stevenson and that's Jon's name for her. Before that he stayed a lot with my wife's people. He didn't care for it, though they were extremely good to him. It was just that he wanted to be with me. '

'Naturally. I suppose he thinks you're the most super being in the world. '

'As I see it, a lot of boys think that of their father. '

'Oh, come now—I mean, after all, there's only one Dominic Retford. '

'What's wrong with me? ' He gave her a long level look.

'I doubt if I will tell you. '

'You haven't learned nearly enough, but all in good time. There are some very fine pieces here. ' He moved idly about the lovely room, admiring.

'They've been in the Ross family for generations. Margaret Ross brought most of these formal things out from Scotland. Oddly enough they're all French. Gran had the deep sofas put in. The Louis XVI stuff is lovely, but it's not all that comfortable. Blue and white is a very restful colour scheme, don't you think? Gran's choice. It all used to be gold. That mirror over there is very rare, and that's the original glass. The marble-topped commode and the writing desk are eighteenth-century. Margaret Ross brought them out. The place has been re-papered, of course, and the carpeting right through is almost new. Gran had it specially woven to match the draperies. The mirror in the dining-room is ceiling high. Let's go in there. That's the library-sitting-room. Have a quick look if you like. '

Nick did so, then came to join her, looking up at the huge mirror.

'We couldn't find anywhere to put it in the house, ' Rachael explained, 'so Gran had it sent down here. Grandfather bought it at an auction. He used to buy first, then leave Gran to worry about where everything would go. He simply couldn't stop even when we'd reached saturation point. I'm certainly glad he didn't bet on horses. '

'Well, it does double the size of the room, ' he pointed out.

'Yes, and you can see through to the drawing-room when the doors are opened out. '

They were both reflected in the huge gilt-framed mirror with its knots of roses and fat, winged cupids. Nick lowered his head from his study of them and found Rachael's mirrored eyes. The colour raced under her skin. She couldn't control it and her heart turned in her breast. She stared back at him as if he were a ghost, feathery waves of feeling leaping along her spine. She wanted to speak, to say something witty or informative, but suddenly, startlingly, she found she could not. He looked very darkly, vividly handsome, imperious even, his questing blue gaze full of intensity. The very air seemed charged with electricity.

She drew back instinctively, her eyes shimmering in her lovely flushed face. His physical presence was filling her with perplexity. She wanted to run, yet she was reliving the tumultuous shock of his mouth, her mind and her body miles apart. She wouldn't join the ranks of his admirers. This charisma of his was a natural advantage, enhanced by years of training. She was an amateur and her opposition could be judged as artificial, hypocrisy. Never mind about the rest of the house, she wanted to leave now. She couldn't play at this fashionable exchange between a man and a woman and she wasn't even going to try. She didn't know it, but she had made a small sound of protest.

Their reflections broke up. He moved to the doorway. 'Rouse yourself, Rachael, ' he said with some mockery. 'We haven't got all day. Now, how many more rooms are there? I'll take your word for it. We'd better not remain here, because there's no guarantee I won't kiss you again. '

'You're just trying to throw me off balance! '

'No, you're very intriguing! ' He spoke lightly, his blue gaze in winged satire over her face, but a muscle hardened beside his mouth.

Rachael bent and straightened the centre-piece on the table, her fingers clenching convulsively. She would have liked to throw it at him, but it was a particular favourite of Gran's. She began to speak quickly, rattling rooms off like a real estate agent. 'The library-sitting-room you've seen. There's a sewing-room behind that.

A maid's room, kitchen, downstairs bathroom. The main bedrooms are upstairs, another bathroom and a study. All modern plumbing, of course. The back terrace Gran had glassed in and turned into a shady summer retreat. We've had lots of friends and relations to stay here. It gives them a sense of complete privacy. ' She swung up her head to look at him. 'Enough? '

'Very professional. I feel a lot easier in my mind now I've seen it. Some people might count this a small palace. '

'Well, it's not spectacular, but it's very comfortable. '

'You've been brought up in a mansion, Rachael, ' he said drily. 'This to a lot of people would be a wonderful way to live. My concern has been mainly for Lady Ross, but this is very charming and quite big enough to be suitable. Shall we go? '

Some of the tension relaxed a bit. She turned to him and smiled. 'I won't quibble with that. I think it's a good idea as well. '

His mouth twisted with amusement. 'Won't you please call me Nick, or Dominic if you prefer? '

'I'll try. What does Mrs Maybury call you? '

'Darling, mostly. '

'I don't think I'll ever rise to that. '

'I'm afraid you don't like me! '

'You'll have to remember that. '

He allowed her to precede him out of the door, then he pulled it to, securing the lock. 'Where do you want the key, back there? ' He indicated the big plant pot.

Rachael simply nodded her auburn head, and walked out into the sunshine. The warm breeze carried the scent of the roses, beautifully evocative of every delight she had ever known, the joy of growing up at Swans' Reach. The massive stone gateposts supporting the great wrought-iron gates were smothered in a pink flowering creeper. The estate was at its most beautiful now with the spring flowering. She fought off a quick surge of emotion. This was the Garden of Eden. The variety of trees and shrubs and flowers, as lovely a vista as one could wish for.

Masses and masses of azaleas spilled on to the grass, a collection of Belgian doubles under the trees; the breathtaking beauty of the camellias with many new interesting varieties introduced by Professor Farrell, one of the world's greatest authorities on camellias and a lifelong friend of her grandmother's, some growing in the complete shade and others getting filtered sun through the trees; the sculptures and statuary in the clipped arbours of English holly or guarding the steps to the lower terrace, the vivid green tree ferns and rock orchids that grew near the river, the great pink and silver and flaxen plumes of the pampas grass that matured in late summer. Rachael could weep for the fine halcyon days that were past. Days she would always remember. She was fortunate indeed to have known them at all. All of her friends had envied her. Now that envy would be turned to sympathy.

Nick Retford came alongside her and she gave him a bitter-sweet smile. 'Gran will be waiting. I should tell you she's quite prepared to accept your offer. '

He reached out and caught her hand, holding her still. 'If you try, Rachael, we can be friends. If you won't...! '

'What will you think of me? '

'I'll think you don't want to be a woman, just a spoilt child. '

'Please, the shoe's on the other foot. You're a tyrant! '

'Exactly. We're trapped! '

No words were necessary after that. They walked back to the house in a fraught silence, Rachael's long slim legs flashing, her high-boned young face clearly unrepentant. The thought of conceding a victory to Nick Retford was too terrible to be borne. From time to time he glanced down at her, his blue eyes brilliant with mockery. It would be a long time before young Rachael would be prepared to accept a man's domination!

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