Rachel

Lindsay - Rough
Diamond Lover
They not only came from different parts of the country. Their
views belonged to different centuries!

"Maybe that's why I've never found you real;" Jake said slowly.
"Never met a lovely looking female yet who didn't do something
to me! And then you came along—figure like a goddess and hair
like fire — but you leave me stone cold."

Laura's hand shot out with a stinging blow to his cheek. Then,
appalled, she wondered how she could have let him rile her into
behaving like a shrew!
 CHAPTER ONE
Laura Winters glanced at the clock on her desk and gave a sigh
of relief. In half an hour she would be free to go home and
forget the pressures of her work. It was a wonderful thought.

"Having a doze?'' a voice inquired, and she looked up to see a

nurse of her own age perched on the edge of the desk.

"According to my working hours," Laura retorted, "I should have

left here ten minutes ago!"

"So what's keeping you?" Jill Hayes grinned.

"My own stupidity! Working out diet sheets and ordering and
checking the food is a full-time job without standing in as cook
for two days a week."

"Serves you right for offering," Jill replied. "Matron won't let you
stop now. You're stuck with being cook every time Maria leaves
the kitchen!"

"I couldn't let the patients starve!"

"How do you think this place managed before you arrived?

Matron used to get in a relief. And she'd do the same now if you
weren't so daft!"

"I enjoy the cooking, really," Laura admitted.

"So do the patients. They always know when you're doing it.
Lady Bartlett practically licks her plate bare!"

"A bare plate is all she'll be getting for the next ten days," Laura
said dryly. "She has to lose twelve pounds."

"She should have gone to one of those fancy health spas," Jill
sniffed. "I hate this place being used by rich old women who
just want pandering."

"Your prejudice is showing, Jill. Lady B. has an acute heart

condition and needs more than pandering."

The young nurse flushed at the reprimand. "You are sharp

today!"

"Sorry," Laura said quickly. "I'm usually like this by the end of
the week." She glanced at the clock again. "I must fly or I won't
get my shopping done.''

Rising, she ran her hands through her hair; mahogany red in
color, with a natural wave, it made a striking foil for her deep
blue eyes and creamy skin.

"You're far too glamorous to be a dietitian," Jill commented. "If

I had half your looks and figure I'd be a model."

"It would bore me to tears."

"Not once you reached the top. You'd meet so many exciting
people you'd never have a chance to be bored."

"By people, I suppose you mean men?"

"What else!"

"I'm not interested in men," Laura said. "At least not for the
next few years."

"Why not?"

"Because I've spent too long studying to give it all up for

marriage."

"You needn't give it up. Your husband would probably

appreciate the extra cash!"
"I'd have to stop once I had children. I've seen what happens to
a woman when she tries to cope with a job as well as a home
and family."

"You're too pessimistic," Jill stated. "When you fall in love, all
your theories will disappear through the window!"

"And I'm going to disappear through the door," Laura said,

making her way toward it. "If I don't hurry, the shops will be
closed."

"Dress hunting?"

"Food hunting."

"Try the new delicatessen next to Woolworth's. They have super

pork pies."

Laura stopped in her tracks. "The day I feed my father ready-

baked pies I'll retire from work and hand back my degree!"

"You and your home cooking," Jill mocked. "Well, don't let me
keep you from the kitchen stove!"

Within a few minutes Laura had left the nursing home and was
hurrying through the small supermarket where she usually did
her shopping. Turning her back on the frozen food, she chose
fresh lamb chops and haricot beans, ruefully admitting to
herself that her father would have been equally happy with
cheese and pickled onions. Indeed, left to fend for himself, that
was probably what he would have chosen, and would then no
doubt have wondered why he was up at night with indigestion!
Brilliant engineer though he was, nothing she said could make
him realize that the human body was the most intricate piece of
construction on earth—certainly meriting the same care he
lavished on his machines on the factory floor! Not that she
expected him to change at this time of his life. Grantley
Engineering was all-important to him, more so since he had
become a widower than at any time before. Sometimes she
even wondered how high she and her twin brother, Tim, rated in
his affections.

Still, she should be grateful to Grantley's, not resentful. Had it

not been for the company, her father might never have
recovered from her mother's sudden death. Even now, the
thought of her mother made Laura feel a pang of bitter regret
that a drunken driver should have robbed her of the one person
in whom she had been able to confide.

Pushing away her thoughts she made for the subway, where
she strap-hanged the six stations to Belsize Park and wondered
how Tim was enjoying living in a small Midland town. At least
he could walk to work and had no rush hour to fight through!

"And no sister to mollycoddle him, either," had been her father's

comment when his son had left Grantley's and accepted a job
with its biggest competitor. "You spoil him as much as your
mother did. Never think from the way you act that you're
twins."

"Women are always older than men!"

"That wasn't what I meant—as you well know! Tim's relied on

you too much. It's time he learned there won't always be
someone ready to help him if he gets into trouble."

"But he hasn't been in trouble," she had replied. "He just hasn't
got too much sense."

"Then he must start to acquire it. I'm not speaking idly, Laura.
Tim must stand on his own feet."

There had been a tone in her father's voice she had not
understood, but though she had questioned him, he had evaded
replying, beyond reiterating his belief that it would do Tim good
to work away from home and in a job not under his father's
aegis.

Absorbed in thoughts of Tim, she hardly noticed the passing of

time, and only a commuter's instinct made her glance up as the
train reached her destination.

Savoring the fresh air, she wended her way through the tree-
lined streets to the quiet cul-de-sac where she lived, stopping
abruptly as she saw her father's car outside the small
apartment building they shared with six other tenants.

It was months since he had arrived home ahead of her, and

convinced he was ill, she raced up to the top floor.

Her father was seated in the living room reading the evening
paper, and one look at his face allayed her fears. The dark
shadows had not lifted from under his eyes, but his thin
features were irradiated by a lively excitement that took ten
years from his age, reminding her of the man he had been
before his mother's death.

"You look as if you've won a sweepstake," she said, dropping

her shopping basket and moving over to him.

"Nearly as good as," he admitted. "Leastways to me."

As always when he was excited or under stress, her father's

Yorkshire burr became more pronounced, recalling for her the
days of her childhood, before years of living in London had
added a southern mask to his voice.

"You'd better be quick and tell me what it is," she teased. "If
you go on holding it back your accent will be to thick for me to
follow you!"

"I've been promoted," he said loudly. "Grantley's is opening a

new plant for the production of electronic equipment and the
board has asked me to take charge of the technical side."
"That's fabulous!" Tears choked Laura's throat. "It's about time
they recognized your ability." She moved over to the sideboard
and produced a bottle of sherry and two glasses. "How about a
drink to celebrate?"

Digging a worn leather pouch from his pocket, John Winters

methodically began to fill his pipe. "No sherry for me, lass. I'd
rather have a beer."

With a grin Laura went into the small but compact kitchen and
returned with a can. By the time she had poured its contents
into a glass, her father had his pipe going and was puffing away
contentedly.

"Beer," she said with a faint sigh. "Honestly, dad, you should be
drinking champagne! In charge of a new plant—I can't believe
it."

"I'm not in charge of the plant," he corrected. "Just the

technical side of the production."

"That's the most important."

"It's big," came the satisfied response. "I'll not deny that. And
it'll give me a chance to put some of my ideas into practice.
With a factory that's already in operation it wouldn't be so easy,
but this Yorkshire plant is the most modern in Europe and—"

"Yorkshire!" Laura exclaimed. "They're not sending you there?"

"You talk as if it's Siberia!"

"It might just as well be. You surely can't want to go up north?"

"It's where I was born."

"But you've lived in London for years. You'd hate to leave it."

"Are you asking me or telling me?" came the quiet question.

"I thought I was stating a fact," Laura said equally quietly." But
it seems I was wrong.''

"Not wrong, my dear; but not right, either." Her father leaned
forward, cradling the bowl of his pipe in his palm. "It's never
made much difference to me where I've lived. My life was my
wife and family and my job. But since your mother's death I've
concentrated on my work and I'm ready to go wherever it takes
me."

"Tim and I are still here," Laura protested. "Leastways I am,

and Tim will come back to London. He'll never be happy
anywhere else."

"Laura, Laura," her father sighed. "Do you think if you say
something often enough you 'll make it come true? Tim won't
come back to London for a long while yet, and even if he did, I
doubt if he'd want to live with us."

"You've still got me," she said quickly. "I know I can't make up
for mother but…"

"I wouldn't want you to. As it is you spend too much time with
me. You should mix with more people of your own age."

"I've got loads of friends," she stated. "If I don't go out every
night it's only because I prefer to stay here."

"It isn't right. You should concentrate on a young man—not

your father!"

"I haven't found anyone as attractive as you," she teased.

"Perhaps you will in Eddlestone."

"Eddlestone?"

"Where the factory is. It's not far from Manchester, so you
would at least be seeing something of Tim at weekends."
"I've never even heard of Eddlestone."

"You will soon enough," her father said placidly. "Grantley's new
plant will put it on the map."

"Albert Schweitzer put Lambarene on the map, but only a saint

would want to live there!" The moment the words were out
Laura knew she should have held her tongue, for her father's
face changed color, the pinkness receding and the pleasure
going with it. "I'm sorry, dad. I didn't mean it like that."

"There's no need to apologize," he said heavily. "If I hadn't

been so pleased with my own luck I'd have realized it isn't the
sort of place for you. I won't let you come with me. It wouldn't
be fair. Stay on here and share the flat with one of your girl
friends. That way you'll get the chance to live your own life,
same as Tim."

The suggestion was so exciting that Laura was scared even to

think of it. After her mother had been killed she had promised
herself she would always take care of her father, and she must
not allow the thought of freedom, nor the appalling idea of
living in an intellectual wasteland, to dissuade her from her
vow.

"I wouldn't be happy if we weren't together," she said. "I'd

worry about you."

"I'm quite capable of looking after myself."

"Really? Then how come you boiled an egg for an hour and then
wondered why it wasn't getting soft!"

John Winters chuckled, then quickly became serious. "I meant

what I just said, Laura. London's your home and I've no right to
take you away from it. I'll get someone in to take care of me.
The house will be big enough."

Again Laura experienced a sense of shock. "What house?"

"The one that goes with the job. Plus an increase in salary, too.
So there won't be any problem about money. I can manage
perfectly well on my own."

"No," she repeated, adding quickly, "besides, I'll be that much

nearer Tim."

This last remark did more to dissuade her father than anything
else she could have said.

"You and your brother," he grunted. "You'll be wet nursing him

when he's eighty!" He took a contented draw at his pipe. "I'll
enjoy showing you the moors. Once you learn to know Yorkshire
the way I do, you'll soon forget Hampstead Heath."

She smiled and nodded, wishing she could be as sure of her

reactions as her father was. Beautiful though the moors
undoubtedly were, nothing could compensate her for the
ambience that pervaded the narrow, winding alleys and hilly
streets of Hampstead; the carnival atmosphere of the Heath
when the fair was installed. And that was only a small part of
what she had here. There was the rest of London, too! Concerts
at the Festival Hall; ballet and opera at Covent Garden;
cinemas, theaters, galleries…

"… and of course there's your job," her father said.

With a start Laura realized she had missed the first part of her
father's comment. But the tail end of the sentence was
sufficient for her to follow what he meant.

"I'll have to give at least a month's notice," she said. "I can't
leave them in the lurch."

"I wouldn't expect you to. Anyway, it will give me a chance to

go up and get things settled."

"Do you think I'll find work in Eddlestone?" she asked. "I can't
imagine it having a nursing home like the Harley Clinic."

"Nor can I," he grinned. "But they've a good little hospital and
dietitians are pretty hard to come by. I doubt if you'll have
much to worry about."

"Then everything's settled.'' A sense of loss swept over her and

retreated, leaving her bereft of emotion.

"You can still remain here if you want," her father said once
more. "I can manage perfectly well on my own."

"But I can't. I need you, dad. People are more important than
places."

She knelt and rested her head on his shoulder. His hand came
up and stroked her hair, a gesture he had often made when she
was a child. Feeling the movement she knew she had made the
only decision possible. People were more important than places,
and though the places would be missed and wept for, she would
have to do her weeping alone.
 CHAPTER TWO
Laura's first small sight of Eddlestone—what she could glimpse
of it through a curtain of rain as the train drew into the station
—confirmed her worst fears. London, bright with autumn
sunshine, had been at its tantalizing best when she had left that
morning. But rain had set in as the train sped through the flat
Midlands, and now the steady downpour seemed as much a
part of life as the grimy bricks and mortar of the narrow,
cramped houses that edged the railway line.

Trying to muster a smile, she greeted her father. He had come

to Eddlestone three weeks earlier and already she noticed the
change in his voice and manner.

"You look wonderful, dad,'' she said, hugging him.

"It's the fresh air." He looked at the rain and grinned. "It was
perfect until a few hours ago."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," he mimicked and, picking up her suitcase, led the

way to a pale blue Ford.

"I didn't know you had a new car," Laura said as they drove off.

"Courtesy of Grantley's! It goes like a rocket, too. We'll be

home in no time."

Home! Laura grimaced at the word, knowing that this mean-

looking town with its gray streets and gray skies could never be
anything other than alien to her. A wave of misery engulfed her.
How long could she endure living here? If only she had listened
to her father and shared the flat with a friend. But even as she
chided herself for not doing so, she knew conscience would
never have permitted her to leave him.
"Look over there, Laura." Her father's voice jerked her away
from her glooming. "A year ago all this was wasteland."

Peering out of the window she saw raw, red-brick houses, set
like scabs on muddy, rain-sogged earth. Not a single tree or
bush relieved the landscape, though an occasional root,
straggling dried fingers across the ground, bore testimony to a
withered hope. As if anything could live and grow in this awful
place!

"This isn't where we're going to live, is it?" she asked, gulping
down her fear.

"No. The company's given us a house on one of the older

estates. These are for the new employees."

"As compensation for coming here?"

"The men don't need compensation for being given the chance
to work," her father said dryly. "Anyway, new housing estates
always look dreary—especially in the rain."

The muddy roads gave way to paved ones as an older suburb of

Victorian architecture came into sight. Then they were bowling
along the High Street that boasted a church, a pub, cinema
turned bingo hall and a variety of small shops.

"Will we be passing the factory?"she asked.

"No. But you'll be able to get a glimpse of it in a second."

The car turned left down another road lined with old houses,
some of which seemed to be in the process of demolition, and a
pile of rubble gave way to a low stone wall that skirted a
cemetery.

Her father slowed and pointed across the tombstones to a

rooftop lit by the harsh glare of electric lights that traced the
vast acreage of a modern factory plant: a checkerboard of
glass-windowed buildings set in orderly squares like
greenhouses in a giant's garden.

Astonished, she stared at them. "I never realized it was so big."

"Now perhaps you can see why I was so pleased to get the
chance of working here. There isn't an electronics engineer in
the country who wouldn't give his eyeteeth to be in my shoes."

The pride in his voice filled her with wry wonder. How single-
minded men were!

"All I hope is that you don't end up working yourself to death,''

she answered dryly.

"With you here to watch me?"

"Fat lot you listen to me!" She turned her eyes from the distant
view of the factory and looked at her father. He was too pale
and thin and she knew instinctively that during his weeks alone
here he had worked longer hours than he should have. "It's silly
to drive yourself so hard. Grantley's has waited so long to build
this place, what does it matter if they wait a few more weeks?"

"The question is academic, lass. We're already in production!"

"But you said it would take at least six weeks!"

"That was before I met Andrews. He makes a fireball look like a

dying ember!"

"Who's Andrews?"

"General manager. He used to be works manager and got

promoted. It was a big step up for him. He's still on the right
side of thirty."

"An ambitious northerner, I suppose? Or was it family

influence?"
"The only influence he had was his bootstraps."

"His what?"

"To pull himself up with," her father explained. "He's come up

the hard way and proud of it."

There was no doubting the sarcasm and Laura was irritated with
herself for having caused it.

"I'm sorry, dad. It's just that I'm tired and…" Her voice trailed
away. "Don't take any notice of me. Once we're home I'll feel
better. We can have supper and then you can tell me all the
news."

"I won't have much time tonight, I'm afraid. I was going to stay
in but some new blueprints arrived from London and I promised
Andrews I'd get back to the factory and look them over with
him."

Laura's contrition dissolved into anger. "On my first evening

here? Surely you… "

The rest of her words were drowned by the sudden roar of a

train and, startled, she looked around to see they were driving
alongside a railway line. Fuming, she remained silent as the
carriages flashed past. The name Wallsend on one of them sent
her thoughts in another direction, and when it was quiet enough
to speak again she changed the subject.

"Isn't Wallsend where Tim is working?"

"Aye. It's a mile the other side of Manchester."

"Then he's much nearer than I thought. Perhaps he could live

with us?"

A shadow flickered across her father's face, or it might have

been the uneven illumination of the street lights, for when he
spoke his tone was cheerful.

"You can't expect Tim to live with us anymore. He needs his

freedom. I told you that when we were in London."

"I'll ask him myself when he comes over. I suppose you've seen
him?"

"Last Sunday for an hour. He wanted to show off his new

motorbike. He said he would try and get over to see you this
weekend if he could."

If he could. The words were bitter in Laura's ears and she felt
the sting of tears come into her eyes, making her realize how
much she had been depending on her twin to sweeten her self-
imposed exile.

"I wish he'd come back to Grantley's," she said. "I know he's
getting more money at this new place but surely if you—"

"No!" The word was sharp enough to silence her. "It's better for
Tim to work for another firm."

Once more unease tugged at her mind and she was more
certain than ever that her father was hiding something from
her. Yet now was not the time to ask him. In a few weeks, when
they had settled down together, she would tackle him about it.

"Here we are," her father commented, as he brought the car to

a stop outside a small house set back from the roadway behind
a narrow hedge.

It was far nicer than she had anticipated; the more so after the
red-brick monstrosities she had seen earlier. Because of this it
was no effort to give her father a beaming smile, as though this
mundane example of provincial living was everything she had
been longing for.

"Grantley's has done you proud, dad. And it's got a garage,
too!"

"And a fair-sized garden at the back. You'll be able to grow

those herbs you're always going on about." Pleasure at her
reception to the house had driven the tiredness from his voice,
and he busied himself with her luggage.

Laura pushed open the gate and walked up the narrow gravel
path to the porch. As she reached it a light came on and the
door was opened by a large-boned woman enveloped in a
flowered apron whose red roses matched her ruddy face.

"Wipe your feet 'afore coming in," she boomed by way of

greeting. "Pity to muck up't' hall."

Surprised, Laura did as she was told, and as soon as she set
foot in the house itself her hand was taken and pumped
vigorously.

"So you're Laura. Just like your father said you are. Pretty but
too thin. Still, you'll soon fatten up here. I'm pleased to meet
you."

"I'm afraid I-"

"Mrs. Rampton," the woman interrupted. "But call me Nell.

Never did abide by all this Mrs. and Miss stuff. The Lord gave us
Christian names, so we might as well use 'em!"

Laura froze at the woman's familiarity. Trust her father to find

someone like this to work for them! Already she could envisage
the arguments over who was to reign supreme in the kitchen.
Stiffening her shoulders, she spoke in her coolest tone.

"If you could tell me what time we're having supper, I'll go and
change. I'm rather tired after the journey and I would like to
eat as soon as possible."

A hush followed her words and Laura was aware of her father's
quick intake of breath.

"You've got it wrong, girl," he said. "Nell doesn't work for us.
She's our next-door neighbor."

Their neighbor! Scarlet-faced, Laura mumbled an apology. "I

had no idea… please forgive me. My father never said a word
and when I saw you at the door wearing an apron…"

"Most women 'round here wear aprons in the house," Mrs.

Rampton replied. "But next time I come in I'll wear my Sunday
best." Ignoring Laura, she gave a broad smile in John Winters's
direction. "I've left a pie in the oven for you."

"It was very kind of you to bother," Laura said before her father
could reply.

"It's no bother to be neighborly. Reckon it's true what they say

about folks down south. Live in the same street all their lives
and not so much as know their next-door neighbor."

"That isn't quite true." Coolness returned to Laura's voice. "But

London is a big place and people don't have the same interest
in anyone else's affairs."

It was Mrs. Rampton's turn to change color. "I won't be needing

this again," she said, taking a key from the pocket of her apron.
"You know where I live, and if there's aught I can do for you,
you've only to pop next door and ask me."

The door closed behind her and John Winters looked at his
daughter. "You certainly put your foot in it that time!"

"How was I to know she was a neighbor? You should have told
me she was going to be here."

"It slipped my mind."

"I didn't mean to offend her, but she wasn't all that polite
herself."

"You rubbed her the wrong way."

"And how do you think she rubbed me? All that rot about people
in London never talking to their next-door neighbor!"

"Well, did you? We never even knew the name of the tenants
opposite!" Her father picked up her case. "Still, Nell won't bear
a grudge. Make her one of your own pies when you've settled
down, and you'll have her eating out of your hand."

"That's what I'm afraid of!" She moved toward the stairs. "I'd
like to see my bedroom, dad."

"Of course." Holding her cases, he led the way. "Everything's

new here. You might want to move things around and buy
different-colored curtains, but otherwise I doubt if there's much
else to do."

Looking at her small room with its mass-produced furniture, she

marveled at how little her father knew of her tastes. Only in the
kitchen did she feel a lightening of her spirits, for the
equipment was elaborate and the most up-to-date, and
included an eye-level oven, a rotisserie and a large refrigerator.

"I never expected anything like this!" she exclaimed. "I thought
I'd have to cook on a coal range!"

"You can thank Jake Andrews for it all." Her father grinned.
"This is the most modern kitchen in Eddlestone. I told him you
were a dietitian and all that, and he went out and ordered you
all this."

"It's the nicest part of the house."

"You can soon alter the rest to suit your taste. But Andrews
thought you'd be more concerned about the kitchen."
Curiosity about the general manager stirred in her. To have
achieved such success while still so young spoke for
determination and ruthless drive; to find he could spare the
time to organize her kitchen was a facet that did not fit in with
her picture of him.

"He knows you weren't keen to live up here," her father went
on. "I daresay he guessed how worried I was about your being
happy here."

So much for Mr. Andrews's solicitude for her welfare! He was

obviously a believer in keeping his employees happy at all costs
—even if it meant the price of a kitchen!

"Let'seat,"shesaid quickly."I'm starving."

Mrs. Rampton's pie proved surprisingly appetizing and for the

next half-hour they were too busy eating for more than
desultory conversation.

Supper over, Laura cleared away the dishes and then went into
the lounge—an overfurnished little room with a three-piece
suite in maroon damask and flowered carpet and curtains.
Deliberately she found her father's slippers and set them in
front of the largest easy chair, then settled herself close to the
electric fire.

Coming in, pipe in hand, John Winters looked at her

sheepishly." 'Fraid it's no good, lass. Much as I want to stay, I
can't. Andrews is expecting me at the plant."

"At least have a minute's rest. I'm sure—"

The ringing of the telephone cut her short, and her father
disappeared into the hall to answer it. A moment later he came
back, his overcoat across his shoulders.

"Mr. Andrews, I suppose?" she said.

"He's been waiting for me for an hour."

"It's only half-past seven now!"

"Folks eat early in these parts."

"So I see." Tight-lipped, she followed him to the front door.

"What time will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. Once Andrews gets going, there's no saying when
he'll stop.''

"Then you stop him. You're not as young as he is and-"

"Don't tell me what to do," her father said with unusual

exasperation.

"Mr. Andrews does!"

"He's my boss."

"Your boss?" The words were furious. "Have you taken on this
wonderful promotion so that you can be told what to do by
someone half your age? Honestly, dad, if-"

"That's enough, Laura. Andrews may be half my age but he's

still the general manager. And that means I work for him. I
won't have any of this childish nonsense about not taking
orders. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were turning into
one of those militant students!"

The last remark, meant as a joke to soothe the earlier

harshness of his tone, made Laura force a smile to her lips, but
as she closed the door and went into the kitchen, her
expression was anything but pleased. What chance did she have
of finding any pleasure in this dreary town if tonight was
anything to go by?

Sighing, she went to her room to unpack, but even when

everything had been put away it was still only nine o'clock, and
she returned to the sitting room and switched on the television.
The program was an unfamiliar one, reminding her yet again
that she was in a strange part of the country, and she turned off
the set irritably and tried to concentrate on a book.

The printed page did not hold her attention and her thoughts
wandered to the unknown Mr. Andrews. What had her father
called him? Jeff? No, that wasn't it. Jake… yes, Jake. It was an
unusual name. It sounded more like a film star's than that of a
North Country yokel. Stop it, Laura, she chided herself. You're
letting your prejudice show. And that put her on a par with Mrs.
Rampton, whose own sweeping statement about Southerners
was equally as prejudiced.

With determination she switched on the television again and

forced herself to concentrate on it. It was a broad domestic
comedy set in a town so much like Eddlestone that she half
expected Mrs. Rampton to appear on the screen. The accents
were alien to her ears and the broad vowels eventually grated
so much that her good intentions vanished and she switched
over to the B.B.C. She must give herself time to get
acclimatized; and she must also remember that her own voice
would sound prim and affected to the people with whom she
was now going to live.

Slowly the hours ticked by and she had fallen into a doze when
she heard her father's key in the lock. His steps were quiet and
she called out to him.

"It's all right, dad, I'm not in bed."

He came into the sitting room, his face tired. "You shouldn't
have waited up for me. It's past midnight."

"I thought you'd like a hot drink.''

"Andrews brought along a flask of cocoa and some biscuits."

She forced herself to say nothing. A flask of cocoa indeed! He
had certainly made no pretense of intending to have just a
short meeting.

"I suppose you've been working late most nights?"

"I expected it. But it won't be so bad in a few months. It's

always hard in the beginning."

Keeping her voice bright—for she sensed that was the only way
she could make any criticism of Mr. Andrews- she said: "I have
a feeling it's always going to be hard with your new boss. He
doesn't sound the type who could ever take things easy."

Her answer was a noncommittal grunt as her father leaned

against the lintel. "Talking of taking things easy, I don't suppose
you'll be happy till you've got yourself settled in a job?"

"You know me too well," she smiled. "I intend doing something
about it right away. You said there was a small hospital here,
didn't you?"

"Aye. But Andrews mentioned tonight that he was looking for

someone to run the works canteen. He wondered if you'd be
interested in taking it on."

Laura's deep blue eyes darkened with anger. "I'm a dietitian,

not a canteen supervisor. Thank him for the offer but say the
answer is no."

"Why not tell him yourself? I'd like to have him over for a meal
one night."

"Not for the next couple of weeks," she pleaded. "Give me time
to settle in."

"Let me know when you're ready, then. I'm longing to show you
off."
"When I've found a job, we can have a dinner to celebrate."

But in the days that followed Laura doubted if the celebration

dinner would ever materialize, for the small hospital that served
the district was too short of funds to employ a dietitian and
relied on part-time assistance from either Manchester or Leeds.

"I only wish we could afford you," the matron had said with
regret." It's such a waste of your teaching if you can't utilize it."

"I agree—but I can't seem to find a job!"

"Then you'd better change your career! But leave me your

address anyway. If I do find I can afford you, I'll let you know."

Leaving the hospital, Laura could have wept with despair. So

much for her hopes of doing something useful. Walking along
the High Street, past the poky shops with their antediluvian
window displays, her depression was so deep that she was
tempted to tell her father she could not stay here. But by the
time she reached home she had regained her control and was
able to prepare dinner and get through the evening without
disclosing her sense of futility.

In an effort to keep herself occupied she bought some material

in one of the local shops and made new chintz curtains for the
entire house; then she set about recovering the damask three-
piece with loose covers in beige linen. But even this did not
keep her occupied for long. Without friends and without a job,
each day had the same quality of oppressive sameness, and no
matter how slowly she spun out the housework and the
shopping, by two in the afternoon she had nothing to do.

"You mope around the house too much," her father said one
evening when she forgot to wear her usual forced smile. "I'm
sure there are lots of people here of your own age. Why don't
you join some clubs? Perhaps if you asked at the church or
went to the town hall to inquire—"
"No thanks," she interrupted. "They wouldn't be my type
anyway."

"How can you be sure until you've met them?"

"Because no one with any life in them would stay in a hole like
this!" Seeing her father's face she added quickly, "It's fine for
people like you, dad, and for everyone working at the plant.
They have a job to do and they're occupied. But anyone with
training—with a profession—has left here long ago."

"Then so should you," came the firm answer. "You're wasting

your life here, my dear. I've realized it for a while now. If you
could have gotten a job in the hospital it would have been
different, but the way it is…Why not go back to London?"

"I wouldn't be happy away from you."

"Don't talk foolish. You're not a baby."

"But you are!" She reached over and caught his hand. "I'm
staying here, dad, so don't talk about it anymore. I'll find
something soon and once I have, I'll feel better."

But nothing materialized and Laura advertised under a box

number in the local paper. But the only response it drew was
the offer to be a receptionist to a doctor in a village ten miles
away, and even that required typing and shorthand.

Seeing this as probably her only solution, she decided to take a

private course in both subjects, and for three hours each
afternoon went to an elderly spinster who had retired from the
local secretarial college and was grateful to earn some extra
money.

"You really are loving it here!" Tim exclaimed when Laura

poured out her feelings to him on the fifth Sunday after her
arrival. "If you'd had the sense to ask my advice before you
decided to come and live here, I'd have told you what you were
letting yourself in for.''

"I knew without your telling me."

"Then what are you complaining about? "

"Because I want sympathy," she snapped. "Though I suppose

it's too much to hope you 'll give me any."

"Sympathy won't help," her twin replied. "It will only make you
more weepy."

Appreciating the truth of this, she forced herself to change the

subject to something more convivial. Besides, Tim could never
sustain sympathy for anyone for more than a passing moment,
and to be weepy with him was one way of insuring he would not
come to see her.

Soon she was making him laugh at her description of her

lessons with Miss Rendell, playing up the woman's accent and
appearance to make the story more amusing.

"She sounds like something out of Dickens," he exclaimed.

"Though I prefer her to Mrs. Rampton. She's a real garden-wall
gossip."

"Not with me," Laura added. "When I meet her in the street she
just nods and walks by."

"Poor you. Now you'll never be able to taste her leek pie." Tim
licked his lips with a smacking noise. "She made it one Sunday
when I popped over to see dad. Very tasty it was, too."

"If you come over next Sunday I'll make you roast duck with
Curasao."

"Temptress!"

"Can you blame me? Having you here is the one bright thing
about living in this place."

Tim squeezed her hand, and for an instant they were silent,
held close by the bond of their birth. "Poor sweet," he said."I'll
do my best to cheer you up."

True to his word, Tim came over to Eddlestone most Sundays,

and Laura grew to count the days of the week until she could
see him again. She was hardly seeing anything of her father, for
even on the weekends he was at Mr. Andrews's beck and call.
Tim did not seem to mind being without his father's company
and Laura was aware of a constraint between the two men that
she could not analyze away. Was it possible that her father—
despite what he had said to the contrary—was upset that his
son had left Grantley's and chosen to work for a rival concern?

But she was careful not to voice these thoughts to her brother;
she cherished his visits too much to say anything that might
stop him from coming over and pretended not to notice the
tension between him and their father.

Most Sunday afternoons, if the weather was fine, Tim took her
for a ride across the moors, and she was awed by the beauty of
the scenery, understanding for the first time why her father
loved this part of the country.

"If only the people weren't so dreary," she remarked one

afternoon when they returned to the house for tea. "Are they as
bad in Manchester?"

"Not the ones I know. They're the same as my friends in

London. You're prejudiced, Laura. You should give yourself a
chance to get to know them."

"I wouldn't know what to talk about. Manchester must be

different from here. It's a bigger place and there's more to do."

"It still doesn't compare with London," he said. "Make no

mistake about that."

"Then why did you go there? I'm sure you could have found a
job in London if you'd wanted to leave Grantley's."

It was a long time since she had remarked on his taking a job in
the Midlands, but though she waited for him to make some
comment, his answer, when it came, seemed to brush her
question aside.

"I'm not like you, Laura. I enjoy being a big fish in a little
pond."

"Manchester isn't so little," she said.

"What I mean is that up here I'm seen as a sophisticated

Londoner, and that gives me an edge with the birds!"

"What a thing to say!"

"But it's true. They line up to go out with me!"

"What do you use for money? Or are you getting all that much
more than you did before?"

"Enough to make a difference," he answered briefly, then

turned his face away as he reached for a cigarette, taking a
lighter from his pocket at the same time.

It was one she had not seen before: slim and compact. She
reached out and took it from him. "This is lovely, Tim. Did you
get it locally?"

"Yes, a firm I know makes them. They're quite cheap."

His look was candid, his eyes—the same deep blue as her own—
gazing at her guilelessly. He's lying, she thought, and stepped
back a pace, looking at the lighter more closely. At first glance
she had thought it to be gilt, but now she was positive it was
gold. Quickly she glanced at her twin but his expression was
still innocent, and she wished with all her heart that there was
no rapport between them to tell her when he was being
untruthful. Yet rapport was the wrong word, for it implied a
mutual bond, whereas Tim did not possess the same sensitivity
toward her—one reason he never believed her when she said
she could always tell when he was being untruthful!

"It doesn't look cheap," she murmured, handing the lighter

back to him. "It looks like gold."

"Just shows how wrong you can be." He put it into his pocket.
"How's Mr. Wonderful these days?"

Blankly she stared at him, lost by his sudden change of

conversation.

"Jake Andrews," Tim explained. "Is dad still running around in

circles after him?"

She nodded, then added defensively, "There's still a great deal

to do."

"With a chap like Andrews there always will be. From what I've
heard about him he lives, eats and sleeps for his work."

"Pity you can't follow suit."

Tim grinned and rubbed a long, thin hand over his hair. Like
hers, it was deep auburn in color, emphasizing the creamy
complexion that made him look young and vulnerable. "To me,
work is only a means to an end."

"What end?"

"Being rich enough to retire!"

She laughed. "That'll be years yet."

"You can never tell." He pushed back his chair and walked to
the door. "I must be getting back."

" Can't you stay for supper? "

"I've a date. A genuine undyed blonde!"

"If you're seeing her next Sunday, why not bring her over? You
know your friends are welcome here."

"I might not be here next Sunday. There's some extra work at
the office and I promised I would go in over the weekend."

"Well, come over when you get the chance. I don't expect you
to make it every weekend. Brother and sister is a bit too much
like bread and bread!"

His chuckle and the way he hugged her told her without words
that her easy acceptance of his absence was something he had
not anticipated.

"You're a wonderful sister, Laura. Have I ever told you that?"

"Heaps of times—whenever I got you out of trouble!"

"Those days are over." He picked up his leather jacket. "Say

goodbye to dad for me. Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't wait."

Watching him speed away, Laura had to forcibly stop herself

from crying. Tim's regular Sunday appearances had been too
good to last. She should have had the sense to realize they
would not continue.

Without her brother's visits to relieve the monotony, the days

dragged by. Luckily the weather was fine and for the next
couple of weekends she turned her back on the narrow streets
and escaped to the moors, reveling in the color and line of the
scenery.
But within two weeks the weather began to break, and on the
third Sunday a leaden gray sky heralded rain, which began as
she was cooking lunch and increased until it became a steady
downpour. Tim had not telephoned to say he was coming over,
and she had listened anxiously all morning for his call, trying to
pretend to herself that she was not expecting him.

"You mustn't bank on seeing Tim regularly," her father said as

he carved the roast. " I warned you about that when you first
came here."

"I don't bank on it." She forced herself to concentrate on her

food, though the meat tasted of nothing and every mouthful
was an effort to swallow. "I don't even enjoy cooking any
more," she burst out. "I asked the green grocer for eggplant the
other day and he didn't even know what I was talking about!"

"Why not make up a list and go into Manchester? You can

always borrow the car. Matter of fact, you can have it all the
time if you like. I can always get one of the men to pick me up
in the morning."

"It's sweet of you, dad, but I couldn't." She choked on the

words, his kindness destroying her hard-won control. "It
shouldn't be necessary to go into Manchester to get my
vegetables. If I wanted caviar I could understand it, but
eggplant!"

"Folk here aren't used to fancy foods. They've been brought up

in a hard school. The Depression—"

"That was more than two generations ago!"

"Memory of poverty dies hard."

"Maybe," she sniffed. "But I don't see how you can call eggplant
fancy food!"

"It isn't the fact that you can't buy eggplant that's bothering
you, lass. If you could find yourself a decent job—one that
would use your qualifications—you'd feel better."

She nodded silently and pushed aside her plate, unable to eat
any more.

"I'll go and prepare dessert."

"There's no hurry for a while."

"It's pancakes with lemon sauce."

"You spoil me," her father called to her departing back.

"It keeps me occupied," she answered, forcing herself to laugh.

As soon as their meal was over, her father stood up, hovering
by the table in a state of painful indecision.

"Go back to your beloved factory," she said wryly. "You mustn't
keep Mr. Andrews waiting."

" I'll be back for tea. A bit earlier if I can make it."

"Don't worry about me. I'm going to wash my hair."

Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he left, and as soon as Laura

had cleared the table she went to her room and stared
despondently at her reflection. Reluctant to trust herself to a
local hairdresser, her hair had not been cut since she had left
London, and now it hung to her shoulders in a heavy, Titian red
cloud. Irritably she pulled it away from her face, debating
whether or not to risk cutting it herself. But who was there in
Eddlestone who cared if she looked a mess? Defiantly she
picked up a pair of scissors and went into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later a mass of hair lay thick upon the floor and
apprehensively she peered into the mirror. Surprised, she
surveyed herself. A riot of soft curls clung to her head,
emphasizing its well-rounded shape and the delicate curve of
her neck. Because it was layered—albeit roughly—each lock
picked up the light, so that each dark red strand was stroked
with gold. Its brightness increased the blue of her eyes and the
shorter style drew attention to her cheekbones, making her
notice the delicate hollows that marked her cheeks.

Feeling unexpectedly lighthearted, she washed and dried her

hair, relieved when it fell back into the same delightful line. In
the act of putting on the sweater and skirt she had just
discarded, she decided to wear something more glamorous. If
she waited for a reason to dress up, her entire wardrobe would
rot! She slipped into a blue wool cashmere dress that exactly
matched her eyes, and as the soft material caressed her figure,
molding itself to her small high breasts and the long line of her
hips, she felt more feminine than she had since first setting foot
in Eddlestone.

Deciding that since she was "in for a penny" she might as well
be "in for a pound," she sat in front of her dressing table and
treated herself to a complete makeup job, applying the stuff—
out of bravado—with a more liberal hand than usual: blue
shadow on the lids, mascara to heighten the length of lashes so
thick there had never been need of false ones, the merest hint
of glossy lipstick to draw attention to her curvaceous mouth.

"If only I were in London!" she thought, her pleasure dissolving

as she stood up and caught a glimpse of gray roofs and even
grayer sky. What a waste of time the past two hours had been:
a charade to amuse no one but herself.

The sound of her father's car sent her hurrying down to the
kitchen. How ridiculous he would think her when he found her
dressed up like this! Quickly she put on the kettle and was
setting the cups on the tray when she heard his key in the lock.

"I'm surprised the great dictator let you escape so early, "she
called.
"He didn't," a deep voice said. "I came back with him!"

Laura looked up with horror and saw a dark-haired, well-built

man framed in the doorway. At first glance he appeared stocky,
but as he came forward she saw he was above average height
but did not look it because of the width of his shoulders. This
had nothing to do with padding, for he was clad in a thick gray
sweater that matched his gray trousers.

The color of his clothes in no way detracted from the ruddy

outdoor appearance he exuded, for his skin glowed with healthy
color, its tan making his gray eyes seem lighter and more
penetrating than they might otherwise have been. His mouth
was large and, at the moment, showed a tendency to curl at the
corners, as if he found life amusing. But this was offset by a
firm square jaw and slightly heavy nose. No Adonis, she
decided, as he caught her hand in a bearlike grip and pumped it
up and down, but he was brimful of confidence and sex appeal.
I bet he wows them at the local dance hall, she thought, and
hastily pulled her hand away from his.

"I'm not surprised you're annoyed with me," he went on. "Your
father hasn't had a weekend off since you arrived. That's why I
wanted to come back and apologize personally."

His easy acceptance of her rude comment about him put her at
a disadvantage, and she busied herself setting another cup on
the tray.

"There isn't any need to apologize, Mr. Andrews. I realize there

was a great deal of work to be done."

"There still is." His smile showed very white teeth. "I can't
promise not to go on being a dictator, but I'll try to see your
father has part of his weekend free!"

"You're most kind," she said with steely politeness, and then
looked behind him to her father who had just come in. "If you
could take Mr. Andrews into the lounge, I'l 1 make some
sandwiches.''

The two men disappeared, though as she cut bread, boiled

some eggs and peeled tomatoes, she could hear her father's
voice punctuated by a deeper one that occasionally gave a
hearty burst of laughter.

By the time she wheeled in the trolley the dining table was
covered with blueprints, which her father hastily pushed aside.

"I thought you'd finished working for today," she said pointedly.

"This isn't work. We were just going over a couple of things."

Laura picked up the teapot. "How do you like your tea, Mr.
Andrews?"

"As it comes, thanks."

"I meant did you want Indian or China," she asked coolly.

"Indian," he said equably.

"Milk or lemon?"

Thick eyebrows rose, signaling awareness of her manner. "Milk.

I've always found lemon goes best with China tea. Don't you?"

She flushed. "Yes. But it's a question of taste."

"And taste is dependent on how and where you were brought

up." He took the cup she proffered and set it on the small table
beside him. "Don't you agree?"

"No. Taste is often something we inherit—like a fondness for

acidy foods or a loathing for cabbage."

"I don't agree with you. If children were given a carrot as a

treat instead of a bar of candy, they'd be spending their pocket
money at the greengrocer's instead of the sweetshop!"

"Whether or not a person prefers China tea to Indian is solely a

matter of their taste buds," she persisted. "It has nothing
whatever to do with the way they were brought up."

"I'm afraid we'll have to agree to differ."

Pink cheeked, she busied herself with another cup, aware that
he had made her sound pompous and stupid. What on earth
had made her bring in two kinds of tea when they normally
used only Indian? Even as she asked herself the question she
knew the answer. She had hoped to make Mr. Wonderful
Andrews—as Tim called him— look suburban and ignorant; and
all she had done was to make herself look far worse.

Avoiding the pale gray eyes, she held out the plate of
sandwiches. Carefully one large blunt-fingered hand took a
wafer-thin slice of bread.

"Please take more than one," she said quickly. "They're very
small."

"So they are." Obeying her injunction, he helped himself

liberally, half emptying the plate.

Watching him as she sipped her own tea, she could understand
why her father liked him, for there was a forthrightness in his
manner that, while it did not appeal to her, would go down well
with other men: particularly those with whom he worked. He
was nothing like her idea of a general manager and seemed
more cast in the mold of a shop steward! Wryly she conceded
how annoyed her father would be if he guessed the route her
thoughts had taken. He would call her narrow and prejudiced
and he would be right. Living here was bringing out the worst in
her. If she wasn't careful she would end up even disliking
herself!
In an effort to make amends, she came into the conversation.
"You're very young to be general manager. You must feel
proud."

"I try not to be. They always say that goes before a fall!"

"Not with you," John Winters intervened. "I'm prepared to bet

this will be one factory in Britain where we won't have any
strikes."

"Only if I'm allowed a free hand. Once the London top brass and
city types start interfering, I wouldn't a nswer for the men."

"My father's a Londoner!" Laura put in.

"Not by birth—nor inclination!" The curve of the wide mouth

indicated that the remark was not to be taken seriously, yet
somehow it dissolved Laura's intention to be polite.

"You sound extremely parochial, Mr. Andrews."

"I am, as far as this job is concerned. I've lived here all my life
and I understand the way the men think. I speak their language
and—"

"We're all British,"she cut in.

"But the problems in this part of the country are specific ones."
He helped himself to the remaining sandwiches. "But you don't
want to bother your head with talk of politics and strikes." He
swallowed the last bite. "These were very tasty. Your father told
me you're an excellent cook, and I can see he wasn't boasting."

Annoyed at the way the man had changed the subject, almost
as if he did not feel she had the brains to sustain a discussion
with him, she refused to be sidetracked.

"I still don't see why you're so scathing of city types and
London businessmen. They're no different from the people up
here."

"Then how come you haven't settled down and made friends? I
gather you don't find it easy to communicate with the locals!"

Laura was too flabbergasted to reply. She had hoped their

discussion was generalized and now found it to be highly
particular.

"There aren't many young people here," her father said quickly.
"If Laura were working she'd find it easier to mix."

With an effort Laura made herself keep quiet, wishing angrily

that her father had not attempted to make any excuses for her
lack of friends. What she did with her life was no concern of the
blunt, ignorant young man in front ofher.

She bit hard on her lip. Blunt he might be, but ignorant he
wasn't. The way he had teased her over the question of
behavior and taste indicated a subtle mind that should not be
underestimated. And there was no doubt he was using it
against her! Mrs. Rampton had obviously broadcast an account
of her meeting with her "stuck-up young neighbor," and had no
doubt embellished it, too.

"Who's winning?" Jake Andrews's voice, deep and suddenly less

harsh, broke into Laura's thoughts.

"Winning what?" she asked.

"The argument you're having with yourself. You don't like

having your father defend your behavior, do you?"

"Not when it appears to be an excuse for it!"

The man laughed. "A quick and sharp answer. You haven't got
red hair for nothing! But that still doesn't solve the problem.
You can't go on sitting around here like a brood hen! You must
get out and—"
"I'd rather you didn't tell me what to do. My father may be
subject to your orders, but I'm not!"

There was a pause. Laura sensed her father's discomfiture

though Jake Andrews himself appeared not to have any, and
was rubbing a large hand against the side of his face. It was a
well-shaped hand, she noticed automatically, and one obviously
used to labor. His expression was remote and she could not
decide if he was angry or was merely thinking of some other
retort with which to goad her.

"I didn't intend it to sound as if I were giving you orders—at

least not in the way you think," he said, his words surprising
her by their mildness. "But I know you aren't happy living here
and I want to help you. I may not have been tactful about it—"

"You weren't," she interrupted. "If you act like that with your
men, you 'll be as bad as the city types you were just
condemning!"

He grinned, unabashed, and went on as though she had not

spoken. "Sometimes one has to be blunt—though I'd rather call
it being honest—if you want to make your point strongly. And I
do want to make a point with you, Miss Winters. If you intend
to remain here, you must Mart to make the best of it. Otherwise
you'd do better to't all it a day and return to London."

"I can't-"

"I know that would defeat the whole reason for your coining
here in the first place," he cut in, "but since you did come here
to make your father happy, the least you can do is try to
complete the job."

"'Job' is the operative word," Laura flashed. "If I had a job

everything would be fine. But I can't get one here. That's why
I'm learning shorthand and typing."
"What a daft thing to do when you've got other qualifications! I
offered you the chance of running our canteen. It would at least
put your training to some use."

"I'm not a canteen supervisor, Mr. Andrews."

"I don't need a supervisor. I need someone who can take on the
feeding of four hundred men. Six hundred by the end of the
year. If that doesn't require a dietitian's training, I don't know
what does!"

Laura swallowed hard. Her original refusal of his offer—now that

she was being honest with herself—had been illogical in the
extreme, coming only from an obstinate determination not to
accept work from a man she disliked. Yet why had she disliked a
man she had never met? Was it because she had felt he was
overworking her father or because everything she had heard
about him had made him the epitome of the brash, confident
go-getter?

"I'll not be saying any more to you, Miss Winters." He was

speaking again and moving to the door, dwarfing the room not
only by his size but by the vitality he exuded.

A tiger ready to spring, she acknowledged, but said aloud, "You

are perfectly welcome to stay, Mr. Andrews."

He shook his head and turned to her father. "See you in the
morning, John."

"I'll be in early. Then we can go over those blueprints again."

"There's no need for that. Come at the usual time." Broad

shoulders swung in Laura's direction. "What about you?"

"Me?"Surprise drew her to her feet.

"Yes. Can I expect you, too? My offer's still open if you've a

mind to take it."
Her eyes stared into his, searching for a glint of triumph in their
gray depths. But there was no triumph to be seen; merely an
intense and searching probe that made her feel he understood
her reason for having refused his offer before.

Pride fought with boredom and boredom won. "Yes," she said
quietly. "You can expect me in the morning."
 CHAPTER THREE
As Laura drove through the gates of Grantley's with her father
the next morning, she knew she was entering a world that was
completely sufficient unto itself. Seen at close quarters, the
factory was even bigger than she had expected: the buildings
shinier, the windows larger, the atmosphere far more clinical.

"That's because it's new," her father replied when she

commented on it. "All designed for maximum efficiency!" He
drew the car to a stop outside a building smaller than the rest,
though the entrance was more ornate, with mosaic panels on
either side of a plate-glass door and green plants growing
profusely in the large reception area behind it.

"Is this the main office?"she asked.

"Yes. Jake told me to leave you here."

"I feel like Daniel!"

"You won't be finding any lions." Her father patted her hand.
"I'm pleased you came, Laura. I'm sure you won't regret it."

Feeling like a schoolgirl entering a new school, she watched her

father's car disappear among a throng of others before she
pushed open the glass doors and entered the foyer.

A young girl, barely more than seventeen, was sitting behind an

oval mahogany desk, beneath which was a small battery of
phones. None of them appeared to be in operation and Laura
saw a paperback with a lurid cover resting on the girl's lap. So
much for Mr. Andrews's efficiency, she thought triumphantly.

"Can I help you, love?" the girl asked.

"I'm Laura Winters."

There was no response other than a friendly smile that added
no intelligence to the pretty but vacant face, and Laura tried
again.

"Mr. Andrews is expecting me. I'm the… I'm the new canteen…"
She stopped and then said quickly, "I'm the dietitian in charge
of the canteen."

Instantly the smile became a beam. "The London girl. Of

course! I've orders to send you to Mr. Carpenter—he's the
personnel manager." She busied herself with one of the
telephones and almost immediately replaced it. "He's waiting
for you. First floor and turn right. It's the fifth door down."

Acknowledging the directions, Laura climbed the flight of marble

steps to an airy corridor where open- plan rooms gave her a
view of teeming groups of men, mostly in shirtsleeves, working
at their desks. The fifth door, though partition would have been
more apt, disclosed a small area occupied by only one man, his
formal f>ray suit further indication of his higher rank. Here was
a type she recognized and knew how to deal with. She coughed
to indicate her presence and walked forward.

"Miss Winters?" The man rose to greet her. "I'm Bill Carpenter. I
can't tell you how pleased I am to have you here. Looking after
the canteen has been a nightmare."

"Don't tell me you've had to do it yourself?" She could not hide

her astonishment. No matter how minimal one kept the
catering, feeding several hundred men was no easy task.

"Not myself, personally," he answered. "Mr. Andrews brought in

some caterers from Manchester. But I've had to do the
supervising… and hear the complaints from the men!"

"I've brought along my references and qualifications," she said.

"No need for that. If Mr. Andrews hired you, that's all I need to
know." He moved across to the window behind his desk and
indicated for Laura to stand beside him. "The building beyond
this one houses the canteen, the first-aid room and the rest
rooms. We might as well go over there and I 'll show you what's
what."

Thrilled as she had been by her first sight of the new factory,
Laura was equally disappointed by the canteen and kitchen.
They were designed to operate with maximum efficiency but
were as bare and aseptic as a hospital ward.

"What's wrong with it all?" Mr. Carpenter asked.

"N-nothing."

"Come now, that's not a truthful answer. The kitchen and

canteen aren't to your liking and I'm interested in knowing why.
Don't be afraid of being honest. I like everyone to say what
they think."

A man after Mr. Andrews's own heart, Laura thought wryly, and
wondered whether he chose them because of it, or whether
they naturally gravitated to him.

"The equipment is fine," she explained, "but it all looks so

dreary. It needs color and movement. Pictures, perhaps, and
some greenery."

"Ina kitchen!"

"Well, not pictures," she smiled, "but certainly more color. And
never those blue white fluorescent lights. They make food look
gray!"

"You've a point there. Out with the lights for a start. Now what
about the canteen? I take it you'd like it looking Swedish?''

"I'd like it just looking colorful. A few coats of paint would make
a world of difference."
"Just decide what you want and do it," Mr. Carpenter stated.
"But make sure Mr. Andrews passes the bills first! I'm sure he'll
give you the go-ahead for anything that'll make things better
for his men."

His men, Laura thought scornfully. That's all a boor like him
thinks of.

"If you need any advice regarding decoration," Mr. Carpenter

continued, "have a word with Robert Deen. He works in the
drawing office and fancies himself as an interior decorator."

Not certain if this was a suggestion or an order, Laura

diplomatically went in search of Robert Deen the moment she
was left on her own. Working here would be a source of
irritation—reminding her, as it would all the time, of Jake
Andrews—but it would at least occupy her mind and save her
from dying of boredom. Yet no matter what job she was in, she
would never feel part of this close-knit community. She was a
Londoner born and bred and she would die one—even if she
never set foot in London again!

So deep in thought was she that she did not see a man
approaching until she bumped into him. She looked up instantly
to apologize.

"Please forgive me," she said. "My thoughts were miles away."

"I'm glad you aren't!" He regarded her appreciatively. "Were

you going anywhere in particular or just taking a stroll?"

"Would anyone want to take a stroll around here?"

"You'd be surprised." His voice, though still light, was serious.

"There's quite a lot of top-secret work going on, and it isn't only
the Russians who'd like to get a look at it. Some of our rivals
have long noses and sharp ears, too."

"I'll watch out for spyglasses and black raincoats!" she said
solemnly and made to walk on, pausing as she found he was
still blocking her way.

It was then that she noticed how tall he was—at least six feet,
and that did not take into account the quiff of mouse-colored
hair that stood up from his forehead like a question mark,
giving him a naive appearance contradicted by a pale, serious
face. He was good-looking in an understated way: small mouth,
round chin and short nose; the whole redeemed from
effeminacy by thick brown eyebrows that marked deep-set
brown eyes. His eyes, in fact, were his best feature, being large
and long- lashed, and they were regarding her with the same
frank curiosity with which she herself was regarding him.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope that you worked

here?" he ventured.

"As a matter fact I do! Now if you'll excuse me…" Again she
tried to walk past him but he barred her way.

"May I take you where you're going?"

"It's in the opposite direction," she warned. "Don't forget I

walked into you!"

"Who's worrying about a detour?" He fell into step beside her.

"You haven't been working here long," he added, "or I'd have
seen you."

"I only started today."

"Then you must let me show you around."

"That won't be necessary," she said gently but firmly. "This is a

factory, not a cruise ship!"

He laughed. "No offense meant; I was just trying to establish…

Darn it, now I can't think of the word."
"Squatter's rights?" she suggested.

He turned scarlet. "You must think me awfully presumptuous?"

"Awfully young and male," she said solemnly.

"I'd have thought that an ideal combination!"

"Only for a female who's equally young!"

"Yes, grandma." He eyed her. "I'm twenty-four and that, I think,

probably gives me a couple of years' edge on you."

"Two years, "she admitted.

"That's more than enough."

"For what?"

"To make me qualify. I refuse to believe you go for gray-

beards!"

"I have a twin brother," she said firmly, "and that's put me off
any man under the age of thirty."

He stopped and looked her fully in the face. In the pale sunlight
she saw a faint sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of his nose,
noticed, too, that he was thinner than he should be, with long
arms extending from a thick sweater. How like Tim he was:
young, amusing and friendly as a puppy. She had meant it
when she had confessed that men under thirty did not appeal to
her. Heaven alone knew the reason—some deep-seated
psychological one, no doubt—but nevertheless it existed and
this young man must be made to realize it.

"I want to get to the drawing office," she said firmly. "I'm in a
hurry, so if you could direct me…"

"Of course." Whatever he had been about to say was left

unsaid. Now he was solicitous, polite, only a quick flash in his
eyes warning her he was biding his time. "I work there myself,
as it so happens. Are you looking for someone in particular?"

"A Mr. Robert Deen."

His freckles disappeared under a pink blush that stained his

entire face. "Then look no further." .

"Not you!" She gave a rueful laugh. "This will teach me to hold
my tongue!"

"But I loved your frankness. At least now I know you like old
men who aren't virile and hearty! I intend dyeing my hair gray
and walking with a stick."

A gust of wind swept around the corner of the building and its
sharpness made her shiver. "Can we talk somewhere warmer?"

"Sure thing."

Catching her by the elbow he raced her a good ten yards along
the path to the entrance of a building larger but identical in
shape to the one she had just left.

"It's the drawing office," he explained breathlessly, pushing

open the swing door to let her precede him.

Cacooned by the warmth of sun-reflecting glass and central

heating, she smoothed down her hair and told him who she was
and why she had come in search of him.

"I'll be delighted to help you," he said almost before she had

finished speaking. "I always thought the canteen an eyesore."

"Have you any ideas?"

"Loads. Come out with me tonight and—"

"About interior decoration,"she interrupted. "If you can't be
serious, let's forget the whole thing."

"Sorry," he said at once. "It won't happen again." He paused.

"How big a budget do you have for your improvements?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to spend more than a hundred
pounds."

"That cuts out a proper repaint job. It would cost that much for
the paint alone!"

Dismay held her silent; then she tossed her head. "Let's make it
two hundred pounds. Then we can redo one wall at least and
still have money left over for plants and paintings." Caught by
enthusiasm, she would have elaborated further, but saw the
humorous glint in his eyes and stopped herself. "But you put
together a scheme," she continued, "and let me have
something by the end of the week."

"Has Mr. Andrews approved of it?"

"Leave him to me."

"Delighted to. He's pretty tight when it comes to spending cash.

I put together a scheme for flowerbeds around his own building
and he nearly fired me."

"That's because you weren't suggesting spending money for his

men. Now if you'd wanted to put flowers in the toolroom I'm
sure he'd have approved it!"

Robert Deen grinned and rubbed one hand across his hair,
making the quiff stand up even higher. "I never thought of that.
Just shows how devious a woman's mind is."

"Not devious, Mr. Deen. Subtle!"

"I'll grant you that difference." Laughing, he put his hand on her
arm. "I'll work out a few projects and let you have them. Will
late Friday be suitable?"

"Yes." She hesitated. "It might be best if you could leave them
in my office for me. Then I can take them home and study them
during the weekend. I doubt if I'll get much time to do it here."

"How about my dropping them at your home? I don't live far

from you."

"Don't you?" she said, surprised that he knew her address.

"No one lives far from anyone in Eddlestone," he explained

humorously. "Surely you've learned that by now!"

She smiled. "Then bring them over Friday evening and have
coffee with us if you're free."

"That's a date."

"That's a business arrangement," she corrected firmly."I 'll

expect you about eight."

For the rest of the week Laura was totally occupied learning
how the canteen was run. The firm that Jake Andrews had
called in was efficient and economical, but watching their
method of bulk buying from a central organization, she was
convinced she could do equally well on price and considerably
better on quality, if she could obtain her main supplies from
farms and local wholesalers. But that would take time, and for
the moment her wisest plan was to continue with the present
suppliers and introduce new sources gradually. The last thing in
the world she wanted was to make a hash of this particular job.
She'd show Mr. Andrews what a well-run canteen was like, even
if she collapsed with fatigue in the process.

And collapse she nearly did. Running the Harley Clinic with its
fifty or sixty patients was a far cry from totally managing a
canteen that had to feed six hundred men in three shifts; to say
nothing of the difference in the menus and the budget with
which she had to work. Luckily her assistant was not only
capable but also friendly, while the three cooks and six trainees,
whose duty it was to prepare the meals she worked out, came
from reputable colleges and, equally important, were still young
enough to want to maintain their level of cookery above the
usual mundane standard accepted in mass- production feeding.

Little by little she began to alter the menus; pork pies, sausage
and mash, baked beans and the plethora of suet puddings were
replaced by mixed grills, assorted salads, cold cuts and fruit
desserts. Soon local market-gardeners were coming to her with
their produce and offering highly competitive terms when they
realized the quantity she wished to buy.

The appearance of the canteen had also undergone a radical

change. The stark whiteness was a thing of the past, and one
primrose yellow wall gave an air of permanent sunshine even
on the gloomiest day. The money, which Jake Andrews had
readily agreed she could spend, had quickly been used up, but
both she and Robert Deen had worked in their own time—and
without charge—in order to finish what they had set out to do.

At the moment they were still scouring the villages to find old
shops selling brass and pewter stands, which they would
present to the market-gardeners with whom Laura was dealing,
in order to badger them into giving them plants they could
place on all the radiators. During their travels they had even
discovered amateur artists eager to give away their paintings,
as long as they would be hung on walls where they could be
seen; and though many had tactfully to be refused, they still
had more than enough to meet their needs.

"Short of putting down wall-to-wall carpeting," she said to

Robert one Saturday afternoon when they had finished hanging
more pictures on the wall overlooking the directors' dining
table, "I don't see what else we can do!"
"Thank heavens for that! I was beginning to think we'd never be
finished."

Contritely she smiled at him. "You've been a wonderful help. I

could never have managed without you."

"At least ten other men would have helped you try." Seeing her
puzzlement, he grinned. "Everyone around here thinks you're a
fabulous bit of homework! Half my office staff has been trying
to bribe me to plead illness or overwork and let them have a
chance of helping you!"

"I'd soon have tumbled to that one!" she retorted.

"Would you have been annoyed?"

"Oply at you for letting me down."

"I'll lever let you down. I hope you know that?"

"Of course I do." Embarrassed by his intensity, she deliberately

kept her voice light. "You're the first friend I've made since I
came to live here."

"I'd like to be more than a friend. From the moment I met you
—"

"Don't," she interrupted. "Let's leave things the way they are.
We've only known each other six weeks.''

"Don't you believe in love at first sight?"

"No. Sex at first sight, but not love!"

"Then I'll take the sex and wait for love to follow!"

"Not with me," she rejoined, and knew she had to make the
position clear. It might not be the most tactful thing to do, in
view of all the hard work he had done for her, but it would
prevent the situation from developing into one she might not be
able to control. "I like you as a friend, Robert, but nothing
more."

"Then I'll be your friend and wait," he answered cheerfully. "I'm

a patient chap."

"You're wasting your time. I like older men. I told you that the
first time we met."

"I am older than you."

"In years, maybe; not in attitude."

Her tone, more than her words, made him realize she was
serious. "Just because I act the fool doesn't mean I am one. I
hold down a pretty responsible job and—"

"It's got nothing to do with that. I can't explain it but…"

"Try. Please, Laura."

"I suppose you remind me of Tim. You could so easily be a

friend of his."

"Would that be wrong? I thought you were fond of your

brother."

"I am. But I feel years older than him, too. In the same way I
feel older than you."

"Then it's your attitude that needs changing—not mine."

Before she could stop him, he reached out and pulled her close.
Thin and pale though he was, there was nothing weak in the
way he held her, nor in the pressure of his mouth on hers. But it
was a strength that left her unmoved, and her lack of response
communicated itself to him and made him draw back in chagrin.
"Not one of my most successful conquests," he said with an
effort at lightness. "I really do leave you cold, don't I?"

Distressed by his obvious hurt, she tried to soothe his feelings.

"I wasn't as unmoved as you think," she lied. "I… I just don't
want to be rushed."

"What are my chances of success if I make haste slowly?"

"I don't know."

"Are you in love with anyone else?"

"Ofcourse not!"

Satisfied by her emphatic response, his good humor returned.

"Then I'll take my chances. Perhaps I'll be like a barnacle and
grow on you!"

His humor eased the tension that had sprung up between them,
and though she knew she would never feel anything for him
other than a warm affection, she decided that at this juncture it
would be more tactful to leave him in happy ignorance. No man
could go on loving a girl who continually held him at arm's
length— at least not if he were young, virile and sensible. Given
a few more months, Robert was more than likely to start
casting his eye elsewhere.

But during the following weeks Laura wondered if she had

misjudged his tenacity, for no matter how much she tried to fob
him off with pleas of tiredness, pressure of work and even
family matters, he still visited her house at least twice a week,
finding excuse after excuse to do so.

"You and Robert seem to be getting on fine," her father

remarked one evening after Robert had come to see her on yet
one more phony pretext. "I'm glad you've found someone you
can talk to at last."
"But it's only talk, "she said lightly. "Don't read more into it
than there is."

"You can't blame me for trying. You're going on for twenty-

three."

"You sound as if you want to get rid of me!"

"Don't be silly. But most girls of your age are already married,
and you've never even come anywhere near it."

"Two proposals," she reminded him.

"Both of which you turned down."

"You wouldn't want me to marry without love, would you?"

"You know the answer to that. But are you running away from
it?"

"Why should I?"

He shrugged. "Maybe you don't want to lose your personal

freedom. Maybe you enjoy being your own boss and don't want
anyone else telling you what to do."

"I detect undertones of Mr. Andrews in that remark," she said

tartly.

Her father looked genuinely surprised. "He's never so much as

said a word about it."

"Not in words," she agreed. "But when he was here that first
time, and some of the times he's been here since, he's gone out
of his way to make me appear bossy."

"Well, you are."

"Dad!"
He grinned. "Sorry, Laura, but you rather asked for it. You're
not bossy, really. I take that back. But you do act as if you
know what's best for people, especially men."

"I do!" She grinned back at him. "And especially when it

concerns you and Mr. Andrews. If I weren't careful, he'd be
working you night and day."

"He does like work," her father conceded. "The only time he
takes a night off is when he comes here."

"And talks shop with you until the minute he leaves? Honestly,
dad!"

"We've had some pretty interesting talks even so," her father
grunted. "He's well read and he has a good mind. He 'll be on
the main board of the company pretty soon."

"Then he'd really be able to take care of his men, "she snapped.

Her father looked at her in such an amused manner that she

blushed without knowing why. Feeling the color come into her
face only increased her annoyance and made her even more
snappy.

"What did I say that-was so hilarious?"

"Just the way you said it. I've never known a man get under
your skin the way Jake has."

"That's because you've never seen anyone behave so

arrogantly."

"He isn't arrogant. He's positive. That's quite different."

"He's always positive he's right,"she muttered.

"He generally is." John Winters waved his hand in the air to
curtail her reply. "Seems to me you both rub each other the
wrong way. Pity… I'd have thought you would have got on well."

Her father lapsed into silence and Laura continued working on

some menus she had brought home with her. But it was difficult
to concentrate; thoughts of Jake Andrews kept disturbing her,
his face—handsome and assured—almost tangibly visual on the
pages in front of her. Carefully she set the papers aside and
looked into the bars of the electric fire, remembering their
conversation the last time he had visited. It was nearly ten days
ago but the memory of what he had said burned inside her with
the same rage she had experienced when he had first said it.

He had come to dinner—the first time he had been invited to a

proper meal—and he had arrived promptly, carrying a bunch of
flowers, which had surprised her, and wearing jeans and a
sweater, which hadn't. All had gone well until she had served
the coffee, when he had given a contented sigh and looked at
her with satisfaction.

"You're a great cook, Miss Winters. You'll make some man a

wonderful wife."

"Thank you," she had replied. "But I hope my husband, when I

marry, won't have chosen me for that reason."

" I can think of a couple more!"

The way his eyes had moved slowly over her body had left her
in no doubt about his meaning, and she had turned her head
away. But he had refused to be put off.

"What reason would you like your husband to have for choosing
you? "

"First of all I object to your use of the word 'choosing.' You

make it sound as if a woman were a prize cow on sale to the
highest bidder!"

"Aye. Maybe it weren't best word to use to a lass like you."

His accent was unexpectedly thick, and she glared at him, sure
he was teasing her. But his answering look was innocent and
she realized that when he was relaxed, or in a temper, the
careful control he exercised over himself disappeared, and the
voice of his youth returned.

"Forget the word, then," he said, "and just answer the

question."

"Is it important that I do?"

"Aye, it is. I'd like to know what you think. You're a liberated
woman and I don't often get the chance to talk to one!"

This time the look in his gray eyes left her in no doubt that she
was being teased, but she carefully refrained from letting it bait
her.

"I wouldn't want a man to marry me because I was a good

cook. I want him to… to love me because we shared the same
ideas, and the same tastes, the same political beliefs. If he—"

"Political beliefs?" It was a shout of amusement. "What has

politics to do with love?"

"Far more than cooking!"

"I don't agree. You can always arrange not to discover your
politics, but if a woman can't cook, her husband will soon go
elsewhere to have his belly filled!"

"That depends on the man. If he's a pig—"

"Since when has a liking for food made a man a pig?"

She ignored the question. "It isn't hard to get a decent meal,
but to find someone to share your ideals, all the things you
believe in, that's far more important."
He shook his head. "I don't think it matters a damn whether a
man and woman have the same opinions on anything!"

"Then your marriage will either be very noisy or very quiet."

He chuckled. "Noisy, I should think. I'd never be happy with a

mouse."

"You'd never be happy with a woman who wasn't! You have to

be boss. That's obvious."

"Aye. And the woman who loves me will want it that way. But
that doesn't mean she must be a mouse.''

"No?"

"No. It means she must be clever enough to argue with me

without making me feel how brilliant she is; and clever enough
to give in without making me feel a bully."

"Sounds as if you want perfection."

"What's wrong with wanting the best?"

"Particularly as she'll be getting the best!"

White teeth flashed in his tanned face. "We agree on my value,

then!"

With an effort she controlled her temper. "Your reasons for

marrying are obviously not the same as mine."

"Only because I'm more honest with myself than you are. Why
are you giving me bilge like having the same political beliefs
and sharing the same ideas? Don't you know that the most
important thing between a man and a woman is something that
can't be put into words? It can only be felt… experienced."

"If you're going to put the conversation on that level…"

"On what level?" His voice was suddenly quiet; dangerously so.
"On the level of sex, you mean?"

Quickly she glanced at her father, relieved to see he had fallen

asleep in the armchair.

Jake Andrews followed her gaze and then raised one thick
eyebrow. "You've lost your excuse not to answer me.

"I don't need an excuse." Her voice trembled. "You won't

embarrass me by talking about sex. I merely find it…" She
paused, then said deliberately, "I find it typical of you that you
should think of marriage in those sort of terms."

"I happen to consider sex extremely important," he said calmly.

"If there's no sexual attraction, there can be no real marriage.
No matter what ideas and hopes you share, if you don't have
the same depth of passion, you won't be deeply happy."

"And sexual attraction will make up for all the areas of

disagreement? On that basis an atheist could be happy with a
religious fanatic or an Arab could marry a Jew!"

"If they loved one another… yes. And loving each other they
would learn to accept and understand their differences. Not
perhaps in the two cases you've cited," he admitted. "But they
were rather extreme ones. On certain fundamental issues there
has to be a mutual understanding. But political opinions aren't
fundamental. When a man and woman want each other, their
political views won't keep them apart."

Still trying to prevent herself from hitting him, she said, "Then
what are the fundamental issues—in your opinion?"

"I've just told you. The same attitude toward sex. It's no good a
warm-blooded man marrying a frigid woman, or vice versa.
They should also agree on racial issues— that's way above
ordinary politics—and they should have the same values when it
comes to honesty, kindness and ethics. Does that answer your
question?"

"It could hardly fail! With agreement on honesty, kindness and

ethics, you've covered the spectrum of human behavior!"

"Then we're agreed at last! So perhaps you'll concede that one

doesn't have to have the same opinions on the little things?"

Speechless, she looked at him. Different scathing retorts came

into her mind but she dismissed them all. There was nothing
she could say that would deflate this man.

"Mind you, cooking doesn't come into any of the categories I've
listed," he went on. "It's so important that it stands by itself!"

Only then did she think of a remark that might silence him.
"What would you do if you fell in love with a—" She stopped and
then said firmly, "I mean if you were so sexually attracted to a
girl that you wanted to marry her, and then found she hated
cooking?"

"I'd run like hell!"

She gave him a cynical smile. "I should think a man with your
beliefs would find it hard to resist pure sex appeal!"

"I've managed up till now," he said calmly. "And if you'll forgive

me saying so, I never said I didn't believe in love. Only that
sexual attraction was a part of it."

Glancing momentarily at her father, she remembered the tender

relationship that had existed between him and her mother, and
could not equate anything Jake Andrews had said with anything
she had seen in her parents' attitude toward each other.

"What would you do if your wife suddenly became an invalid?"

she asked quietly. "Leave her for someone else or have a girl
friend on the side?"
Red stained his cheeks; so intense was the color that his tan
paled by comparison, making him look as though her question
had hurt rather than embarrassed him. For a moment so brief
that she was not sure it had existed, she felt compassion for
him. But his reply to her question drove all compassion away,
leaving her angrier than ever.

"Sick women should be treated like horses," he said

flatly."Shoot'em!"

"Shoot what?" Waking up, John Winters came into the

conversation with that sprightly air people adopt when they are
trying to pretend they have only had their eyes closed and have
been following the conversation the whole time except for this
momentary lapse.

"Sick women and horses!" Jake Andrews said. "Waste of money

to keep them!"

Laura looked at her father, annoyed to find him laughing. "I

don't see what's so funny about it," she said.

"Jake's pulling your leg. Surely you can tell?"

"I don't know Mr. Andrews well enough to know his moods."

"We can soon remedy that." Jake Andrews was laughing at her,
too. "I was going to suggest our going out one night. I'd like to
repay you for your hospitality."

"I don't need repaying."

"That was a clumsy way for me to have put it." He ignored the
coolness of her tone. "Which evening would suit you?"

"I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Okay," he said easily; so easily that she was irritated even

more. "Let me know when you're available and we can fix it
up."

"Penny for your thoughts, Laura." Her father's voice brought her
back to the present and she shook her head.

"They're worth more than that."

"Thinking of Jake?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"Because you looked as if you were spoiling for a fight. And it's
a look you generally wear when he's around!''

"That's just your imagination," she said smoothly. "Which

reminds me, he hasn't been around lately. Does that mean he's
returned to normal working hours at last?"

"He didn't come to talk shop," came the reply. "He came to
sample your cooking."

She blushed, glad that her earlier thoughts were not known.
"Then he must have found a better cook than me. He hasn't
been here for ten days."

"He's been in London all the week. But I understand he's

coming back tonight."

Though her father's words explained Jake Andrews's absence

from their house, she could not help wondering if he would
frequent it, on his return, as often as he had done before their
quarrel. Yet perhaps he had been too thick-skinned to recognize
that they had quarreled. Indeed, he was sufficiently pigheaded
to have seen it as a victory!

Gathering the blank menu cards, she forced herself to

concentrate on them. She had already wasted far too much
time on Jake Andrews.
 CHAPTER FOUR
Laura could not help experiencing a sense of irony when she
went into her office the next morning and found a note from
Jake Andrews, asking her to come and see him.

It was almost as if she had conjured him up from her own

thoughts.

It was the first time he had asked to see her officially since she
had started to work for the company, and wondering if it was a
routine meeting or heralded something more, she decided to
see him at once. She would have no peace of mind until she
did.

His office was larger than she had expected and furnished with
a panache she had not expected, either: gray carpet, so dark as
to be almost black, with one gray wall and two white ones;
modern Italian furniture complementing the three excellent
modern paintings, and a desk, a curving sweep of rich
mahogany, that almost matched the reddish brown leather
armchairs that stood like guards in front of him. His own chair
was of the swivel variety and framed him like the velvet robes
of an emperor as he swung around in it to greet her, half rising
from his chair and not sitting back in it until she had sat down,
too.

He was more severely dressed than she had seen him

previously and, in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, looked
a facsimile of the very "city types" about whom he was always
so scathing. Idly she wondered if he had come back on the
overnight sleeper; that could account for his appearance. Even
as she thought this, he stifled a yawn and gave a grunt of half
irritation, half tiredness.

"Never could manage to get a decent night's sleep on a train,"

he said and leaned his head back against his chair.

"You should have gone home for a rest."

He did not answer this, almost as though her comment was too
stupid to warrant it. "You answered my note very promptly," he
said, pointing to her coat.

Not wishing to think that fear of him had prompted her speed,
she shrugged. "Once I start work, I hate any interruptions.
That's why I came here first."

"I see. I thought it might have been because you'd heard."

"Heard what?"

"The reason I didn't go home for a rest before coming in here."

Although he was still speaking quietly, she was only now aware
that it was the quietness of pent-up anger, rather than
tiredness, as if he were curbing himself for fear of an explosion.

Unaccountably she felt a tremor of nervousness. "What's wrong,

Mr. Andrews? Anything I've done?"

"It's pretty nearly everything you've done! I've spent the past
hour talking my way out of a strike."

"A strike!"

"You heard me!"

"But why? What have-"

"Your rabbit food!" he exclaimed. "That's why."

" I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's obvious. You never have known, more's the pity. If

you'd more appreciation of the way other people think, none of
this would have happened.''

He leaned forward in his chair. He was making no effort to keep

his voice down now, and it boomed around her like a stormy
sea. His eyes mirrored the simile, the sparkling lights in them
giving them the sharpness of ice.

"Didn't you know that the takings from the canteen have
dropped by half in the past two weeks, or are you still too busy
painting walls and putting up fancy pictures?"

"Ofcourse I've noticed that the money has lessened. I intended

talking to Mr. Carpenter about it this week."

"This week?" he roared. "What was wrong with talking to him

about it last week? Or were you hoping that if you said nothing
the whole thing would blow over?"

"I didn't realize it was so serious." With an effort she forced

herself to stay calm. "I still don't know exactly where I'm at
fault in all this. If you could just tell me calmly—"

"Don't talk to me about being calm! If I weren't calm I'd have

thrown you out the minute you got in this morning!"

She stood up. "Then I 'll save you the bother."

"Sit down!"

Shakily she did so and glared at him.

"Will you kindly control your temper and tell me what it is that I
have done? Try to think of me as 'one of your men,' Mr.
Andrews. That should at least guarantee your civility!"

He had the grace to color, though he did not apologize, but

when he spoke again his voice was lower. "They can't stand the
food you've been giving them. It's as simple as that."
Astonishment succeeded in silencing her. He had to be joking;
nothing else could account for what he had said. Yet he did not
look as if he were joking.

His eyes were still glacial and his mouth was clamped tight.

"I plan every menu myself," she said carefully. "They're

perfectly balanced and—"

"Balanced be damned! All the men care about is filling their

stomachs with food they enjoy. Summat they can get their
teeth into—not lettuce leaves and ^pink blancmange!"

"I've never served pink—"

"You know what I mean," he said wearily. "Stop playing with

words. You were hired to feed grown men doing a hard day's
work; not rich dowagers in a.posh nursing home!"

"Keep your prejudices to yourself," she flared. "Sick people are

sick whether they're rich or poor!"

"I know," he said flatly. "I was merely trying to make you see
that you can't change people's eating habits in a matter of
weeks. Every region has its own tastes, and up here people like
meat and two veg and a decent sweet they can get their teeth
into."

"Their false teeth!" she retorted. "On your sort of diet they
won't have their own very long."

"Let's not start a crusade," he gibed. "Just concern yourself with

the job you were engaged to do."

"In your eyes I'm not qualified to do it. It's far better if I resign.
If you wish, I'll stay here until you've found a replacement."

"I don't want you to resign. It will upset your father."

"Was that why you engaged me in the first place— because you
thought it would make him happy?"

"That was one of the reasons. And also because you had the
right qualifications."

"Not right enough," she said tartly. "I'd prefer to go. And you
needn't worry that I'll let my boredom affect my father. I'll be
so happy to leave here that I'll never complain again!"

"Stop talking rubbish! You know damn well you've got the right
qualifications. And you're also a hard worker. I know the long
hours you've put in, and I appreciate it. All I want you to do is
use your common sense. Stop being the thinking-man's
dietitian .and act like a working-class one!"

"By serving up stodge! Never." She rose again and swung

around to the door.

"For God's sake sit down!"

He spoke in a tone of such exasperation that, although she did

not obey him, she at least remained where she was: poised for
flight but not yet going.

"I don't know why you're so determined to quarrel with me," he

continued. "No matter what I say, you turn it into something
different. Of course I don't want you to serve up stodge! But I
equally don't want you to go on serving up lettuce leaves. Give
the men a choice and let them decide for themselves."

"Optional menus can be expensive," she replied frigidly. "And

I've always made it a point to work within my budget."

"What happens to my budget when the takings fall by half?"

Seeing her discomfort he gave a sour smile. "Hadn't thought of
that, had you?"

"No, I hadn't. I'm sorry."

"Well, well, that's the first time you've ever apologized to me!"

Coolly she surveyed him, neither by gesture nor expression

giving him an inkling of her rage and humiliation. That he
should have cause to complain of the menus she prepared!

"Get down from your high horse, lass!" Once again his temper
had gone, though his accent still indicated that emotion was
near the surface. "You're working on the right track, even
though the train was going too fast! Give the men six months
and they might come around to your way of thinking. It's up to
you. Make your kind of food attractive enough and they might
all end up with salad and soya beans! But don't forget to serve
the food they like. That way they won't feel you're forcing them.
And before we leave the subject, let me say I know that high-
starch diets lower your energy and high-protein ones increase
it!" His smile this time could only be described as wolfish.
"Satisfied?"

"You are the one who has to be satisfied," she said in her driest
tone.

"Well, I will be, as long as you take notice of me. Tell me what
increase in budget you want, and I'll authorize it. We'll review
the position in a month's time and see if the takings have
reverted to normal. If they haven't, we'll have to think again. Is
that clear?"

"Perfectly. Would you like to check the menus each week?"

"No thanks. I'm sure you'll do as you've been told."

"Thank you."

She was at the door when he spoke again. "From now on, I
won't be having my lunch on a tray. I'll eat in the canteen."

Her face flamed. "Wouldn't it be less bother for you to check the
menus, as I suggested?"
Blankly he stared at her; then he frowned. "I'm not planning to
check that you are doing as you promised. I thought it would
help if the men could see that I don't treat myself any
differently from the way I treat them!"

"Then I'll expect you today, Mr. Andrews. I'll make sure you
have your suet pudding!"

"With a salad on the side," he called to her departing back and,

as she closed the door sharply on him, she had to concede that
as always, he had had the last word.

True to his promise, Jake Andrews had lunch in the canteen

nearly every day, only absenting himself when unusual pressure
of work forced him to have a tray sent to his office.

Also true to his word he had a salad with every meal, and
though she tried not to notice what he ordered, she was aware
that his knowledge of food value was excellent. Regardless of
the choice he insisted upon for his men, he himself preferred
the maximum amount of vegetables, fruit and cheese, and the
minimum of starch and sugar.

Two weeks passed without there being any noticeable increase

in canteen revenue. Only the expenditure remained higher. And
this despite the steak and kidney pies, black puddings and suet
rolls she featured regularly on the menu!

It was well into the middle of the fourth week when she
received a summons to the general manager's office.
Remembering the haste with which she had responded to the
first one, she took her time in answering this, and it was well
into the afternoon before she presented herself.

As usual he was surrounded by a welter of papers and

blueprints, and glimpsing some of the intricate diagrams she
was forced to admit he must have above average intelligence to
have reached the position he now occupied.

Without speaking he motioned her to sit down, then went on

making notes on a sheet of paper already covered with
hieroglyphics.

Rarely had she had the chance to study him without being
observed, and in the glare of the fluorescent tubes, which
turned his desk top into a merciless reflector, she was able to
see a few gleams of silver in the dark unruly hair. He was far
too young to be turning gray, she thought, and at the same
time noticed the blue shadows on his eyelids. Hard though he
drove others, he was an equally hard taskmaster with himself.
Unless he learned to relax he would be old before his time.

"That's done," he said with satisfaction and pushed aside the

papers in front of him. At the same time he straightened and
stared directly into her face.

Again she saw him with more clarity than she would have
wished, and discerned the fine lines around his eyes and the
heavier ones that marked his mouth: that mocking, cruel
mouth. Quickly she averted her gaze.

"If you're busy I can come back later, "she said.

"I'll be even busier then."

"I thought men at the top learned how to delegate."

"I'm not at the top yet. But thanks for the compliment."

She avoided his eyes. "I suppose you wish to see me about the
canteen?"

"I do. The takings are going up. I thought you'd be pleased to
know."

"I'm giving the men what they want." Laura kept her voice
expressionless. "It's obviously working—as you knew it would.
If I cut out the salads and fruit desserts, you'll need to
subsidize it even less."

"I don't want you to cut out anything," he replied. "And you're
still trying to make me say the things you'd like me to!"

"The things I'd like you to?"

"Aye. And don't look so surprised. You want me to tell you to

cut out the salad and fruit. You want me to conform to the
picture you've built up about me. That I'm a gormless lout
trying to ape my betters!"

There was sufficient truth in his remark to make her careful how
she replied to it. Drat the man for being able to read her
thoughts! And drat him for making her feel so small.

"We don't like each other," she said slowly, "so we're both on
the defensive. I'm always anticipating that you'll make some
snide remark about my being a sophisticated Londoner, while
you're waiting to hear me call you a country bumpkin!"

He chuckled. "You've hit the nail on the head. Looks like we're
both at fault."

Unexpectedly he rose and moved around the side of the desk,

pausing to stand a few feet away from her.

Forced to tilt back her head in order to see him, she found he
looked different when viewed from below. How firm his chin was
and how thick and sinewy his neck. Here was no boy to tease or
mock, but a man of fierce pride and even fiercer temper.

"How do you feel about beginning again?" he suggested.

"Pretend we're meeting for the first time today?"

"I don't think that's really necessary." Embarrassment made her

stiff. "But it might better for us if we weren't enemies."
"We were never that!" he said emphatically. "I could never think
of a woman as an enemy."

"Why not?"

He nibbled his lower lip, seemingly nonplussed. "Because…

because I couldn't. I don't know why."

"Because you don't regard women as your equals. That's why!

You see them as second-class citizens that you can easily
overrule."

"By God, that's rich!"

Sensing his mounting rage, she pushed back her chair and
stepped away from him. Even so she could smell the shaving
lotion he used. It was the same kind she had given Tim for
Christmas. Yet on this man it had a different scent,
compounded of part tobacco and part indefinable masculinity
that set her nerves on edge.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I—er—I seem to be putting us

back to square one."

"Never mind that. I'm just interested in what you've said. You
obviously see no difference between the sexes. In your world,
women are as strong and as capable as men."

"Exactly."

"They're not," he said flatly. "They're more emotional and less

logical. They're also more anxious for security, which is
understandable when you consider they bear the children, and
they want to be protected and cherished by the men they love."

Unable to stop herself, Laura burst out laughing. Despite his

intelligence, Jake Andrews's assessment of women was rooted
in the past, not the present.
"What sort of girls do you know?" she asked. "Freaks?"

"Women," he said slowly. "Genuine, loving women. The kind

who put their menfolk before themselves, who look on a home
and children as sufficient career without the need to prove
themselves in any other way."

"You talk like a Victorian."

"I talk like a realist. Perhaps some women put a career before
marriage and would rather have a degree instead of a baby.
But-"

" Why can't women have both?'' Because children need caring
for—like men! You can't put 'em in the deep freeze and take
'em out when it suits you!"

"I agree about the children," Laura said, striving not to lose her
temper, "but men aren't babies to be cared for in the same way.
If they contribute properly to a marriage, with their time as well
as their money—"

"Then women could work in the same way as men," Jake

Andrews finished for her. "Women like you, maybe. The unusual
ones. But I still say that most females, given the choice, would
rather stay home."

"Not the women I've met. We don't only come from different
parts of the country, Mr. Andrews, we come from a different
century!"

"Maybe that's why I've never found you real," he said slowly.
"Why I look at you and see a truly beautiful girl who never even
stirs my pulses. I've often wondered if I was sickening for
something. Never met a lovely-looking female yet who didn't do
something to me! And then you came along—figure like a
goddess and hair like fire—but you leave me cold. Stone cold."

"Then maybe this will warm you up!" Before she could stop
herself, Laura's hand shot out and caught him a stinging blow
on the cheek.

In the silence that followed she saw the mark of her fingers
grow pink on his skin and felt her own skin grow pink with the
shame of it. How could she have let him rile her into behaving
like a shrew?

"Ifyou wish to fire me… " she said stonily.

"Fire you?" he repeated, then suddenly grinned. "Fire you, lass?

Why, I feel like giving you a raise!" He stepped forward and
peered into her eyes, his own gleaming with mischief. "You've
just shown me how wrong I was. You're a woman after all,
Laura Winters. One day you might even quicken my pulses!"

Admitting defeat, she rushed to the door, aware of his chuckle

following her down the corridor and out into the cold fresh air.

She would have given a great deal never to see Jake

Andrews again, but to leave Grantley's would be an admission

of defeat; might make him think he had hurt her pride by
professing his lack of appreciation for her beauty.

Determined not to let him know she even remembered his

scathing comments about her, she went out of her way to be
polite and uncaring in his presence, though each time they met
she found it progressively harder to keep her temper.

Fate, or perhaps the man's own determination to annoy her,

made him a frequent visitor to the house during the following
month, and despite the fact that he and her father spent their
time with their heads bent over blueprints, it in no way lessened
her awareness of his presence. The mere knowledge that he
was close at hand gave her a feeling of claustrophobia, and
whenever possible she made an excuse to go out and leave
them alone.
Inevitably she drew closer to Robert, his open admiration a
balm to her vanity. Although she realized that by seeing more of
him she was giving him encouragement to believe that one day
she might come to care for him, she deliberately closed her
mind to it. Whatever happened, he was infinitely preferable to
Jake Andrews.

"I thought you said you weren't keen on Robert?" her father
reminded her one Sunday afternoon as she came into the
sitting room, coat over her arm.

"I said I wasn't in love with him, "she corrected. "And that still
goes. "She dropped her coat over the back of the chair and
answered the next question before it came. "Seeing him is
better than going out on my own."

"What about Jake? He's asked you out."

"Only as thanks for giving him dinner!"

"You underestimate yourself," her father smiled, any further

comment forestalled by the doorbell.

She ran to answer it, expecting Robert, and was dismayed to

see Jake Andrews on the doorstep, his broad shoulders blocking
the light.

"From your smile of welcome, I can see you weren't expecting

me," he said, stepping into the hall.

"Do you have to make my father work every weekend? "she

said.

"Happens this is a social call. He asked me around for a game

of chess."

Sniffing her disbelief, she preceded him into the sitting room
and had hardly seated herself when the bell rang again.
"That must be Robert,"she exclaimed and ran out.

Her greeting to him was so affectionate, her voice so full of

warmth that he reached out and enveloped her in a bearlike
hug, his thin face alight with pleasure.

Smitten with conscience, she quickly drew away from him. "I'll
get my coat," she said breathlessly, "and we can go."

"Better hang on a bit. It looks as though we're in for some

rain."

"A bit of rain never hurt anyone."

Robert glanced over his shoulder to the sheet of water pouring

down the hall window. "This might be the second flood!" He
grinned and loped exuberantly into the sitting room.

Laura felt rather than saw the way he stiffened to attention at

sight of Jake Andrews sprawling in an easy chair opposite her
father. "I didn't know you were here, Mr. Andrews," she heard
him say, his voice thinning into constraint."I'm not interrupting
anything, am I?''

"Mr. Andrews came to play chess with dad," Laura said, entering
the room and answering before anyone else had the
opportunity.

Robert perched on the edge of the chair, looking so nervous

that she could have kicked him. Why did he have to behave as
though he were a schoolboy coming into the headmaster's
study? Surely he wasn't afraid of Jake Andrews?

Head high, she moved to Robert's side and leaned casually

against his chair. "We might as well have a cup of tea while
we're waiting for the rain to stop," she said. "Care for some
cinnamon toast?"

"Not for me, thanks. I had a late lunch."

"Was I included in that offer?" came a deep voice from the
other side of the room. "Cinnamon toast is a great favorite of
mine!"

Not trusting herself to answer, she stalked into the kitchen and
mutinously set the tray. Making the toast, she resisted the urge
to put on ginger instead of cinnamon. What delight it would
have given her to make things really hot for the bossy hunk of
male conceit warming himself so contentedly at a fireside that
wasn't his!

When she wheeled in the trolley, the chess set was already set
out on the table, although no one was playing.

"I thought you'd be in the middle of a game," she said, pouring

the tea.

"I didn't fancy playing with sticky fingers," Jake Andrews

replied, leaning forward to look at the plate of golden brown
toasted fingers."Smells delicious."

"Help yourself," she said casually and, with deliberate charm,

handed Robert his cup.

With bland disregard for her tone, Jake Andrews did as she had
bid, and after her father had refused an offer of a cinnamon
finger, proceeded to demolish the lot himself.

"Didn't you have any lunch?" she asked, looking at the empty
plate.

"No. I was working in my office and forgot about it."

"That's the best way of getting ulcers," she said before she
could stop herself.

"Don't worry about me. I've the stomach of a goat!" He looked

across at Robert. "Talking about food reminds me I haven't yet
thanked you for putting in so much of your own time on the
canteen."

"I did it for Laura," Robert said, and then blushed.

"I'm glad she has such a good influence on you," the older man
said dryly. "I'll have to put her on the factory floor if production
starts lagging!"

Robert laughed and lost some of his constraint. "You'll have to

increase safety precautions if you do. When Laura's around the
men don't have eyes for anything else!"

"So I've noticed." Gray eyes sought out Laura's own and held
them.

"More tea, anyone?" she asked brightly.

Only Jake Andrews held out his cup, and keeping her eyes
downcast, she filled it and passed it back to him.

"Looks as if the rain's set in for the afternoon," her father said.
"If you and Robert want to watch television, it won't disturb us."

"There's nothing to see," she replied. "The shows up here are

even worse than in London."

"I'd call that a good thing," Jake Andrews intervened. "At least
it means folk talk to each other instead of sitting around the
goggle-box like a load of zombies!"

Although it was a sentiment with which she wholeheartedly

agreed, she refused to admit this to a man she almost regarded
as her enemy.

"It's only a matter of being selective," she murmured. "The

educational programs are excellent."

"They certainly are," Robert agreed. "I'm doing one of the

courses myself. Economics. It's very good."
"So it is," Jake Andrews answered. "I did it myself a couple of
years back."

At once Robert lost all trace of his earlier reserve, and with
economics as the starting point, the two men began to talk to
one another, occasionally interrupted by John Winters.
Coversation ranged over many different topics, and Laura
listened in silence, dismayed at the frequency with which she
agreed with Jake.

Jake! She caught herself up sharply. What had made her think
of him by his first name when she made such an effort to call
him Mr. Andrews? It was probably because her father always
referred to him as Jake. She must make sure she did not use it
herself by accident.

Talk had now turned to music, and again she found herself
agreeing with him. It was disquieting to find there was hardly
any comment of Robert's with which she concurred.

"Why are you so quiet, Laura?" her father asked, unused to her
being silent.

"I don't like interrupting men when they're talking," she said
sweetly.

John Winters bit hard on his pipe, and it was left to Robert to
bridge the silence.

"Don't you agree with what we're saying?" he asked.

"You've said so many things,"she said evasively.

"About Mozart. I think he was the Gerschwin of the eighteenth

century."

"I consider him a genius," Jake Andrews said, "which Gershwin

wasn't. A great talent, of course—I won't deny that—but not to
be compared with Mozart."
"I agree with you." Laura could not prevent herself from
replying. "To compare him with Gershwin is ridiculous. Mozart
was a genius and there's been no one to touch him!"

"Praise be to Mozart," Jake Andrews chuckled. "He's at last

forced you into agreeing with me over something!"

"Only in music, I'm afraid. In art, you're hopelessly old-

fashioned."

"I'll grant you that," came the surprising answer. "I couldn't
abide my art teacher, so I didn't do a stroke of work. All I've
ever learned about art has come through reading."

"It would be better for it to come through looking," she replied.

"There's no point looking if your eyes can't see. One has to

know what one's looking at."

"Just look," she repeated. "Understanding will follow."

"Not for me. I can't abide looking at summat I don't

understand. It's against my character. The only way I'll ever
learn to appreciate painting is to have a good guide to take me
around the galleries."

"There's an exhibition on in Manchester," Robert said. "I was

going to suggest Laura and I go to see it next weekend. You're
welcome to come with us."

"And be odd man out?" The dark head inclined toward Laura.
"Thanks for the offer, but no."

Aware of the gray eyes looking at her with barely concealed

humor, she started to collect the cups.

"I'll help you," Robert murmured, and followed her out to the
kitchen.
"Did you have to ask him to come to Manchester?" she said
crossly the moment they were alone. "Don't you know the last
thing in the world he wants is to be taught anything, and
especially by us!"

"What an odd thing to say." Robert looked surprised. "I'm sure

he wanted to come."

"Then why did he refuse?"

"He told you. He thought he'd be in the way." Robert moved

closer and put his hand on Laura's arm. "I wish he had some
justification. Right now I could do with a bit of encouragement."

"That's the last thing you'll get from me!"

She handed him a tea towel, and grumbling good- naturedly, he

started to dry the dishes.

"You won't always be able to fob me off," he muttered.

"That isn't my intention. I'm just trying to make you see we're
friends—nothing more."

Later that night she again debated the wisdom of seeing so

much of Robert. But the alternative was so gloomy that she
lulled her conscience by assuring herself she had made it quite
clear to him how she felt. Yet remorse returned the next
Saturday when she drove with him to Manchester to see a well-
reviewed exhibition by an up-and-coming young artist, and
walking down Deans- gate, an icy wind blowing in her face, she
clutched at his arm in a sudden burst of affection.

"It's lovely having someone with whom I can share things, "she
said.

"I feel the same way."

"You've made me appreciate the meaning of the word

friend,"she added."Withoutyou, I'd feel terribly lonely
inEddlestone."

" I should bring you to Manchester more often."

"Why?"

"Because you're nicer to me here than you've ever been

before."

"It's your imagination. I'm the same as I was an hour ago."

Though she put conviction in her voice, she was not convincing
herself. She knew exactly what Robert meant; knew the reason
for it, too. Away from Eddie- stone she was no longer afraid of
turning a corner and bumping into Jake Andrews. Yet why
should she be afraid of seeing him? It was a question that had
plagued her for several weeks, and though many answers had
come to mind, none of them had satisfied her.

Angrily she tried to push him out of her thoughts. Her dislike of
him was so strong that she was unable to stop thinking of him.
If she were in love with him he couldn't be occupying her
thoughts more!

"Are we far from the gallery?" she asked to change the subject.

"We're here now." Robert guided her across the pavement to a

glass-paned door.

For the next hour and a half Laura forgot everything except the
delicacy of the paintings that adorned the walls around her.
Though no lover of muted colors, preferring the more robust
medium of oils and the vivid palette of the French
Impressionists, she was entranced by the luminous quality the
artist had imparted to his work, and even when they left the
gallery and made their way to the garage where they had
parked their car, she was still under the spell of what she had
seen.
For that reason she was unaware of the slow progress they
made out of the city, and the masses of men and boys pushing
against the car and forcing Robert to slow almost to a crawl. It
was not until he gave a sharp exclamation that she returned to
the present and noticed the crowds.

"Are we in the middle of the rush hour?" she asked.

"The football hour!" he replied. "I'd forgotten Manchester was

playing at home this week."

"What a way to spend a winter's afternoon," she exclaimed.

"You're obviously no football fan."

"I don't understand the game."

"Not like our beloved boss," came the comment, and Laura
followed Robert's gaze till her eyes came to rest on Jake
Andrews's burly figure pushing along with the rest of the crowd.

"Trust him to be in the thick of it," she said acidly. "He's

probably a rugger fan, too. I can just see him in the middle of a
scrum!"

"With very unexpected company, too," Robert remarked. "See

the girl who's with him?"

Quickly Laura moved her eyes from Jake, narrowing them in

surprise as she saw the slender girl with long blond hair who
was clinging to his arm. He had been speaking the truth when
he had said he liked sexy- looking women. This one was sex
personified, from her tip-tilted nose and glossy lips to her silky
hair and provocative shapeliness.

"Who is she?" Laura asked.

"Elaine Simpson. I didn't believe the rumor, but it's obviously

true."

"What rumor?"

"That they're dating each other."

"Why shouldn't they?" Laura made her voice casual. " Is she the
black sheep of Eddlestone?''

"The gold one," Robert laughed. "Her father's Harold Simpson."

"The engineering magnate?"

"Right. And Grantley's biggest rival!" Robert shrugged. "Trust

our Mr. Andrews to pick a girl right at the top of the mountain
he's trying to climb!"

Laura's emotions were difficult for her to analyze. So apart from

being pretty, the girl was also rich, with a father who was
extremely important in Jake Andrews's world. She wondered if
the girl's undeniable beauty was more important to him than
her father's position and found the question a difficult one to
answer and a disquieting one to think about.

"Shall we offer them a lift?" Robert asked.

"Whatever for?" Laura made no attempt to hide her scorn, glad

of being able to release her pent-up emotion. But why should
she feel any emotion where Jake Andrews was concerned? Yet
again he was occupying her mind to an alarming degree and
with determination she resolved to find out why. Was it because
he constantly tried to cut her down to size or because he had
openly admitted she did not appeal to him as a woman?
Probably both reasons were valid, though the latter one had
annoyed her the most!

"You really do dislike him, don't you?" Robert said.

"Ofcourse not. I find him irritating, that's all."

"Irritating enough to let him go back on the bus!" Robert saw
an opening in the crowd and picked up a little more speed.

"Only if the bus is called an Alfa Romeo," Laura responded

tartly, inclining her head to where an Italian sports car, driven
by the blond girl, was slowly edging away from the curb.

Robert gave a low whistle and Laura could not help laughing,
although it was not an entirely amused sound. "Aren't you sorry
my father's only a poor hard-working engineer?"

"What a thing to say! If your father were Harold

Simpson I'd never have plucked up the courage to ask you out"

"Why not? Money barriers aren't important these days."

"You know you don't believe that," Robert stated. "If a man has
the money it's no problem. He can marry a poor girl and people
will still give her the benefit of the doubt. But if a girl has the
cash, then it's a different story. She can be as beautiful as an
angel but everyone will believe the poor guy who marries her
did it for her loot."

"Unless he's loaded, too."

"In which case," Robert said with a shake of his head, "they'll
say money married money—so they could both be sure they
weren't taking each other for a ride!"

"What a cynic you are." She hesitated. "But you're probably

right."

"Thanks for the admission." His hand came out and clasped
hers. "At least that's one problem you and I don't have. No one
can say we're going out with each other to feather our nests…
or our ambitions."

"Is that what they're saying about Jake Andrews?"

"No." It was a slow sound. "No one who knows him would ever
think him a fortune hunter."

"But he wants to get to the top of his profession, and Simpson

could help him do that."

"He'd still have to love the girl."

"You seem to know a lot about our boss's emotional needs," she
commented.

"I was answering intuitively." Robert looked as if he had

surprised himself. "Jake Andrews is so hard working he isn't the
type to put on an act. If he's seeing a lot of Elaine, it's because
he genuinely wants to—not because of who her father is."

The football crowds had thinned and Robert was able to drive at
normal speed. "How about our staying in Manchester for the
evening and taking in a show?"

"Dad will be expecting us back."

"Phone him."

She shook her head." I don't like leaving him alone all afternoon
as well as the evening. It's not that he'd mind," she added
quickly. "In fact he'd be annoyed if he knew I was saying this.
But it's the way I feel myself."

"I thought your brother often came over?"

"He hasn't been lately."

"I'd like to meet him."

"I'll ask you over next time he comes."

"Has our beloved boss met him?"

"No." She turned in her seat. "Jake Andrews doesn't come to
the house all that often, you know. He's not a friend of the
family."

"He looked very much at home when I saw him there the other
day."

"Don't act the jealous boyfriend," she said. "I don't find it
funny."

"Sorry." Robert sounded subdued. "But you can't deny that he's
everything most girls want. Handsome, clever and very sure of
himself."

"So sure of himself that I find him a bore," Laura said firmly.
"He leaves me cold. Stone cold."

The words reminded her of the ones Jake himself had said to
her not long ago, and mortification brought an edge to her
voice.

"I think I will phone dad," she exclaimed. "I rather fancy an
evening out."

"Great. If we can get tickets for a show, we'll go to one. If not,

how about a cabaret, if you don't mind blue jokes?"

"I'll pretend I don't understand them," she teased. "Then you

won't be embarrassed!"

Laughing together, they drove in search of a telephone booth.

Robert's humor was fully restored and Laura told herself that
she felt equally lighthearted. Yet deep inside her she didn't, and
she was more than ever afraid to try to discover why.
 CHAPTER FIVE
Seeing Jake Andrews with a beautiful blonde clinging to his arm
had been a blow to Laura's pride. It was one thing to be ignored
by a man she considered uncouth and domineering; quite
another to find him escorting the most eligible and expensive
piece of femininity she had seen since coming to the North.

Before, she had taken his indifference for granted; now, each
encounter she had with him left her feeling gauche and
insignificant. Because of this, Robert's adoration was balm to
her wounded self-respect, and her earlier decision not to make
use of him lessened into mere intention.

Yet inevitably conscience did rear its sharp head, and one
Saturday afternoon a few weeks after their trip to Manchester,
she warned him again not to regard her as his girl friend.

"I know that," he said impatiently. "But I'll take my chance as

long as you're still fancy-free."

"You're wasting your time, Robert.''

"Let me be the judge of that. You're the loveliest girl I've ever
met—apart from being beautiful, witty, clever and-"

"Stop it! You're acting like a fool. I'm an ordinary girl. Nothing
more, nothing less. If you'd met me in London you wouldn't
have looked at me twice. But up here there's no competition, so
I seem better than I am!"

"When you've quite finished maligning yourself," he replied,

"maybe we can talk sense."

"That's what I'm trying to do, but you won't listen to me.

"Not if you keep ranting on about my not seeing you. I love

being with you, Laura, and I'd love you if we lived in Eddlestone
or Hollywood!"

"At least in Hollywood you'd have a choice of other lovelies!"

"Meaning I fell for you because there was no one else?"

"Yes."

"What about Elaine Simpson? Isn't she lovely enough?"

Laura swallowed. "What has she got to do with it?"

"Merely that I knew her long before I met you. We were at

college together and I dated her a couple of times… and some
of her friends." Robert rubbed his hand over his hair. The
gesture made the quiff of hair above his forehead stand up even
more and made him look younger. "I wasn't as bereft of female
charm as you seem to think. I'm not saying I could rival
Casanova, but I wasn't a monk, either!"

"So it would appear," Laura murmured. "Perhaps I'm the one

who needs protecting after all!"

"I wish you meant that. I'd rather you were scared of me than
look on me as some tame dog!"

"What a thing to say!"

"But it's true. Good old Robert. That's how you think of me, isn't
it?"

"If I did, then I don't anymore! From now on you're a

wolfhound—with fangs!"

"Thanks!"

He reached for her hand-and she let him retain it. They were
taking their usual Saturday afternoon stroll over the moors^and
for a while they walked in silence. But his remark about being
at college with Elaine Simpson remained in her mind,
tormenting her until she was forced to speak. "Is she as clever
as she's pretty?"

"Who?"

Laura blushed. Elaine Simpson was so real to her that she had
made the mistake of thinking Robert would know whom she
meant. "The girl we… the one we saw with Jake Andrews," she
said, hoping her voice sounded as offhand as she intended it to
be.

"Depends what you mean by clever," Robert replied. "She

knows what's good for her. But if you mean academically, then
it's hard for me to say. She left college after a couple of terms
and went to the States. She's only been home a few months."

Laura kept her head averted. "So she hasn't known the boss
man all that long?"

"Only since she got back. They might have met in the past but I
doubt it. Our Jake was too busy furthering his career to bother
with women."

"He couldn't further it better than with the daughter of Harold

Simpson."

"You've said that before," Robert frowned, "but I think you're

wrong. I doubt if he'd go for a girl simply because she could
help him career-wise."

"I don't see why not." Laura remained stubborn. "He's very
ambitious, and what could be better than marrying into one of
the top engineering companies in the country!"

"When you put it like that, I suppose you're right." Robert still
seemed dubious and Laura knew he did not mean what he said.
She was annoyed, yet at the same time irrationally pleased that
he did not think Jake so mercenary.

"Let's head for home," she murmured, anxious to change the

subject. "I'm cold."

"You'll be colder still tomorrow. The weather report says we're

in for snow."

"Then we might have a white Christmas." She bit back a sigh.

"Though heaven knows what Christmas will be like in
Eddlestone."

"As much fun as you want to make it," Robert said with
unexpected force. "I don't intend to let you mope around the
house."

"I'll probably have a load of cooking to do. I'm sure Tim will be
home for it."

"That won't tie you down, will it? Elaine's invited me to a party
and I'd like you to come with me.''

Laura stopped in her tracks. "I wouldn't dream of going to her

party. I've never met the girl."

"So what? I told her I wanted to bring a friend."

"No. Anyway, I wouldn't want to leave my father alone."

"That's just an excuse. You know darn well he doesn't want you
baby-sitting him."

She was forced to agree and knew that her argument against
going to the party had been weak. "Let's talk about it nearer
the time," she suggested. "Christmas is still three weeks away."

"You're coming to the party," he insisted. "So don't waste your

time trying to dream up an excuse; otherwise I'll begin to think
you're jealous of Elaine."
Laura caught her breath. "Why on earth should I be jealous of
her?"

"You tell me."

"Of course I'm not jealous. I've never heard of such a thing!"

"Then you'll come with me?"

"That's blackmail," she said crossly, and then forced herself to

smile. "Very well, you win."

With the approach of Christmas even Eddlestone's dreary shops

took on a more festive air, and Laura found that, unlike London,
goodwill to all men was more than mere lip service. The local
greengrocer surprised her by offering to get her any special
vegetables she wanted. He gave her a list of what he glumly
called "foreign stuff." and asked her to mark off the provisions
she wanted him to order.

"Now you've settled here," he explained, "it's bad business to

have you shop in Manchester for what you want. No reason we
can't get it for you. Happen you'll encourage other folk to be a
bit more venturesome in their cooking, too."

"I'd like to do that," she said promptly, "but I don't see how I
can."

"Sell some of your special recipes at the local bazaars."

"What a good idea." She thought for a moment. "If I make

something that tastes particularly nice, perhaps you wouldn't
mind my bringing some for your wife to I taste?"

"Aye," he grinned. "She's as good as a bazaar! Talks enough for

ten women, anyway!"

Laura laughed and the man grinned, their shared humor

cementing their new relationship.
Even Nell Rampton decided to forget her huffiness and she
appeared in Laura's kitchen one Saturday morning with a cake
in her hand.

"Your father liked it when I first baked one for him," she
explained, "and as I made a double mixture this time, I thought
I'd best share it with you, rather than have it grow stale."

"It smells delicious," Laura said truthfully. "I'll make some

coffee to go with it. Or would you prefer tea?"

"Tea, o' course," the woman said stoutly. "Can't let Yorkshire
down by saying I prefer coffee!"

"I won't tell anyone," Laura smiled. "Then coffee it shall be!"

Coming in for lunch earlier than expected, John Winters

surprised the two women together in the kitchen and looked so
delighted that Laura felt a pang of conscience. How deeply her
father wanted her to feel at home here, and how her attitude
must have hurt him. If only she could settle down properly in
Eddlestone and make it her life. Yet this could never be, for her
heart still hankered for a more cosmopolitan life.

"Home is where the heart is," her father exclaimed when she
tried to tell him something of what she felt. "If you fell in love
with someone who lived here, you'd be more than happy to
make Eddlestone your home."

"Well, don't suggest Robert,"she warned.

"I'm not suggesting anyone. That would be the best way of

turning you against them!"

She gave her father a searching look and though he met it with
a bland one, she knew he had been teasing her.

"I suppose you think I'm an exceptionally obstinate female?"

"No more than most." Before she could answer this, he changed
the subject, and she decided not to bring it up again.

Laura's hopes that Tim would spend the Christmas weekend

with them were dashed when he arrived on the Friday night and
said he would be leaving on Saturday.

"But that's hardly any time at all!" she protested.

"I'm here for Christmas lunch. Have a heart, Laura. What can a
fellow do in a dead-and-alive hole like this?"

"Spend a quiet few days with his family," she murmured. "It
would at least make a change! It's ages since you've been
here."

"I've been busy working." Her look was so disbelieving that he

reddened. "Well, not working all the time," he admitted, "but
usually finishing so late that I couldn't face the journey to get
here."

"That's why I was hoping you'd at least stay for the whole
weekend."

"I'll come over next weekend," he said.

"That's New Year's Eve,"she reminded him.

He pulled a face. "I'd forgotten. Well, the weekend after, then.

How will that suit you?"

"Fine." She turned away, knowing that to show further

resentment would only lead to another argument.

Tim had to be taken on his own terms or not at all; and she well
knew what those terms were. Yet despite his faults she loved
him enough to overlook them; loved him too much, perhaps, for
he had used her devotion many times to get him out of scrapes
and would undoubtedly do so again.
"Don't be angry with me," he pleaded. "You can't blame me for
wanting a bit of fun."

"I was going to suggest you come along to a party with Robert
and me."

Tim gave an elaborate shiver. "Spare me from the night life of

Eddlestone! Besides, it inhibits a chap to go to a party with his
sister."

"You're not too inhibited to ask me for help when you need it,"
she could not help saying.

"You'd be angry if I didn't come to you. At least this way you're

always the first to know when I'm in trouble!"

"Am I?" Here was the opportunity she had wanted, and she
took it quickly, lest the moment slip away. "Then perhaps you'll
tell me why you left Grantley's and came up North? And don't
fob me off by saying you wanted to work where you weren't
known as dad's son."

"But it's the truth. I was fed up being under dad's- eye."

"I don't believe you. Be honest with me. Did you do anything
wrong?"

"Yes, I did. I stole the Crown Jewels! "The face so like her own
was suffused with angry color. "Honestly, Laura, if you keep on
nagging at me I won't bother coming home at all!"

" I don't mean to pry,'' she began. "Then don't. And stop telling
me how good you are to me. It's becoming a bore."

She turned away to hide her hurt. How sneering Tim could be,
how forgetful of the innumerable times she had helped him—
often at great expense and trouble. "I'm sorry, Laura."
Unexpectedly she felt his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean
all that rot I just spouted. I'm a bit on edge today. Overwork, I
think. But you know I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

She swung around to look at him, touched by his unusual

display of emotion. "I'm sorry, Tim. I had no right to question
you like that—or to tell you what a good sister I am."

"You've every right," he replied staunchly. "You're a wonderful

sister and I know it. There was a particular reason-that I left
Grantley's but I don't want to talk about it yet. One day I 'll tell
you the whole story."

"That's all right,"she said quickly. "Whenever you're ready."

Immediately after lunch on Christmas Day Tim drove off on his

motorbike, promising to come home for a long weekend early in
January. Laura watched from the gate until she could no longer
see the smoke from his exhaust; then, vaguely uneasy, she
returned to the sitting room where her father was watching
television.

The gray, snow-filled skies that cast their pallid glow over the
deserted streets did not have the strength to illumine the sitting
room; thus the light came from a standard lamp that shed
gentle rays over the silver gray hair of the man. Seen in this
light, John Winters looked almost as carefree as he had before
his wife's tragic death, reminding Laura forcibly that her father
was only fifty-five, with many years ahead of him. Tragic to
think he would have to spend them alone.

Moving forward, she rested against his chair and put her hand
on his cheek. "I'll call Robert and tell him I don't want to go to
the Simpsons' party. I don't feel in the mood."

"You'd have been quite happy to have gone if Tim had stayed
here."

"That's different."

"Why?"
"Tim likes parties."

"Don't you?"

"Not this one. I don't even know the girl who's giving it!"

"I didn't think that mattered these days!"

"It does to me. I hate gate-crashing."

"I'd hardly call it that. After all, you're going as Robert's guest."

"I'd rather stay here. We have masses of cold turkey and I can
make a salad and—"

"I want you to go, Laura. I'd like you to tell me what you think
of Harold Simpson. If you get the chance of meeting him, that
is."

"Curious about Grantley's rival? "she teased.

"Curious about an old friend," her father corrected. "I went to

school with him. And technical college, too."

"You never told me that before. Fancy keeping it a secret."

"It was no secret. But we lost touch when I moved down to

London."

"And you didn't contact him again? Honestly, dad—" she could
not hide her rueful humor "—if you'd worked for him instead of
Grantley's, you might have been on the board by now."

"Or scrubbing the floors! Harold wasn't the easiest chap in the
world to get on with even when he was poor. Lord knows what
he's like now he's made millions."

"Probably charming. He can afford to be!"

"Well, go along tonight and find out. I must admit I'm curious."

"Why haven't you called him since you've been here? He'd at
least know you weren't looking for a job now."

Her father's only reply was a mumble that meant nothing. Not
that he needed to put his answer into words; it was obvious his
reluctance stemmed from a fear of being thought sycophantic.

"Well, you've certainly given me a reason for going to the

party," she said aloud. "Though if Harold Simpson is anything
like his daughter, I'll make sure you steer clear of him!"

A look of surprise crossed John Winters's face. "I'd forgotten he

had a daughter. I thought Beth was giving the party."

"Beth?"

"His sister."

"Hardly a girl," Laura murmured.

"She can't be more than forty. Though I suppose that's old to

you!"

"Not anymore. Now that I'm in my twenties, forty seems

younger every day!" Laura perched beside her father. "How
come she still lives with her brother?"

"Because she isn't married."

"So you have kept in touch with the family!"

He looked sheepish. "Only the bit of gossip I hear through Nell

Rampton. Seems Beth is very popular around here. The money
doesn't appear to have made much difference to her. She has a
full-time job and still uses a bike instead of a car."

"Not like her niece, then. She drives an Alfa Romeo!"

"I thought you said you didn't know her?"

"I don't. But I caught a glimpse of her when Robert and I were
in Manchester a few weeks ago. She was with Mr. Andrews."

"With Jake?" Gray eyebrows rose. "How old would she be?"

"About my age."

"Good-looking?"

"What do you expect me to say?" Laura smiled.

"The truth, of course. There's no reason for you to be biased, is

there?"

"Of course not," she said hastily, then rushed on. "She's pretty
and very glamorous. Long blond hair and very slim… you know
the type!"

"Aye. Sexy."

The word brought Jake vividly to mind and Laura moved

restlessly around the room.

"Fancy Jake going 'round with Harold's lass," John Winters said
half to himself. "Harold could just do with a man of Jake's
knowledge."

"I should have thought the boot was on the other foot."

"Jake doesn't need anyone to help him. Grantley's has already

offered him a directorship. That was why they called him down
to London a couple of months ago. It'll be announced officially
in January."

"Local lad makes good,"she muttered.

"Very much so." Her father took her words at face value. "And
he'll go higher still. Mark my words, lass. Jake will end up
chairman before he's forty.''

Feeling she had endured the conversation long enough, she

moved to the door. "If I'm going to the party, I'd better set my
hair."

"You're pretty enough."

"You're biased!"

Upstairs in her room, she contemplated her clothes and wished

she had asked Robert to find out exactly what sort of party it
was. To arrive in evening dress and then find everyone else in
pants and sweaters was a nightmare she had no wish to
participate in. Going down to the hall, she dialed Robert's phone
number, bracing herself for a tedious chat with his mother, who
made no secret of the fact that she wanted Laura as a
daughter-in-law.

Luckily Robert himself answered the phone, his voice warming

with pleasure as he heard her. "I was just looking at my watch
and wondering how to pass the time till I had to call for you,"
he said.

"You can come over whenever you like. Tim had to go back and
dad cotild do with a bit of cheering up.''

"What about you?"

"I'm in the middle of changing. Which is why I called. I want to

know what to wear."

"As little as possible!"

"Be serious, Robert. Is it a dressy party or casual?''

"Dressed-up casual!"
"Mayfair hippies," she sighed.

"On the nail, my pet." His voice lowered. "What are you wearing
now?"

"A flowered apron and curlers!" She giggled. "In a few more
years you 'll end up a dirty old man."

"It's more fun being a dirty young one!"

"Goodbye," she said firmly. "I'll see you later."

She was still dressing when she heard him arrive and, listening
to her father greet him, was again assailed by conscience. If
only she could get out of the invitation. Not only did she dislike
leaving her father alone on Christmas night, but she also
disliked the thought of meeting Jake Andrews socially.

With a sigh she went downstairs, her ruffled mood slightly

smoothed by the look of admiration on the faces of the two men
as they saw her.

"Will I pass?" she asked.

"With honors!" Robert said, letting his gaze rest on the velvet
trousers that clung tightly to her hips and the long length of her
thighs.

Well pleased with his admiration, she turned to give her father a
hug. "I'll put your supper on a tray and—"

"There's no need for that. Nell popped in while you were

upstairs and asked me to go over there."

"How kind of her."

"I told you you'd be glad of kind neighbors one day!"

Laura smiled. "You're determined to have me eating a 11 my

words, aren't you? "

"I wish I could. But I don't expect miracles. I know you 'll never
settle down here."

"I'm doing my best to make her," Robert interposed.

"Shouldn't we be making a move?" Laura said quickly.

If he sensed her reason for breaking up the conversation,

Robert gave no sign, but helped her into her coat, a golden
suede she had bought herself in a moment of extravagance.
Now she was glad she had done so; at least she would not
arrive at Elaine Simpson's party feeling like a pauper, even
though they might regard her as one!

It was an unexpectedly pleasant night for driving. The streets

were deserted and the skies had cleared, too, leaving the moon
to ride the heavens unattended.

"We're almost there," Robert remarked, and Laura realized they

had left Eddlestone behind and were bowling along a winding
lane with trees on both sides.

"Do the Simpsons have a big house?" she asked.

"Enormous. As the gates indicate!"

He pointed with his hand and she saw they were driving
between massive iron gates that stood sentinel before a wide,
perfectly maintained driveway, bordered with shrubs. The
house, when it finally came into view, was a huge Gothic
mansion redeemed from spookiness by the abundance of lights
that blazed from its windows.

With some trepidation she followed Robert up a wide flight of

steps and into a square hall whose black and white marble floor
served as a foil for exquisite Chippendale furniture. No doubt
that the person responsible for choosing to live in this house
was not the same person responsible for making it habitable!

On each side of the hall, double doors were opened wide,

affording a view of two magnificent rooms filled to overflowing
with people.

"I thought you told me to dress casually," Laura hissed, eyeing

the elaborate gowns of the middle-aged women who appeared
to predominate the throng.

"This isn't our party," Robert whispered good- humoredly.

"iElaine always holds her shindigs in the billiard room. But I
thought you'd like to meet Grant- ley's rival first!"

Hardly had he spoken when a portly, red-cheeked man bore

down on them, and Laura's hand was taken in a grasp as hard
as the wide, thin mouth now smiling at her.

"A Londoner, eh?" Harold Simpson remarked as Robert

introduced her. "And what brings you to these parts?"

"My father works for Grantley Engineering."

She hesitated, reluctant to say her father's full name in case

her host thought she was trying to establish even a semblance
of intimacy. Now at least she could understand why her father
had not wanted to contact his old friend. Wealth like this formed
its own barriers.

"Your father…" Clear blue eyes narrowed. "His name wouldn't be

John, would it? "

"Yes. He… he asked me to send you his regards."

"Did he, indeed! And is that all he intends sending me? I'll have
more to say about that. Where's your father now? Give me his
number and I 'll call him."

" He's with friends," she said hastily.

"Well, tell him from me that I take a poor view of his living here
and not coming to see me."

She said nothing though her swift glance around the opulent
surroundings must have spoken for her, for he gave a grunt and
patted her hand.

"You tell your father that I never expected him to let money
come between us. And also tell him that I'll be along to see him
if he's too much of an inverted snob to come and see me."

"What are you shouting about, Harold?" a plump, cheerful-

looking brunette in her early forties asked as she came to stand
beside them. "I'm Beth Simpson," she explained to Laura. "And
you must be the wonder girl who's running Jake's canteen."

"How do you know?" Laura asked, surprised.

"He told me about you. And I caught a glimpse of you when you
came to the hospital."

"The hospital?"

"I work there," the woman explained. "You were leaving

Matron's office just as I was going in."

"I see." Laura's curiosity got the better of her. "What do you do
there?"

"I'm a sister in surgical."

"Good heavens." "I take it your surprise comes from my having

money yet choosing to be a nurse,'' came the dry comment.

"It does, rather. It's a bit unusual, you must admit. I mean,
nursing's so hard."

"So is staying home twiddling your thumbs." A smile robbed the

words of sharpness. "I'd be bored to death doing nowt but
spending money. This way I'm busy and happy!" She smoothed
her dress down, its shiny blue material doing nothing to
minimize her oversized proportions.

Yet looking at her Laura was struck by the warmth of her face,
with its mobile mouth and bright blue eyes that radiated
cheerfulness. She had no doubt Sister Simpson was a tonic to
all her patients.

"Well, I mustn't keep you away from your party," the woman
went on, then glanced at Robert. "It's a long time since you
were here, young man."

"Elaine has other fish to fry!"

"So have you!"

He grinned. "Can you blame me?"

"Not now I've met the competition!"

Uncomfortably aware of Robert's arm under her elbow, Laura

edged slightly away from him. The last thing in the world she
wanted was to have gossip link her name with his. If she was
not careful, wagging tongues would even be marrying her off!

"Did someone say something about going to the party?" she

asked brightly.

"Sorry," Beth Simpson said, giving her a look of quick

understanding. "Follow me."

Edging their way through a group of new arrivals, they went

down a flight of stairs that ended in a long corridor. It was
colder here and their footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

Laura could not suppress a shiver and the woman apologized

for the change in temperature.
"Harold won't p'qt in central heating down here. Says it's a
waste of money. I keep telling him it costs far more to heat the
billiard room with electric fires, but he's that stubborn."

" Yorkshiremen are," Laura agreed.

"Your father never was!"

"I must tell him you said that!"

"You tell him nothing of the sort!" A slight flush stained Beth
Simpson's cheeks, and moving forward quickly, she opened the
door in front of her. "Join the madhouse!"

The words were in no way an understatement; crammed to

capacity with gyrating figures clothed in a motley assortment of
clothes that ranged from evening dresses and dinner jackets to
leather skirts and jeans, the scene could well have come from
the first act of The Rake's Progress. Music blared from one
corner of the huge room, where a group of five young men was
plucking, beating and pounding on various guitars and drums.

"There's Elaine," Beth shouted above the noise, and reached

out an arm to pull a swaying blond figure from the hold of a
denim-clad man. "Two more guests for you, Elaine. Robert you
know, but I'd like you to meet Laura Winters. Her fatherland
yours were at school together."

"How nice for them!"

The girl's husky voice was a fitting accompaniment to her fragile

appearance. Seen at close range she was even lovelier than
Laura had remembered, her blond hair so silky that it looked
like satin, her long-lashed eyes so green that one might have
been forgiven for thinking she wore contact lenses to give them
false color. Her figure was tiny but perfect, with small rounded
breasts and narrow waist. Only the full, sensuous mouth gave
the lie to her look of innocence. Here was no budding rose
waiting to be picked, but one that was already fully blown.
Possibly Jake Andrews had savored the nectar of this particular
bloom, Laura mused, then hastily cast away the thought.

As though unaware of being scrutinized, the girl fixed her

attention on Robert, her smile wide and artificial.

"How lovely to see you after all this time, darling. I thought you
had forgotten all about me.''

"I could say the same to you," he replied, "except that I know
you don't go fishing for minnows any longer."

"Not now I'm angling for salmon!" Elaine drawled and looked
pleased with herself, as though delighted to know she was the
subject of gossip and conjecture. Swinging around to Laura
again, she flashed her a smile. "Are you here for the holidays,
Miss Winters?"

"I live here with my father. We both work at Grantley's."

"Then you must be the girl Jake told me about—the one who
runs the canteen."

"And doing a great job," Robert intervened before Laura could

reply.

Ignoring him, Elaine continued to look at Laura. "I never

expected you to be so… so…" Scarlet-tipped fingers clawed the
air. "From the way Jake spoke, I thought you'd be some dowdy
lump in tweeds!"

There was no polite reply Laura could have made to this

comment, so she contented herself by looking amused. Jake
Andrews did not find her appealing—that much he had taken
delight in admitting—but she refused to believe that even he
would have described her in such unflattering terms. At a quick
guess she decided Elaine Simpson had not anticipated anyone
to rival her own beauty, and the fact that it had caused her to
be so insulting gave away a great deal about her relationship
with Jake. Obviously she still feared he could be taken away
from her!

"Please don't think I meant to be rude," Elaine apologized in a

little-girl voice. "But I always blurt out what I'm thinking."

"I would never have guessed you do think!" Laura said in the
same little-girl voice.

There was a chuckle behind her and Jake came into view, his
muscular body emphasized by well-fitting slacks and a wool
sweater in an unusual shade of maroon, too dark to be wine,
yet too red to be purple. But it gave warmth to his tanned skin
and increased the blackness of his hair. Beside him, all the
other meijt in the room paled into insignificance, and though
she disliked him deeply, she had to admit that as a purely
physical specimen of manhood, he took a lot of beating.

"Don't hav.e a verbal battle with Laura," he said. "Even I have

difficulty in winning against her!"

"I thought I went out of my way to let you win our arguments,"
Laura said quickly.

"Not so I've noticed." Moving past her, he dropped a light kiss

on Elaine's cheek.

The girl responded with overemphasis, her body moving close

to his, her hand entwining itself around his arm.

"You're late,"she reproached him gently.

"I had to go into the office."

"On Christmas Day! Don't you ever relax?"

"I'm relaxing now," he said and drew her onto the floor.
Held close in his arms she appeared even more fragile, and she
nestled against his shoulder, her face clothed in a look
compounded of languor and triumph. Above the blond head
Jake's gray eyes stared into Laura's, and she turned away from
them quickly, her whole being filled with anger.

"They make a good-looking couple," Beth remarked as she saw

Laura turn. "It would be a good thing if it lasted. Jake's the only
man I know capable of standing up to my niece's tantrums!"

"I hope your niece is capable of standing up to his!"

"Jake doesn't have tantrums," Beth grinned. "Though they do

say you either have to live with a man or work for him before
you know him properly." Blunt- faced, she regarded Laura. "You
sound as if you don't like him."

"He can be difficult," Laura said diplomatically. "And he's a

nonstop worker."

"You make that sound like a vice!"

"It is, if you work with him. Everyone should relax some time."

"Jake would find that harder than most. When you've been the
provider since you were a child, it's almost impossible to learn
there's no longer any need to drive yourself to the limit." Seeing
Laura's puzzlement, she looked rueful. "I can see you don't
know about his background."

"Don't tell me he supported a widowed mother from the time he

was eight!"

"Twelve, actually," Beth said slowly.

Heat radiated through Laura's body. "I… I'd no idea, I only said
it as a joke."

"I gathered that. But it was no joke to Jake."

"But surely that sort of thing—I mean the need to support
someone in that way—died out with the welfare state?"

"The government would like you to think so, but it doesn't

happen to apply to folk in these parts. Men will take the dole if
they can't find work, but there's a limit to how much they'll beg
for anything extra."

"It surely isn't a question of begging?"

A crescendo on the drums made further conversation

impossible, and as it died away, Robert leaned close and
pointed in the direction of the buffet.

"I don't know about you two ladies, but I'm starving."

"No food for me," the older woman said promptly.

"And not too much for me," Laura added, and watched as he
pushed his way through the crowd.

She hoped he would not return until she had had a chance to
question Beth Simpson further; what she had learned about
Jake had astonished her, and she wanted to hear the whole
story without making her curiosity too obvious.

"Mr. Andrews's father must have died when he was very

young," she remarked in a casual tone.

"He ran off," came the correction. "Left Jake and his mother
when the boy was five. No one ever heard of him again. He did
leave some sort of note by way of apology, I believe. Something
about not being able to stand sick women."

"Sick women?"

"Aye. Jake's mother got multiple sclerosis soon after he was

born. Before that she'd been a rare spitfire. Good- looking and
strong."
"You speak as if you knew her."

"I did. She only died a couple of years back. Jake was
marvelous with her. Took her out and about as if she were able
to walk."

"You mean he… !"

Laura was too astonished to continue and Beth Simpson

mirrored her expression. "Why are you so surprised?"

"Because he once said sick women should be treated like horses

and shot!"

Beth gave a dry laugh. "That sounds just like him: making a
joke of the things he cares about most. You won't find a gentler
or kinder man in the county… or anywhere else for that matter."

There was a silence, and as it lengthened Laura glimpsed

Robert at the far end of the room holding two plates and
coming toward her.

Quickly she spoke again. "It must have been hard for him. I
mean he's done so well… going to university and making a
career for himself."

"He worked night and day to achieve it. And he has a first-class
brain. That's always a help! He got every scholarship going.
Won a place to Cambridge but wouldn't take it on account of
not wanting to leave his mother. Went to Manchester University
instead and came home each night When other boys would be
out courting the girls, you'd find Jake wheeling his mum about
and treating her like a queen." Beth's voice was husky. "Never
took a brass farthing from anyone and only bought what they
could afford. Sometimes I felt they had too much pride… felt
they made their lives harder than they need have done."

"I can understand why," Laura said slowly. "If you relied on
someone and they let you down—like the father did—I can see
why you'd decide never to be beholden to anyone again; to vow
that if you can't get something by your own efforts, then you
won't have it at all."

"That's one way of looking at it. Though it'll be a shame if Jake's

of the same mind now."

"What do you mean?"

"See for yourself." A plump arm motioned to where Jake and

Elaine were dancing. Their bodies were close, their feet almost
motionless, so that what should have been an act of dancing
became almost an act of loving. "Elaine wants him," Beth said
unnecessarily, "and Harold hasn't got a son. He's always wanted
Jake to work for him but he could never get him to leave
Grantley's. However, as a son-in-law…"

The anger and contempt with which Laura had first

acknowledged Jake Andrews's friendship with Elaine no longer
seemed valid. It was unlikely that a man who had reached his
present position without accepting help from anyone would be
willing to marry in order to further his ambition. No, if he
married Elaine it would be because he loved her. Wryly she
marveled that he could be so blinded by physical appearance
that he failed to see the shallowness in the green eyes and the
petulance behind the sensual mouth.

"Food's coming up!"

With a start Laura saw Robert at her elbow, balancing two

plates and two glasses of champagne.

"If you women will be kind enough to relieve me of these," he

said, "I'll go and collect the Christmas pudding before it
disappears!"

"No fear of that," Beth laughed. "Harold ordered enough to feed

an army. He's tight about central heating, but never about
food!" She shook her head as Robert went to hand her a plate.
"Not for me, love. After the Christmas dinner I ate I vowed to
starve for a week!"

"Me, too," Laura agreed.

"But you asked me to get you some food," Robert protested.

Laura reddened, recollecting her excuse to get him out of the

way while she questioned Beth about Jake Andrews. "Just a
figure of speech," she said quickly, and dug her fork into a piece
of chicken she did not want.

Even to herself she could not explain her interest in a man she
did not like. Yet perhaps that in itself was the reason: her desire
to find further evidence that he warranted her antipathy.
Unfortunately, the quest had backfired with a vengeance.
Instead of cause to dislike him more, she had been given ample
evidence to show her opinion of him was not only erroneous but
unjustified. Yet not completely unjustified, for he had gone out
of his way to give her a wrong impression of himself. But why?
It was a question she could not answer and her eyes wandered
around the room till they found a pair of broad, maroon-colored
shoulders. A strand of long blond hair trailed across it and she
hastily averted her face.

"How do you like living up here?" Beth's voice broke into Laura's
thoughts and she was glad of it.

"I find it lonely after London. If it weren't for Robert I couldn't

stick it."

"You must come to our next musical evening."

"I never knew there was a music society here."

"Hardly a society. I started it myself last year and it caught on

like wildfire."
Laura looked accusingly at Robert. "Why didn't you tell me
about it?"

"I never knew it existed," he protested.

"I'll let you know when we're holding our next session," Beth
intervened. "It's generally here, but some times we go to other
members' homes. There's potholing too, if you like that sort of
thing."

"I've never tried. But I'd love to have a go." Laura regarded
Robert with suspicion.

"I knew about the potholing," he confessed, "but I never

dreamed you'd like it!"

Tossing her head, Laura looked at Beth. "Please let me know

when you go on an expedition."

"Delighted."

"Mind if I break up the conversation?" Jake was standing beside

them again, Elaine at his side. "How about this dance, Miss
Winters?"

About to refuse, the sight of malevolent green eyes made her

change her mind. "What a lovely idea!" Gracefully she moved
into his arms, not pulling away from him until they were hidden
by a press of people.

"Oh no, you don't," he said, drawing her back into his hold. "I'm
not going to let you escape as easily as that!"

"I wasn't trying to escape," she said coldly. "Merely to dance in

a civilized fashion."

"A yard away from me? You're in the wrong civilization, lass.
Nowadays we dance like this." He lowered his head until his
chin rested on her hair, his arms tight around her body and his
breath warm on her ear.

Knowing he was deliberately baiting her, she refused to rise to

it. Yet never before had she been so physically conscious of a
man as she was of this one. Why did her dislike of him make
her tremble to his touch, make her aware of every movement of
his body?

"So your curls aren't made of steel," he whispered, his lips

against the dark red waves. "They feel like hen's feathers."

Unable to stop herself, she laughed. "You could at least have

said swan's down!"

"And have you accuse me of being a romantic!"

"I could accuse you of many things, Mr. Andrews, but never
that."

"And I could accuse you of being old-fashioned. My name's

Jake."

"I loathe the way people call each other by their first name the
moment they meet."

"You can hardly say we've just met. It's been several months."
His voice grew deeper. "Laura. It's a beautiful name. Calm and
peaceful."

"Like my personality?" she mocked.

"I reckon it could be, if you'd a mind to it. Trouble is you're

always on the defensive with me."

"Your attitude warrants it."

"Don't you feel you're a bit to blame?" She was silent and he
gave her a slight shake. "Come, lass, it's Christmas. Show me a
bit of goodwill."
Knowing it was churlish to refuse—and also because she did not
want to—she smiled up at him.

"You should do that more often," he said softly.

Before she could reply,'the music ended, and as they drew to a

stop they were directly behind Robert and Elaine.

"I'm not letting you go anymore this evening," the girl said to
Jake reproachfully. "You've done more than enough duty
dances. This is a Christmas party, not an office dance!"

Laura gasped at the rudeness and waited expectantly for Jake

to make some cutting retort. But he merely looked amused and,
stepping over to Elaine, gave her a gentle slap on her bottom.

"One day I'll put my hands 'round your pretty little neck and
wring it!" he commented.

"I don't care where you hold me just as long as you do!"

The music began again and Laura moved close to Robert. "I
think we're de trop, darling."

Not looking at Jake, she allowed Robert to guide her away, but:
she followed his steps automatically, conscious only that for a
few moments she had come dangerously close to liking a man
of whom instinct had warned her to beware.

Learning about his past had softened her attitude toward him.
There was nothing like a rags to riches saga to melt a feminine
heart. And the story of the young boy working to support his
mother and never leaving her, no matter how great the
temptation, had been enough to do the trick twice over. Small
wonder she had been taken in by his show of friendliness, not
guessing it to have been prompted by duty toward his able and
competent canteen supervisor!

She was still dancing with Robert when the lights— already dim
—grew considerably dimmer, and amid ribald remarks and the
sound of some high-pitched giggling, the music became slow
and languorous.

"This is more like it," Robert said, and bent his head, his mouth
searching for hers.

She longed to evade him but, knowing that to do so would hurt

him, suffered his kiss in silence. It was not the first time he had
kissed her and she had always been able to show some feeling
—a warmth arising from the liking she felt for him which,
though it had not held the passion he desired, had at least
served to satisfy him. But this time she could not instill any
feelings into her response, and she knew her lack of emotion
had hurt him. Angry with herself, she wondered why she had
found it so difficult to pretend; after all, tonight was no different
from any other.

A husky laugh close by gave the lie to this belief; tonight was
quite different, if only because Jake Andrews was there and she
had been forced to see him in another light. Again there came a
husky laugh and, half turning her head, she saw the faint gleam
of a blond one and a pale, upturned face that, as she watched
it, was covered by a darker, tanned one.

Her feet stumbled and Robert momentarily stopped dancing.

"Anything wrong?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You seem edgy. And, when I kissed you, I had the feeling you
were miles away."

" I'm sorry. I was… I was thinking of Tim.''

It was the first excuse that came into her head, and she was
pleased when Robert accepted it without question.

"I should have guessed," he said, his manner becoming less

strained. "For a while I thought you were fed up with me."

"I wouldn't have come herewith you tonight, if I were. We're

friends, Robert, and I'm very fond of you."

"Is there no chance of—"

"No," she cut in. "My feelings haven't changed in that respect."

"Okay." He braced his shoulders, as though facing an

unpalatable fact, and then changed the subject. "Why are you
worried about your brother?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's because we're twins. When he lived at
home with us I knew his friends and where he went. But now
his whole life seems a secret and—"

"He's not a baby, you know. He has a good job, you said so
yourself, and he's not short of money. That's one sure way of
guaranteeing he won't get into trouble."

"Tim's always short of money," she said shortly. "Sometimes I

think the only reason he comes to see me is so he can borrow
from me!"

"Laura!"

There was such shock in Robert's voice that she instantly

regretted her disloyalty to her brother. Darn Jake Andrews. It
was because of him she was in such a strange, disquieting
mood and, because of it, talking too much.

"Don't take any notice of me," she murmured. "I shouldn't have
said it."

Anxious to stop his questions, she moved closer to him.

Instantly he rested his cheek against hers. His skin was smooth
and she marveled at how easily a man could be swayed by the
purely physical. As Jake was…
The tempo of the music changed again, growing louder and
faster as the lights came fully on again. Laura drew away from
Robert's hold and turned to move off the floor. Unaccustomed to
the brightness, she bumped into a figure, catching her breath
with annoyance as she recognized the feel of the steel-hard
fingers that closed on her arms. -

"Are the stars in your eyes preventing you from seeing me?"

She looked up into Jake's face, her annoyance increasing as she

saw the scarlet stain of Elaine's lipstick across his mouth.

"I can see well enough to know you look a sight!"

His thick eyebrows rose. "How come?"

"Wipe your mouth," she said tersely.

Nonchalantly he took out his handkerchief and did so. "Women

like to leave their mark on a man." His voice was amused.
"You're as guilty of it as Elaine."

Laura swung around, mortified to see a smear of color on

Robert's lips. "Wipe your mouth, too," she said crossly.

The two men looked at each other and laughed, the joint sound
making it appear they were sharing a joke against the female of
the species.

"Beats me why women want to cover themselves with goo,"

Jake said.

"Because it adds to our charm." 'Elaine was by his side, her

hands possessively clutching him.

"You've more than enough charm already."

"Darling." The heart-shaped face tilted toward him and the full
mouth curved invitingly.
Jake shook his head, a slight smile marking his own wide
mouth."Enough'senough, baby."

Laura caught Robert's smile. To see Jake with his face covered
in lipstick was bad enough, but to have to listen to his smug,
self-satisfied conversation was more than she could tolerate.
"It's late, Robert. We must go."

"The party's just beginning," Elaine protested.

"I'm tired." Laura felt bound to make some apology.

"Don't tell me you were busy cooking the turkey!"

"As a matter of fact, I was."

The girl giggled. "How wonderfully domesticated you are! You

make me feel so useless."

"I'm sure you have lots of other qualities."

The slanting green eyes slid to Jake. "Have I,darling?"

"One or two," he replied. "But it wouldn't come amiss if you

could cook as well. Then you'd be the perfect woman!"

With a murmur of delight Elaine gave him a sudden hug, and

from the shelter of his arms stared at Laura. "Perhaps you could
give me some lessons."

"I assume you mean in cooking?"

There was a second's silence, broken by Jake stifling a laugh. "I

warned you not to do battle with Laura."

"I didn't realize we were having a battle." Elaine's voice was

brittle. "What do Miss Winters and I have to fight about?"

"Do two beautiful women need a reason to spit and claw?"

Knowing she had already played into his hands and determined
not to do so any more, Laura smiled widely at Elaine. "I think
we should use our claws on the men, don't you? You
concentrate on Jake and I'll concentrate on Robert."

Momentarily taken aback by Laura's change of attitude, Elaine

quickly reacted to it by planting a lingering kiss on Jake's
mouth.

"Now you're branded," she said huskily. "All I have to do is rope

you in!"

"What about my branding?" Robert asked, catching Laura

around the waist.

"I work better in privacy!" Aware of Jake's watching .her, she

linked her arm with Robert's and gave him a look that rivaled
Elaine's for provocativeness.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Robert did a standing trot.

"Let's get going. I'll be the easiest steer you've ever had to rope
in!"

Keeping a smile of amusement on her face, Laura murmured

her thanks for the party and followed Robert from the room. In
the corridor her gaiety dropped from her like a blanket. The
man at her side did not notice and she wondered wearily what
sort of scene she had let herself in for. Not that she would have
acted any differently if she had the chance again. At least she
had made it clear to Jake how little she cared what he did with
his private life.

"Wait in the hall while I fetch the car," Robert said. "I don't want
you to catch cold."

Nodding agreement, she went in search of her coat. It was on a

rack in the large cloakroom, cheek by jowl with minks and
sables. Idly she stroked her hand over a gleaming dark pelt, the
fur like velvet against her skin.

"Try it on."

Beth spoke behind her and Laura turned to see the woman
framed in the doorway.

"It'll probably swamp you but at least it will give you some idea
of what sable is like to wear!"

"I'll stick to my suede, thanks."

"Are you anti fur coajts? Lots of people are."

"I haven't thought about it. If I say I am, it might sound like
sour grapes!"

"Not coming from you," Beth responded thoughtfully. "You don't

strike me as being envious."

"You don't know me." "

"Call it feminine intuition. The same intuition that told me you

didn't like Jake."

Laura avoided the brown eyes. "Was that why you told me
about him?"

"Partly. At lot of folk are apt to misunderstand him. And he

doesn't go out of his way to make himself liked."

"He doesn't care what people think of him."

"He cares too much," Beth corrected. "I thought you were a
sufficient judge of character to know that."

Laura hesitated, then said impulsively, "He and I started off on

the wrong foot. And once that happened…"

"Perhaps it will be better after tonight."

"I doubt it. Anyway, I only see him when he wants to complain
about something!"

Together they walked into the hall where Robert was waiting by
the front door.

"I couldn't bring the car right up to the steps," he apologized.

"Too many Rolls' in the way! But I've parked a few yards down."

Laura held out her hand to Beth. "Don't forget to let me know
about the next musical evening."

"I won't. And the potholing, too."

Holding on to Robert's arm, Laura walked down the slippery

pavement. As they turned a curve, a small red sports car
skidded around a bend in the driveway and shot past them,
skidding slightly and missing Laura's legs by inches.

With a shout of fear Robert pushed her hard, sending .her

sprawling to the ground but safe. In front of them the car
screeched to a stop, its front end resting in the shrubbery.

"Where do you think you're driving?" Robert burst out furiously.

"The Monte Carlo Rally?"

Some five or six people tumbled from the car in a flurry of fur
coats and leather jackets, their voices loud in the clear air.

"Old fogey! "one of them called. "Don't you know it's

Christmas?"

"And likely to be your last if you go careering around like

madmen!" Robert shouted back.

There was a burst of jeering laughter, and Laura, struggling to

her feet, saw Robert about to lunge forward.
"Don't, "she pleaded. "There are too many of them."

"They're drunk. I can at least give a couple of them the pasting

they deserve."

"Just you try it," a swaying young man called across the
darkness.

Despite the slurred voice Laura knew a stab of recognition.

Slowly she moved forward until she was level with the speaker,
her anger rising as her suspicions were confirmed and she
recognized the dark red hair and finely chiseled features of her
twin.

"How dare you talk like that?" Her voice was low with disgust.
"Haven't you even got the decency to apologize, or don't you
care that you might have killed someone? "

"Laura!" Tim swayed in front of her. "I didn't know it was you."

"What difference does that make? You're driving a car when

you're too drunk even to stand up straight!"

"I just took the bend too fasht. Too fast," he corrected himself
solemnly.

"And too drunk," she repeated. "Whose car is it?"

"Mine,"a girl answered. "Tim always drives it."

Turning to the speaker, Laura saw someone who could almost

have been a carbon copy of Elaine Simpson; not as pretty
perhaps, but with the same air of money and insolence.

"Then you should have had more sense, too," she said angrily.
"Neither of you is fit to be in a pram, let alone a car!"

"Stuff it, will you?" Tim said angrily. "No one was hurt."
"Someone could have been hurt—killed even."

With an incoherent mutter he swung to the girl by his side.

"Meet my twin sister—three minutes older than me and that
makes her my keeper!"

"How right you are," Laura said, catching his arm. "The best
thing you can do is to come home with me. Robert's car is over
there and—"

"Stuff it!" Tim said rudely. "I'm not going home with anybody
yet."

As he spoke, the girl by his side draped herself around his

shoulders. "Come on, Timmy. We're missing the party."

"Don't," Laura burst out. "Come home with me, Tim."

"Go 'way," he said angrily.

"Leave him alone, Laura." Robert was standing beside her, his
expression mirroring her own distress.

"That's right,"Tim grinned drunkenly. "Do what the boyfriend

says. Boss him instead." Giving her a slight push, he turned and
staggered toward the house.

Laura took a step forward but was restrained by Robert.

"Ifyou go after him now he'll turn ugly."

"He's ugly already," she said bitterly and, blinded by tears,

allowed herself to be led over to the car.
 CHAPTER SIX
In the following weeks Tim diplomatically stayed way from
Eddlestone. Laura wondered if her father would remark on his
absence, but he said nothing and gave no outward sign of being
worried by it.

True to his word, Harold Simpson made the first overture to his
old friend, calling at the house one evening without even
bothering to telephone.

"I knew if I called you, you'd find some excuse for putting me
off," he explained, laughing at the sight of John Winters's
discomfiture. "You always were proud and obstinate."

"Not too proud to welcome a friend."

"That's good to hear. Once you get brass, you start wondering
who your real friends are. I don't have that sort of problem with
you."

From then on the two men saw each other regularly, and Laura
was particularly pleased when her father went to visit Harold
Simpson, for it forced him into some social life instead of the
continual round of engineer's workshop and home.

From Beth she heard nothing, and as the weeks passed, she
wondered if the woman had forgotten her promise. Then one
lunchtime, during her busiest hour in the canteen, she received
a telephone call from her.

"Sorry about not getting in touch with you," Beth apologized,

"but I've been rushed off my feet at the hospital. Half our
nurses have been down with flu."

"We've had the same problem here."

"Then you must be terribly rushed. I won't keep you. I just
wanted to let you know we're going caving this Saturday."

"Saturday," Laura echoed. "That would suit me fine. I need

some exercise to blow the cobwebs away!"

Jotting down the time and place of rendezvous on the pad in

front of her, she straightened to see Jake standing beside the
cash desk, a loaded tray in his hands. Quickly she tore the
sheet of paper off the pad and put it into her pocket, at the
same time adding up the price of his meal.

"I'd like to talk to you," he said as he paid her. "How about

having lunch with me?"

"This is my busiest time." She paused. "Or are you giving me an

order?"

"A humble request."

Reddening, she signaled one of the girls to take her place and
followed him to a table. He set out his lunch and picked up his
knife and fork. "Why don't you get yourself something to eat at
the same time?''

"I never bother with lunch."

"You should. You're getting too thin."

"Elaine's thinner than I am."

The moment she had spoken she could have kicked herself, for
he grinned broadly.

"She's not the same type as you. Redheads should be curvy."

"I'm sure you didn't ask me over to discuss my figure."

"I didn't. We can do that another time." He put down his fork.
"How are you settling down in Eddlestone?"

She did not hide her surprise at his question. "I'm getting used
to it. Why?"

"Then it's not you that's worrying your father," he muttered,

ignoring her question. "I thought it might have been."

Only then did she understand the reason for his curiosity. "What
makes you think he's worrying?" "I can tell from his manner.
There's summat on his mind. That's for sure."

"It was early in February that my mother was killed," Laura

murmured. "He may be thinking of that."

Jake rubbed the side of his face. "No, lass. He wouldn't let that
effect his work. It's several years since your mother died."

"Does that make his grief any the less?" she flared. "Or don't
you ever think of your mother now she's dead?"

He lost color visibly. "You know where to hit, don't you?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"I asked for it."

It was the nearest he had come to making an apology and her

tension eased. "If you'd like me to have a word with dad….."

"No. Let's wait and see."

She pushed back her chair. "If you've finished with me…”

A dark eyebrow lifted, making his expression sardonic. "I

haven't started yet, lass."

Hurriedly she returned to the counter, pushing his last words

out of her mind because she did not want to try to make sense
of them.

That night, over supper, she deliberately forced her father into
making more conversation than usual and could not find any
reason to agree with Jake's earlier comments.

But later, as she sat in an armchair sewing, she glanced up and

saw a deep frown marking his forehead. It was a sure indication
that something was on his mind and tentatively she asked him
if he were worrying about anything.

"I've always got problems," he said abruptly. "But nothing for

you to concern yourself over."

"It's good to share your problems," she said. "That's what you
Ve always told me."

"Because I'm your father." He made an attempt at jocularity.

"But the boot can't go on the other foot!"

"I don't see why not. I may be able to help you if—"

"No, Laura. There's nothing you can do. I'll sort it out myself."

Accepting the uselessness of probing further, she lapsed into

silence. Jake was right, it seemed. Something was worrying her
father and she must find out what it was. But subtly. If she
pretended not to notice her father's attitude, he might relax and
give something away.

"You should get out more," he said into the silence.

"I'm going caving this weekend. Beth called me today and

invited me."

"She's a fine woman. Beats me why she never married."

"Perhaps she prefers being single."

John Winters looked ironic. "You'll never convince me any
woman feels that!"

"Then I'll change the subject before we come to blows." Laura

smiled. "How about another cup of coffee?"

The following Saturday dawned bright and crisp and, in slacks

and sweater, she set out to meet Beth at the bus stop. A crowd
of others ready for potholing was already there and her heart
pounded as she saw Jake among them.

"As you know Jake," Beth said cheerfully, "I've suggested he be

your instructor."

"I didn't know caving was one of your hobbies." She spoke
more coolly than she felt, annoyed with Beth for deliberately
singling Jake out to escort her.

"There are lots of things you don't know about me," came his
cheerful answer.

"Jake used to be one of our regulars," Beth intervened. "But

this is the first time he's come along in months."

Convinced he had done so only because he had overheard her

make arrangements to join the expedition, Laura was equally
convinced he was waiting to see her make a fool of herself at a
sport in which he was no doubt an expert. The thought put her
on her mettle and during the drive out to the moors she grew
more and more tense, eager to get started and show him that
even though she was inexperienced, she was not a coward.

When they finally reached the mouth of the cave, after a long
walk in a wind that had unexpectedly grown sharp, she was
trembling both with cold and fear, and as she waited for the
safety line to be secured around her she wished with all her
heart that she was safely at home. Desperately she glanced
around and found Jake at her side.
"You'll be fine once you get going," he said. "It's always racking
the first time."

She opened her mouth to disagree, then decided it was

pointless to lie.

"It'syour turn, lass," he said, and gave her a slight tap on the
shoulder.

Laura stepped forward and, grasping the rope ladder that

snaked down the narrow chimney to the labyrinth below, began
her descent.

From the mouth of the cave it had not looked as if the

downward climb would be difficult, but as she went deeper the
shaft grew narrower, and with the dimming of daylight that this
caused, it was hard to avoid the projecting rock edges. Several
times she bruised herself against them, but at length she
reached the bottom of her first pothole and relaxed with a
heartfelt sigh.

When everyone was down and the safety lines coiled, flashlights
were brought out and they moved slowly along the low tunnel
that connected their cavern with the vast range of caves
beyond. As the small patch of blue sky grew smaller, Laura was
filled with panic at being cut off from the world above and could
well understand why Robert had flatly refused to join her.
Indeed, had it not been for the knowledge that Jake was
directly behind her, she would have given up there and then.

"Do people do this for fun?" she gasped as they bent double in
order to inch their way along a tunnel.

"Depends if they're masochists or sadists!" Jake chuckled. "But

believe me, you're in luck today. I've known this place half-full
of water."

"That'sall I need!"
"Suspend judgment for the moment. It's the end result that
counts. Look!"

As Jake spoke, someone threw on a light switch and arc lamps

suspended from a high, vaulted ceiling lit up a sight of
breathtaking beauty.

Straightening, Laura saw she was at the entrance of a cavern as

vast as an opera house, with innumerable grottos leading from
it at various levels. No human hand could have wrought
columns as intricate in design as the stalactites and stalagmites
created by Nature thousands of years ago, and the splendor
robbed her of fear.

"It's fantastic! Like a palace."

"I always expect to see Oberon and Titania," Jake replied. "A
much better setting for them than a forest."

It was an unusual but intriguing thought and she was forced to

admit it. "A pity it has to be spoiled by electric lights, though."

"Safer than torches! But don't worry, this is the only cave that's
been tamed. From here on we fan out among the side channels
and we have to rely on batteries." He grinned at her. "For the
rest of the day you'll be in my power."

"I'd prefer Eveready!"

"Still sharp with the answers, aren't you?"

Ignoring the comment, she followed him as he led the way

down a gloomy cavern. He kept up a steady but fairly fast pace
that required all her concentration. She lost all sense of time
and, as she scrambled through a twisting world of tunnels, she
lost all sense of direction, too. Only one urge predominated: to
go on, to see what was around the corner.

"It's time we were getting back," Jake said at last.

Laura turned to obey him and, as she did so, noticed an
opening in the rock above her shoulder. "I wonder where that
leads?"

He grinned, his teeth white in the gloom. "I can see you've
caught the pothole virus!" Crouching low, he motioned her to
use his back as a ladder. Forgetting all embarrassment she did
so, scrambling through the opening and waiting until he swung
himself up after her.

They crawled forward for a few yards but soon the channel
widened sufficiently for them to walk upright. In the distance
came the sound of a subterranean waterfall and she quickened
her pace, stopping with a gasp of irritation as she found her
way blocked by a large boulder.

"Looks as if we've come to the end of the road," Jake said.

"I'd love to see the waterfall. I'll try to squeeze past."

Carefully she edged through the narrow gap and had just
rounded the side of the big rock when the ground moved
beneath her feet. With a scream she clutched at the boulder,
her arms taking the weight of her body as the earth gave way
even more.

"Hold on and don't move!" Jake shouted and tried to squeeze

after her. But the gap was too small, and though he strained
every muscle, the boulder was too firmly lodged to move even a
fraction.

Gingerly Laura moved one foot. The ground beneath her shook
and she heard the sound of stones falling, the noise continuing
for what seemed an interminable length of time before they
finally ceased their journey far below.

" I must be hanging over another cavern,'' she gasped.

"I know. Keep as still as you can. I'll try to get through."
"You'll never make it."

He did not answer and she heard the rustle of clothing. Too
frightened to speak, she waited. The strain of supporting her
weight on her arms was beginning to tell on her and the dull
ache in her shoulders was fast becoming an agony that
threatened to destroy rational thought

"I can't hold on much longer,"she whispered.

"You must!"

Suddenly his breathing was nearer, and though petrified to turn

her head, she saw from the corner of her eyes one shoulder
inching between the rocky wall and the boulder. Every muscle in
her body throbbed with the effort of holding her weight and she
knew that unless Jake could reach her soon she would have to
let go. How far did the ground stretch below her? Was it a few
feet or a hundred yards? Sweat stung her eyes and snaked
down the back of her neck.

"I can't hold on," she repeated. "My arms… I can't manage it."

"You've got to! It won't be long now." Inch by inch he squeezed

closer until they were separated only by a few feet. "I can't get
any nearer." His breathing was labored, signifying the effort he
had made. "You'll have to let go of the rock with one hand and
stretch it up for me to grab you."

"I can't let go."

"It's your only chance."

"Suppose you miss it?"

"I won't—not if you hold your arm out straight. Now do as I

say."
Petrified, she could not bear to let go of the boulder, even
though the pain of holding on to it was intensifying with every
second. "I can't, Jake… No!"

"Do it," he ordered. "Do it, you stupid fool!"

Stung into anger by his gibe, she let go of the rock with one
hand and swung it toward him. The movement dislodged more
earth beneath her feet and the ledge on which she was
balancing gave way completely. She felt herself sliding down
and screamed out sharply, her voice jerking into a yelp of pain
as Jake gripped her hand and arm and took the full weight of
her body.

"Don't move, Laura." His voice was strained and thin, as though
pulled taut by the same pressure that was pulling his muscles
and hers. "I can't squeeze forward any farther and I can't bend
to lift you. All I can do is to inch back and pull you with me. If
your feet can find something to step on—a stone or a small hole
to give you a toehold—it will ease your weight… for me and for
yourself."

"I'll try," she gasped, and gingerly explored with one foot and
then with the other, all the time aware of the strain she must be
for him and of the screaming pain of the muscles in her
shoulder.

"Found anything?" he panted.

"No. I'll try again."

Slowly she inched her foot along the rocky wall. It felt smooth
with no foothold anywhere. Suddenly her toe scraped against
something and she carefully rested part of her weight on it. It
did not give way and she rested her foot on it completely.

"Good girl," Jake said, instantly feeling the relief. "Now I can
move a bit faster. But try to press your whole body against the
rock. That will stop you from swinging."

Laura could never afterward remember the next few moments,

compounded as they were of panic, relief and then panic again
as her foot lost its hold and her entire weight was once again
taken by her throbbing muscles. But inch by inch Jake levered
her up until at last her body was on a level with his. One foot
reached safety and then the other, and shaking with tension,
she was able to squeeze through the gap and reach the haven
of firm ground.

Only then did she see Jake clearly. In order to get as far past
the boulder as he could, he had stripped to the waist, and his
chest was bleeding profusely where the skin was scraped
against the rock.

"You're hurt!" she cried.

"It's nowt to worry about." All at once he pulled her close.

"The… the main thing is you're safe," he said jerkily. "For a
moment I thought you weren't going to make it."

His cheek rested against hers and she felt the sweat on his skin.
Then with a convulsive movement he turned his face and
sought her lips.

As the hard pressure of his mouth came down on hers, Laura

was filled with a deep sense of gratitude. If it weren't for Jake,
she might be lying lifeless in some deep well of darkness. Her
arms crept around his neck and she drew him close. His own
arms tightened their hold on her and the pressure of his mouth
increased, forcing her lips apart. Yet forcing was the wrong
word, for her lips opened willingly, eagerly, as her body yielded
to his and the gratitude she felt changed to an urgent, more
primitive need.

"Laura," he groaned. "I want you… darling…"

"Jake!" she whispered. Buoyed by ecstasy, she did not know if
she had spoken his name aloud or if she had imagined it, for
the word was suddenly echoing down the tunnel.

"Jake… Jake! Where are you?"

It was Beth, her voice distorted by distance yet serving to bring

them back to reality.

Jake's arms dropped away from Laura's body and she leaned
against the wall for support.

"We're all right, Beth," he called. "We're coming!"

In the gloom he bent his head to Laura, and she found it

difficult to read his expression, yet sensed it held concern.

"I'm fine,"sheassured him.

"Good." He caught her arm. "There's no need to mention what

happened. I 'll have a quiet word with Beth and see that this
section is roped off."

"But you saved my life. If it hadn't been for you, I'd be-"

"There's no cause to make a fuss over what I did," he

interrupted. "Anyone else would have done the same. These
sort of things often happen."

"You mean people nearly plunge to their death every time they
go potholing? Honestly, Jake, give me credit for a bit of sense.
What you did was marvelous."

"I still don't want you to say anything. Promise?"

Reluctantly she nodded and he led the way back, pausing

before they reached the lighted cavern to wipe some of the
blood from his chest and put on his shirt.
Laura watched his every move as though she was in a dream.
She could think of nothing except the way he had kissed her
and the emotions that this had aroused in her. How wise the
poets were to speak of love being akin to hate. If she had not
been blinded by her dislike of Eddlestone, she would have
realized far sooner why she had feared Jake's strength and
ability; why she had always hated him for being right in
everything he did.

"I love him," she whispered to herself. "I love him!" The
admission was so new that she could hardly absorb its
implications. Pondering on all it meant, she scrambled up the
last few yards of tunnel and regained the mouth of the cave.

Never had the sky seemed so blue nor the air so fresh. Deeply
she breathed it, savoring the joy of being alive and knowing
that but for Jake she might be dead. Her heart full of happiness,
she turned toward him, waiting for him to speak.

But Beth bore down on them and Jake moved over to talk to
another couple. Following Laura's eyes, Beth smiled.

"Was he a good teacher?"

"Excellent."

Laura marveled that her voice could be so lacking in expression,

but obviously her face must have given her away, for Beth took
a step forward, her body blocking the view of Jake.

"What happened down there, Laura? You look shattered."

"I almost…"Laura stopped, remembering her promise to Jake. "I

found it rather overpowering… frightening almost."

"Will this be your last outing with us, then?"

"Certainly not!"
The words were so emphatic that Beth laughed. "Good. Having
you along means we can expect Jake as well."

"What makes you so sure?''

"He loves teaching people. Especially if he feels they're

enthusiastic. I'm surprised Elaine didn't come along." The
somewhat plain face widened into a smile, giving the woman
unexpected charm. "Not that she'll stay away once she learns
you'll be coming regularly. If she___ " Beth broke off as the
sound of a car was heard, and turning her head, she gave a
snort of amusement. "What did I tell you? Here comes my
devoted niece now! I knew she wouldn't leave Jake alone for
long."

In silence Laura watched as the Alfa Romeo drew abreast of

them, its engine purring like a tiger, almost as if Elaine herself
were stating her pleasure in having found them.

"Jake darling!" she called, waving her hand. "Am I on time?"

"To the second." He sauntered over to the car and leaned

against the door. Only then did he turn to look at Laura. "We'll
give you a lift back. You must be all in after your first climb.''

Trembling with a mixture of emotions, of which the predominant

one was humiliation, Laura shook her head. "I'll go with the
others, thanks. I'm not a bit tired."

"I still think you should come with us.''

Inflamed by the intimacy of the word "us," she shook her head
more forcibly. "I tell you I'm fine. I'd prefer to stick with the
crowd anyway."

A spark of anger lit the gray eyes, then with a curt nod to Elaine
he strode across to Laura. "Come back in the car. You look pale
as a ghost."
"Don't give me orders." Unwilling to let anyone know they were
arguing, she kept her voice low, but the vehemence was
unmistakable. "Go off with your girl friend. You've done your
duty for the day."

Aware of Beth still close by, Jake frowned. "I didn't make any
arrangements to be collected. It was left open and- "

"Jake! "Elaine called. "If we don't hurry, we'll be late for the
film."

"You'd better go," repeated Laura coldly and walked over to

where Beth had tactfully withdrawn herself.

For an instant Jake hestitated, then he moved to the car,

climbed in and was driven off.

"What was all that about?" Beth asked as the sound of the
engine died away. "Why were you and Jake arguing?"

"Jake was annoyed because I didn't want a lift."

"I'm sure Elaine didn't want to give you one, either! What got
into him? He isn't usually daft."

"Perhaps he thinks a bit of competition will do your niece good."

"Elaine doesn't need to be made any keener. She's crazy about

him already. And the harder he plays to get, the keener she
becomes."

"Then he's doing the right thing," Laura said tartly.

"Jake isn't putting on an act. But he won't let himself be pushed

into a situation until he's made up his own mind about it."

Not trusting herself to answer, Laura began to walk down the

path.
For the rest of the day her mood alternated between anger at
Jake's behavior and anger with herself for not giving him the
benefit of the doubt. Suppose he had not known Elaine was
going to collect him and had wanted to give her a lift back in
the hope he could part company with Elaine once they returned
to Eddlestone? Yet against this was the way Elaine had warned
him they would be late for the cinema, a fact that bespoke a
commitment on his part to spend the evening with her.

But then why shouldn't he have made a date with Elaine? When
he had decided to go potholing he had not known what was
going to happen; it was probably as much of a revelation to him
as it had been to her to discover the passion they could arouse
in each other. Yet if this were so, surely he would telephone her
the moment he could? Even if he could not leave Elaine tonight,
he would want to make sure that they met tomorrow.

But the evening passed without a word from him and at

midnight she went to bed and tried to sleep, assuring herself he
would come and see her in the morning.

Before the sun was up Laura was busy in the kitchen, baking
coconut cakes—Jake's favorite—and making the Sunday lunch,
doing anything and everything she could to keep her mind
occupied. Yet always Jake's face was in front of her, his gray
eyes quizzical, his wide mouth curved in the ironic smile she
had come to know so well.

"You're up early," her father commented, coming into the

kitchen at half-past nine and staring at the batch of cakes on
the table. "Are we expecting visitors?"

"I felt like baking." She gave him a kiss. "Bacon and eggs or
pancakes? "

"Neither. I'll settle for these." He helped himself to a warm

coconut cookie and buttered it liberally. "Delicious," he went on.
"Pity Jake won't be here to taste 'em today."
Surprised, she almost dropped the teapot she was filling. "How
do you know he won't?"

"Because he's meeting one of our directors in Manchester this

morning. There's a big government contract in the offing and
Jake has an idea how we can tender a cut-price offer."

Laura put the teapot on the table. So that ended her hopes of
seeing him today.

"What's wrong?" her father asked. "You've lost your smile."

The ringing of the telephone brought it back with such brilliance

that John Winters gazed after her in astonishment as she darted
into the hall like a whirlwind to pick up the receiver.

"Hello, Laura," said Beth. "I'm calling to see if you and your
father would like to come over for tea this afternoon."

Forcing back her disappointment, Laura murmured that she was

too tired to go out anywhere, but that she was sure her father
would accept Not for anything in the world did she intend to
leave this telephone today!

"If you change your mind, come along with him," Beth went on.
"Elaine won't be there, if that makes any difference."

Laura's pulses jumped. "I don't object to your niece, Beth."

"Don't you? I wasn't sure. Anyway, she's in Manchester for the

day."

The breath seemed to leave Laura's body, and automatically

concluding the conversation, she replaced the telephone and
returned to the kitchen. Beth's casual remark about Elaine had
sounded the death knell to all her hopes, bringing the mirage of
happiness to a shattering end. And mirage was exactly the right
word! Only a fool would have read so much into a casual kiss,
have seen it as a sign of love instead of propinquity. How could
she have allowed herself to respond to Jake like an infatuated
schoolgirl? Remembering the way she had shamelessly shown
her feelings, she burned with mortification.

"What's wrong, Laura?"

Her father's voice made her realize she had been standing
motionless by the doorway, and she hurriedly crossed to the
oven and opened the door.

"It was Beth," she mumbled. "She's invited us over for tea."

"Good. The break will be nice for you."

"I can't go. I've some things to do here."

"Don't be silly. Of course you must come."

"No!"

The sharpness of her tone silenced any further remon- stration,

and after a moment she heard her father scrape back his chair
and leave the room. She sighed and leaned against the counter.
Poor dad, what a trial she had been to him since she had
arrived here. Parents had a right to expect some peace of mind
once their children had reached maturity, yet here she was
acting like a teenager in a tantrum. But at least her father
didn't know the reason for her unhappiness. He probably
believed it was still due to her living in Eddlestone; and no
doubt he was even now blaming himself for her mood.

Calling his name, she hurried after him and found him halfway
up the stairs.

"Yes, lass?"

"I'm not unhappy about living here," she blurted out. "I don't
wantyou to think that."
"But you're unhappy about something?"

"It's nothing much. Feminine nonsense really." She forced her

voice into a higher key, hoping it would rob it of its flatness.
"You know what women are like—up one minute and down the
next!"

"Aye, I certainly do."

He continued on his way upstairs and Laura returned to the

kitchen. Only ten o'clock. Five more hours before she could be
alone in the house and give vent to her misery.

Yet even after her father had departed for the Simpsons' she
found it impossible to give way to tears and, dry-eyed and
depressed, she wandered from room to room, finally forcing
herself to sit down and look with unseeing eyes at the
television.

It was a relief when her father called her to say he had been
invited to stay on for supper, and assuring him she was fine on
her own, she went back into the living room, her body still
shaking from the expectancy that the telephone bell had
aroused in her. Fool that she was to think it might have been
Jake. Hadn't Beth's comment about her niece rushing off to
Manchester been sufficient to stop her from thinking his kisses
had meant anything other than a momentary passion, caused
no doubt by relief that she had not been killed?

She buried her head in her hands. To go from hate to love had
been such a sudden swing of mood that she wondered if it was
only transient. Perhaps tomorrow she would wake up to find she
did not care what he did or with whom he did it.

Yet as she hoped this was true, she knew it wasn't. Love once
given—even though it had been unsought for—could not easily
be retrieved. She was in for a rough time, and the quicker she
could learn to dislike Jake again, the better for her peace of
mind.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
On Monday morning it required all Laura's willpower to go to
the factory, and she was shaking with nerves as lunchtime drew
near. Should she make an excuse to leave the canteen before
Jake came in or should she remain and deliberately force
herself to serve him? She longed to run away, if only for that
day, but knew that if she did, her eventual meeting with him
would be all the harder.

Because of this, she greeted him with a cool smile when he

finally presented himself in front of her, tray in his hand.

"How are you feeling today?" he inquired. "Haven't lost your

nerve for more potholing?"

"Certainly not, "she said.

"Good. I look forward to taking you again. Aside from your

nearly killing yourself, it was one of the best days I've spent in
a long while." He leaned closer. "Come and join me for a cup of
coffee."

"I haven't time." She avoided his eyes. "But I want to thank you
for saving my life."

"You've already thanked me… and in a way I'll not forget."

She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, hating him for
taunting her in this Way. "I think we… I think we should forget
what happened in the cave."

"Why?" He leaned closer, proximity making him look bigger and

broader. "Not angry with me because I kissed you, are you?"

"Why should I be?" Mustering all her pride, she gave him a
sardonic smile. "Kisses don't mean anything these days."
"I had the feeling mine did, as far as you were concerned."

Conscious of the humorous curve of his mouth, her humiliation

was strengthened by anger.

"Don't be naive, Jake. Just because I responded to you doesn't

mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"This time he was smiling openly. "Then I'll always

know where to come when I want a bit of extra snogging!"

She glared at him. "What a horrible word!"

"How about petting then? Or do you prefer smooching? There

are plenty of words to choose from."

"And plenty of other girls for you to choose from, too."

"Meaning?"

"That I'd like you to leave me alone."

"Suits me." With a nod he moved away, and the moment she
could, Laura left the cash desk and went to her office.

Her encounter with Jake had shaken her, and it was an effort to
get through the rest of the day. But at last the five o'clock
hooter sounded and she collected her things and hurried blindly
down the corridor.

"Just the girl I want to see!" said Robert, stepping into her path.
"I've managed to get tickets for the preview of a new play in
Manchester and I'd like to take you."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

Out of the corner of her eye she glimsped a pair of broad

shoulders emerging from the personnel manager's office. The
thumping of her heart told her it was Jake, and she made
herself speak in a loud and happy voice.

"Sounds lovely, Robert. Honestly, you're the only civilized man

around here!"

"I'm glad you finally appreciate my worth!"

Quickly she began to walk again, losing her vitality the moment
they were outside the building. She longed to tell Robert
she'had changed her mind but knew it was the worst thing for
her to do. She must go out often and not give herself time to
mope.

In the next few weeks Laura saw Robert nearly every evening,
and it was not until Nell Rampton commented on it that she
realized everyone in Eddlestone was anticipating their
engagement. Faced with increasing gossip on the one hand, or
more evenings alone on the other, she did the next best thing
possible and, cutting down on her meetings with Robert, started
to spend more time with Beth.

What began as a safety measure—for she had considered the

woman too old for her to become a close friend- soon
developed into a genuine affection, and she found herself
happier in Beth's company than in Robert's more demanding
one. Only when mention was made of Elaine did she find it
difficult to hide her feelings, but sensing Laura did not like her
niece, Beth rarely referred to her.

"What's happened to your music society?" Laura asked one

evening when she and Beth were coming home from a visit to
the cinema.

"We're having a meeting on Sunday. I was going to tell you."

"I might not be able to make it Tim said he might be over for
the day."

"Bring him along, too."

"He prefers pop!"

"Then come over when he leaves. We generally go on till

midnight."

" I won't promise. It depends what time he goes."

But as usual Tim's stay in Eddlestone was short, and five o'clock
saw him speeding away again on his motorbike.

"One day he'll run out of excuses for leaving here early," his
father said sourly.

"You can't blame him," Laura said stoutly. "Being with us is a bit
like bread and bread!"

"I thought bread was the staff of life?"

"You don't need a staff for support when you're twenty-three!"

"Maybe not." There was a sigh. "What are you going to do with
yourself now?"

She hesitated. "Beth's having a musical evening but I'm… I'm a

bit tired and I'll stay in."

"Pity. She asked me to come with you."

"You?"

"Why not?"

"No reason at all." Laura was suddenly jubilant. "We'll go as

soon as I've changed."

"You've changed your mind, too," he commented with a

chuckle. "I'll never get used to the female mind."

"How sensible of you » realize that!"

"I'm a sensible man."

"I know." She bent and kissed the top of his head. "I hope I've
inherited some of your sense."

"You have, "he assured her. "Too much of it, I think. I wish you
were more romantic."

"About men, you mean?"

He nodded. "It's time you settled down and looked after

someone else instead of me."

"I prefer to look after you. I've no intention of being an unpaid

housekeeper and bed warmer!"

"Men could say they don't want to be regarded as providers of

security," her father rejoined. "And both suppositions are
wrong. Most couples marry for much simpler reasons."

"Such as?"

"Love. And that can mean different things depending on your

age and wisdom. Passion or companionship— ideally both, of
course—and the knowledge that with one particular person you
can achieve a communion of feeling that will wipe out all your
loneliness."

His voice trailed away and he searched for his tobacco pouch,
concentrating on filling his pipe and avoiding his daughter's
eyes. Yet he had given away more of himself than he realized,
and Laura knew that the years of mourning her mother had
passed for him, and that emotions, long dead, were now
returning to life, bringing with them the need for all the things
he had just mentioned so passionately. Companionship,
closeness with a partner, the sharing of mutual pleasures. In
the past, work had been enough for him; now he needed more.

"Put on your navy suit," she said. "It makes you look
distinguished."

"Slacks and sweater are fine," he replied. "I've no hope of

attracting the dolly birds, even if I change clothes!"

"Don't be so sure. Fifty-five is a glamorous age." She saw his

expression and said quickly, "I was kidding. You 'll do perfectly
in slacks."

So it was that later that evening she and her father sat in Beth's
crowded sitting room and listened to Beethoven's Pastoral
Symphony. The beauty of the music did much to ease the
tension that had now become an accepted part of her life, and
as she relaxed in an armchair she felt calmer than she had for a
long while.

As the last movement neared its end she slipped quietly into
the next room to prepare the tea. Though Beth lived with her
brother, one small wing of the house had been made into her
own self-contained apartment, giving her the privacy without
which she would not have been content to remain so close to
him.

Cups and saucers had already been set out in the small but
beautifully equipped kitchen, and Laura put on the kettle and
removed the tea towels from the plates of sandwiches.

"Need any help?" a gruff voice asked, and she turned to see
Jake in the doorway.

"No, thanks." Hiding her trembling hands behind her back, she
regarded him with composure. "I didn't know you came to these
sessions."

"Music is a passion of mine. I didn't come because I knew you'd

be here."

Since this very thought had been uppermost in her mind, she
was disconcerted and hoped he did not find it as easy to guess
the rest of her thoughts.

"Elaine's in London for a couple of days," he added, "and I was

at loose ends. But if my being here upsets you, I'll go."

"Why should it upset me?"

"Because I know I irritate you; and as you have to see me

during your work week…"

"You have to see me, too," she reminded him coldly.

"Aye, but I don't take on about things the way you do. Besides,
you're easy on the eye and I enjoy looking at you!"

"Really? I was under the impression I left you cold."

She started to swing away from him but he stepped forward

and spun her to face him. Before she could stop him he pinned
her against the wall and pressed his body close against hers.
With every ounce of her strength she fought him, but he was
too strong for her and, accepting this, she relaxed completely,
hoping he would lessen his grip and afford her a chance to
escape. But she had once again forgotten his ability to know
what she was thinking, and his hold tightened as he gazed
down at her.

"You're not getting away from me so easily," he hissed. "I've

had as much as I can take of your supercilious attitude. You
enjoyed kissing me before, so why not enjoy it again?"

His head lowered and one of his hands caught her chin, making
it impossible for her to turn away. Mesmerized, she stared into
his face. His eyes were so close that she saw herself reflected in
their pupils, then the image blurred and his lips covered hers.
Their pressure was gentle, which surprised her, for she had
expected it to be as firm as the body that uncompromisingly
rested its length upon her own.

"Kiss me back," he murmured upon her mouth.

She refused to do so and he slowly moved his lips back and

forth across her upper lip before tenderly nibbling the lower
one. His breath was soft as a butterfly's wing, and she was
aware of it only because she felt a change in temperature on
her skin. Then his mouth was still, remaining passive upon her
own, the weight of it increasing slowly as his demands on her
increased.

Heat engulfed her, rushing over her body and setting her limbs
on fire. She did not seem able to control their shaking and had
his own body not been supporting her, she would have sunk to
the ground. The fire in her intensified; a flame of desire that
made pretense impossible. No matter how much she despised
him, his animal passion aroused her and her lips parted: the
first step to a greater fulfillment, one that she desired with all
her heart but that she knew could never take place between
them.

Slowly he drew back and, as his face came into focus again, she
saw the triumph that lay upon it. With something akin to
desperation she knew she had to wipe it away.

"If kissing was an Olympic sport," she drawled, "I'd give you a
gold medal. And you're so tender, too. As a lover I think you'd
be almost a gentleman!"

His eyes went blank with shock, but as life returned to them, so
did a ruddy color to his skin.

"Don't bank on it, Laura. When I get carried away, 1 can also be
brutal."
"I daresay that's what appeals to Elaine. Debby types often
seem to go for roughnecks!"

"I could make you go for me, too'" he said with soft menace
and moved close again.

"Not for long," she said quickly. "Basically you repel

me.

Breath rasped in his throat and he stepped away from her. "You
must have been a scorpion in your last life. But you don't need
to worry about me any longer. From now on I wouldn't touch
you even if you came to me gift- wrapped!"

Without another word he swung on his heel and strode from the
room, brushing unseeingly past Beth as he did so.

"Not fighting again, were you?" Beth said humorously, then lost
her bantering tone as she saw Laura's face." What's wrong
between you two?"

"Nothing. Except that Jake thinks all women are pushovers for
his sex appeal. I just made it clear that I wasn't, and he didn't
like that."

"Elaine will like it. She regards you as her rival."

Laura put the kettle down with a bang. "That's rubbish!"

"You should be flattered. Until now, she's never considered any

female beautiful enough to give her any competition."

"You can assure her from me she's got nothing to worry about.
I loathe Jake Andrews."

Beth's candid brown eyes widened at the vehemence and Laura

remembered the danger of protesting too much.

"He isn't my type," she added lamely. "I've already told you
that."

"I can't think why. He's intelligent, good-looking and kind. All
the girls who meet him think he's sensational."

Laura shrugged and once more busied herself with the kettle.
"Isn't this discussion rather academic? After all, he has bigger
fish to fry."

"I doubt that." Beth picked up a plate of sandwiches and set

them on the trolley. "I'm not yet convinced that Jake wants
Elaine."

"He gave a pretty good imitation of it at the Christmas party."

"You didn't do so badly with Robert! And you're not in love with
him, are you? You said so yourself."

Hoist with her own petard, Laura changed to another line of

argument. "I still think he'll marry your niece."

"Why?"

"Ambition."

"You must be daft if you think that. Besides he's no cause to

leave Grantley's. He'll get to the top there."

"He'd get to the top more quickly if he was working for his
father-in-law."

"That kind of success wouldn't suit Jake. I thought you knew

him better than that. He's the sort who has to get success by
his own sweat. And I don't mean the sweat of loving Elaine!"

Laura concentrated on filling a large silver teapot. "Then why

does he see so much of her?"

Beth sighed. "You have a lot to learn about human nature. You
know the background he comes from. If you had the same
upbringing wouldn't you also find it flattering to have the richest
girl in the county throwing herself at you? Be fair about it, lass.
You may not like Elaine, but you have to admit she's good for a
man's ego!"

Laura wanted to believe Beth, but Jake's own admission that he

had come here tonight because he was at loose ends made her
still have doubts. But doubts about what? About his feelings for
herself? There was the crux of the matter, the very reason for
her anger against him. She was furious that he spoke to her
only in terms of desire and not love.

Yet what had she done to encourage love? Bleakly she

remembered her past few meetings with him. When he had
kissed her in the cave after saving her life, she had assumed
he, too, felt the same revelation of feeling, and his subsequent
departure with Elaine had hurt her profoundly, even though
logic had told her he had had no choice other than to go.

But there had been no logical reason to prevent him

telephoning her on the Sunday. And it was this that had hurt
her and affected her subsequent behavior toward him.

Beth's belief that he did not love Elaine brought that whole
weekend back into her mind. What if Elaine had followed him to
Manchester on the Sunday without being asked? It would be in
character for her to have done so. And if this was the case, then
Jake's first chance of making peace with herself would not have
been until he had come into the canteen on the Monday.

Laura busied herself with another teapot, keeping her face

averted in case it disclosed the tumult of emotions inside her.
Remembering his almost shy friendliness that lunchtime and his
questions about her welfare, she writhed with shame as she
recalled her rudeness. No wonder he had tried to pay her back
in her own coin tonight!

In a dream she helped Beth serve the tea, all the time aware of
Jake with such an instensity of feeling that she was frightened.
She longed to tell him how sorry she was for all the wounding
things she had said, but was held back by a fear of making a
fool of herself. When next she spoke to him she had to be
certain she was doing and saying the right thing.

Yet being near him and hiding her feelings was almost
impossible, and realizing she would have no chance of speaking
to him alone that night, she decided to go home early.

"I'll come back with you," her father said when she whispered
to him that she was leaving.

"There's no need. The walk back will do me good."

With surprising docility her father gave in, and Laura collected.
her coat and set off along the country lane. Although chilly, the
air was invigorating, and reluctant to face the prospect of an
empty house, she walked briskly in the direction of the town
proper. The streets were deserted, but moonlight blanched the
gray pavements and made the trees loom darker than they
were. Denuded of leaves, their tortuous branches made
grotesque shapes, though no less grotesque than her own
fanciful imaginings about Jake.

For nearly two hours she walked and it was well past midnight
when she returned home, physically exhausted but mentally
uplifted by a strange peace of mind. Tomorrow she would have
a showdown with Jake; regardless of pride she would tell him all
the conflicting emotions he aroused in her. If Beth were right
and Elaine really didn't mean anything to him, then he would
have no reason for not admitting what his true emotions had
been during that passionate interlude in the cave. If he was
falling in love with her, she would give him every
encouragement. If he wasn't———— But that was something
she refused to consider.

Monday dawned bright and clear, as if in promise of a new start,

and as Laura drove to the factory with her father she could
barely restrain her impatience to see Jake.

Her wish was granted sooner than she had expected, for as she
walked into her office her assistant informed her his secretary
had telephoned and asked her to go and see him at once.

Perhaps he also wanted to clear the air, she thought, restraining

the urge to run as she went briskly along to the main block.

Watching his face as he greeted her she knew her hopes were
wrong. Whatever his reason for wanting to see her, it was not
prompted by love.

"Come here," he said harshly, pointing to the broken lock on the

center drawer of his desk. "I hope you managed to find what
you were looking for?"

She stared at him. "I don't understand…"

"Don't give me that! You know bloody well what I mean! You
broke into my desk last night and stole some drawings of
equipment."

"I did what?"

Furiously he flung away from her. "Cut the act, Laura! Or do I

have to repeat everything twice?" "I'm not sure you should
even be saying it once," she said shakily. "I… I take it that you…
you're accusing me of stealing something?''

"You're damned right I am!"

His fury told her he was deadly serious and her bewilderment
gave way to incredulity. "Is this something you dreamed up
because of last night?"

For a moment he did not understand her, and the uncertainty

on his face gave her the answer. Whatever had prompted his
crazy accusation, it had nothing to do with their encounter at
Beth's.

"Do you think I enjoy knowing you're a thief?" he said quietly.

"Don't you know it's the last thing in the world I wanted to
believe?"

"Then don't believe it!"

He slumped down in his chair. "It's not that easy."

"But why me?"

"The night watchman saw you."

"He couldn't have. I was nowhere near the factory."

"He saw you," Jake repeated, his voice as heavy as the lines
that had etched themselves alongside his mouth. "There's no
point lying. He was coming down the corridor when you came
out of my room. He called out and you half turned. That's when
he recognized you."

" He's lying. I tell you I wasn't here!''

"It's your word against his," Jake said. "And I can tell you
exactly what he said: 'There's no other lass in't factory wi' that
curly red hair!' "

Laura groped her way to a chair and sank into it. How could the
watchman have seen her here when she had been miles away?
But why would he lie? She bit hard on her lip. Unless someone
was paying him to do so. Someone who wanted to hurt her.

Someone like Elaine.

"He even told me what you were wearing," Jake went on. "Dark
slacks and a bottle-green jacket. You've got one, haven't you?"

"You know I have. I wore it when I went potholing."

Laura found she was trembling. The scene was beginning to

take on a nightmare quality that threatened her sanity. But she
had to remain calm. It was the only way she could get to the
bottom of this mystery.

"The watchman has made a mistake. Either that, or he's lying."

Jake lifted his head and stared directly into her face. His
expression was unreadable and tension could be seen in the
pale edges of his mouth.

"You left Beth's place early last night and your father stayed
behind."

"Yes."

Laura debated whether or not to tell him why she had wanted
to go home alone, and then decided that now was not the
moment. Indeed, to do so might make him think she was trying
to use emotion as a means of sidetracking him. Except that she
had nothing to run away from.

"I had a headache," she continued, "and I thought… I felt some

fresh air would do me good. So I went for a walk."

"Did anyone see you?"

"How do I know? I didn't meet anyone who could give me an

alibi, if that's what you mean."

"That's exactly what I mean."

Her anger returned. "You'll have to take my word for it. I've no
intention of giving you an alibi for something I didn't do! What's
it all about, anyway? What plans am I supposed to have
stolen?"

"You know very well what they are," he said wearily. "The night
watchman isn't lying, so you can quit the act."

"I'm not acting." Her voice rose. "I tell you I didn't come near
your office last night.''

"I suppose your father knows what time you arrived home?"

"No. He was already in bed."

"You must have gone for one hell of a walk!"

"Yes." Again she almost told him the truth, and again she
decided against it. "I was… rather preoccupied and I didn't
notice the time."

"What was troubling you?" he demanded. "The problem of how

to get back at me for kissing you? Well, you certainly chose the
right way. If you hadn't been unlucky in what you found, you
could have…" Words failed him and he shook his head.

Laura wondered if she could be dreaming; if her sleepless night

had given her hallucinations and if the scene would fade into
oblivion when she forced herself to remain calm and relaxed.
But nothing changed. The room was three dimensional, with
sounds outside it indicating the world around. Jake was real,
too, hard of eyes and expression as he watched her.

"If you could tell me exactly what I'm supposed to have taken
and why it was important, perhaps we could find out-"

"It wasn't important," he cut in. "That's where you slipped up.
You thought you were getting the plans of our new machine but
you stole the old ones!"

Things started to fall into place, forming an ugly picture.

"You think I stole the plans in order to sell them?"

"Yes." His voice was slurred. "Maybe you weren't going to sell
them—I'll give you the benefit of the doubt in that. Maybe you
just did it to hurt me."

"To hurt you?"

"If the plans had been taken while they were in my care, it
wouldn't have endeared me to the board." His eyes lost their
dullness and glittered like chips of steel. "Luckily for me, the
new plans are in my safe—where no one can get at them. So
the whole thing was a waste of your time. However, if you took
them to sell to one of our rivals, you'd do better to put them in
the fire."

"Thanks for the advice."

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you want? A confession?"

"If you did it to give me a scare, to make me sorry for what

happened last night, I—"

"No!" Her retort was loud and sharp. "I've no intention of taking
the easy way out. You can believe what you like." She moved to
the door. "If you wish to call the police, I 'll be waiting in my
office.''

"I'm not calling anyone. If you'd taken the real plans, I couldn't
have hushed it up. But as it is…"

"You're going to protect me," she finished for him. "How kind of
you!"

"I'm being kind to your father," he said harshly.

Mention of her father made Laura realize the appalling position

she was in.

"What will you tell him?" she asked. "He'll want to know why
I've left."

"I'll think of something." He rubbed his hand across his cheek in

a gesture of tiredness. "But we'd better make sure we both tell
the same story."

"Say I couldn't stand you any longer. He won't disbelieve that."

"I'm sorry it had to end this way. I never thought it would."

"Nor did I." Remembering the high hopes with which she had
come into his office she could not disguise the bitterness in her
voice and, afraid she would break down in front of him, she
wrenched open the door.

"Laura?"

"Yes?" she said without turning.

"Is there nothing else you want to say?"

"No. Except that you'll regret this day long before I will."

"I regret it already," he said unexpectedly.

She half turned at this and saw he was looking at her with
loathing. "Jake, I-"

"No more excuses," he said thickly. "Get out, Laura. You sicken
me."

Silently she left him… and left behind all her hopes of a happy
future with the man she loved.
 CHAPTER EIGHT
It was early afternoon when Laura returned home. Never had
the small rooms appeared less inviting, and she wandered from
the kitchen to the living room and back again, unable to settle
anywhere for long.

Jake's accusation rang in her ears like the beat of her heart. A
thief! A thief!

Regardless of the antagonism that had existed between them in

the months since she had come there, she found it incredible
that he could believe her capable of such behavior. Yet he had
stated his reasons and she had no way of disproving them.

"But the night watchman couldn't have seen me," she said
aloud. "Not unless he was dreaming or telling lies."

Yet surely the first thing Jake would have done was to check the
man's story. Besides, if the guard was lying, he could have
found a more convincing victim than herself. But it was the very
fact that she was involved that had convinced Jake. He
genuinely thought she disliked him so much that she would stop
at nothing to harm him.

She was still digesting this unpalatable fact when her father
came home, and his greeting in no way lessened her hurt.

"So you finally let your dislike of Jake force you into leaving a
good job?"

"One has to be happy in one's work," she said in as cool a

manner as possible. "And I couldn't stand his high-handedness
any longer."

"That was no cause for leaving him in the lurch."

This accusation was more than she could tolerate. "I didn't
leave him in the lurch. He asked me to go."

"You must have had some row then!"

"We did."

"What about?"

Laura moistened lips that were suddenly dry. Not knowing

whether or not Jake had already given his own version of their
supposed quarrel, she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Jake was pretty cagey about it," her father went on. "Said you
were the sort who wanted to feel she was helping the sick and
needy, not feeding hordes of strapping men!"

"It was something like that," she said quickly. "And we didn't
agree on my choice of menus."

"I wouldn't have thought it warranted your going. Perhaps you

'll both change your minds when your tempers have cooled off!"

"No. I'll never go back."

"Then your quarrel must have been more personal than you've
admitted." John Winters put his hand on her shoulder. "Care to
tell me?"

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, but not before he
had seen the glint of her tears.

"So I was right," he murmured. "I had a feeling you cared for
him. Well, if that's the way it is, you were wise to go."

Hiding her relief that her father had jumped to this conclusion,
for it was far better than having him know the truth, she turned
away into the kitchen.
"Supper will be ready soon. It's nothing fancy, I'm afraid. I
wasn't in the mood."

"Would you rather we went out? It would make a change for

you."

"No thanks, dad. It was a nice thought, but I'd prefer to be

here."

During dinner she deliberately brought the conversation around

to her father's work, hoping to find a clue as to the value of the
plans Jake believed she had tried to steal. However it was not
until they were at the coffee stage that she was given her first
inkling of the magnitude of the deed she had supposedly tried
to commit.

"Mind you, the machine we're working on now will make

everything else obsolete in a few years' time," her father said.
"It's the sort of breakthrough one dreams of getting."

"Not another electric engine for a car?"

"Far more revolutionary than that. It will be made public in a

matter of months." He paused, as though wishing to savor the
triumph. "It means that the idea of a nuclear-powered engine is
no longer just for the science fiction writers!"

"You've got one?"

"Yes. It will give this country the edge over the rest of the
world."

The anger Laura had felt earlier was nothing compared with the
anger she felt now. How could Jake have thought her capable of
stealing something of such value to her country? Even if she
had only done it to spite him, it would have been the height of
irresponsibility.

Once again she went over the conversation she had had with
him. How certain'the night watchman had been that he had
recognized her hair and face. If Jake had been accused in the
same way would she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

Remembering how bitterly she had felt toward him when she
had seen him with Elaine—until Beth's explanation of his past
had made her see he was not the type to seek out a girl merely
because she was rich—she knew full well how blinded by
jealousy one could be. If only she could believe that Jake's
misjudgment of her own character stemmed from jealousy, too!

But even if he was jealous, surely his intelligence would tell him
she was not the type to be a thief? And when he realized this,
which he was bound to do once his temper had cooled, he
would call her and apologize.

Anticipating his call, she remained in the house the whole of the
next day. But when evening came and there still had been no
word from him, her belief that he had realized his mistake
began to ebb, dying completely when the end of the week
arrived without his breaking the silence. So much for her hopes
that time would make him regret his harsh judgment of her.

Beth, like Laura's father, was also convinced she had left
Grantley's because of her feelings for Jake, and though the
woman made no mention of it the first few times they met, at
the end of a couple of weeks she could no longer keep silent.

"You can't mope for him forever," she said one evening as they
returned from a brisk walk around the block.

"I'm not moping for him," Laura replied. "I don't know why you
and dad should be so convinced I've fallen for him."

"Actions speak louder than words—if you'll forgive the obvious!"

Beth dropped her coat on a chair in the hall. "You can't be
pining for your job and you can't be pining for Robert. Ipso
facto, that only leaves Jake. I'm right, aren't I?"
Pride fought with honesty and honesty won. "Yes. But I don't
want to talk about it"

"You'd feel better if you did."

Laura moved toward the kitchen. "How about some tea?"

"Trying to change the subject? Don't worry, love, I can take a

hint. But just before I let you do so, I'd like to give you one
word of advice: if you really love Jake, don't let pride stop you
from making the first move."

"We didn't have that sort of a quarrel," Laura mumbled.

Beth sniffed her disbelief. "He's seeing a lot of Elaine."

"Maybe he prefers Elaine. Now go and talk to dad while I put on

the kettle."

Setting the cups on the tray, Laura was reminded of the evening
at Beth's flat when Jake had pulled her into his arms and kissed
her with such passion and tenderness. Yet now he was finding
consolation in another woman's arms.

How easy it was for a man to do this. Yet how long would it be
before she herself could do the same? The very mention of
Jake's name aroused a torrent of longing that made her live in
daily fear of meeting him again. Yet this was inevitable; in a
town the size of Eddlestone it would be impossible not to bump
into him accidentally.

She remembered this a week later when, crossing the foyer of

the local movie theater, her eyes as yet unaccustomed to the
light after the darkness inside, she stumbled against a man
coming from the box office. A strong hand steadied her and she
looked up to thank him, the words dying in her throat as she
saw it was Jake.

He was thinner than she had recollected, with dark shadows

under his eyes and the lines around his mouth more deeply
engraved.

"Hello, Laura,"hesaid quietly.

She gave him a nod and pulled from his grasp, intent only on
walking past. But he barred her way.

"Going out or coming in?"

"Going out."

He frowned. "Not working yet?"

"There isn't a plethora of jobs for me in Eddlestone."

She saw him hesitate and braced herself for a hurtful remark.
But when he spoke, he surprised her.

"If you need a reference, I'd be happy to give you one."

"What would you say? That Miss Winters is conscientious but

unfortunately not to be trusted?"

He bit his lip. "You're a good actress, Laura. If I didn't know the
truth I might even be persuaded of your innocence." He moved
a step closer. "Be honest with me. Tell me why you did it. I 'll do
my best to understand.''

"I didn't do it," she said stonily. "What I said in your office was
the truth. Your night watchman couldn't have seen me because
I wasn't there!"

Jake started to speak but his words were obliterated by a husky

gush of apology as Elaine ran into the foyer, blond hair
streaming down the collar of her mink coat.

"Sorry to be late, darling, but dad gave me a lift and he won't

be rushed."
The smell of exotic scent and the aura of elegance emanating
from Elaine made Laura conscious of her three-year-old camel
coat with its rubbed collar and worn sleeves. Out of a job and
not knowing when or if she would find one in Eddlestone, she
had resolutely refused to replenish her wardrobe or accept any
money from her father.

Anxious not to be seen, she moved past Jake, but the younger
woman was not prepared to miss an opportunity of scoring a
victory.

" Waiting for Robert? " she cooed.

"Not this time. I'm just leaving."

"You mean you're on your own?" The green eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me you've had a quarrel with him? All Eddlestone's
waiting for you to announce your engagement!"

Laura made her reply as noncommittal as she could and

plunged out into the damp streets. Walking back home she felt
a little bubble of happiness growing inside her. If Elaine was as
sure of Jake as she pretended, she would not need to show her
claws in such an obvious way.

Refusing to consider this particular point any further, she found

it difficult to hide her restlessness. Though her father made no
comment during dinner, as soon as it was over he went into the
hall to make a telephone call, returning with a look of pleasure
on his face.

"Put on one of your party dresses, Laura. I'm taking you out."

"At this time of night?"

He grinned. "Why not? It's barely eight o'clock."

"Where are we going?"

"To the Marsdale Country Club." He savored her astonishment
before continuing. "They have a good cabaret there this month.
Some American singer."

"You'llhate that!"

"No, I won't. Now go and change. We need to get out more.

Otherwise we'll both become old fogies!"

Knowing it would be ungracious to refuse, though the idea of

sitting through a cabaret—no matter how good- appalled her,
she changed into one of her prettiest dresses. That much she
owed her father for sacrificing an evening in front of the
television!

She came downstairs to find him waiting for her in the hall.
"How pretty you look," he exclaimed. "Why don't you wear that
sapphire brooch of your mother's? It would look lovely on the
collar."

"I never knew you were a fashion expert." She smiled and ran
upstairs to get it.

The brooch was not in her jewelry box and she rummaged in
the drawer. But it was not there, either, and she started to look
through her handbags. When every bag had been searched and
the brooch had still not come to light, she stood in the center of
the room and tried to remember when she had last worn it. But
the memory evaded her and, forcing herself to remain calm,
she sat on the bed and thought again.

It was unthinkable to consider she had lost it. It had been her
father's first wedding-anniversary present to her mother and, as
such, had a value far above its material worth. It had to be
found. She must stop feeling panicky and think calmly. She had
worn it on Christmas Day. No, that wasn't true. She had worn it
at a farewell party she had given for one of her assistants at
Grant- ley's. At last it was coming back to her. During the
afternoon the clasp had worked itself loose and, afraid it would
fall off, she had put it in the drawer of her desk. Where it
undoubtedly still was.

"Hurry up, dear," her father called, "or we'll be late."

She ran down to the hall. "I can't wear the brooch tonight, dad.
I left it in the office."

"Didn't you empty your desk before you left?"

"I was in a bit of a state and forgot. After my quarrel with Jake
I… I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Ah." It was a sound of understanding. "Well, we'd best go into

the office and collect it."

"Now?"

"Why not? You won't want to go during the day, will you?"

The thought of inadvertently meeting Jake again made her

shiver, and she gratefully accepted her father's suggestion and
followed him to the car.

In silence they drove down the dark streets to the factory

gates. He opened them with his pass key and then carefully
maneuvered the car between the low-slung buildings until he
stopped outside the main one.

"You go in and get the brooch while I turn the car around," he
said.

With a nod, Laura did as she was told. She had never been in
the factory at night, despite what Jake believed, and it was
unnerving to walk through the dimly lit corridors with the floor
echoing to her steps. Reaching the door of the office that had
once been hers, she paused, knowing a strange reluctance to
step across the threshold. Then chiding herself for being foolish,
she drew a deep breath and entered.

The room appeared to be unoccupied and this lessened her

sense of guilt as she opened the top drawer of the desk and
searched inside. Her fingers touched cold metal and with a sigh
of relief she drew out a sparkling gold and sapphire brooch.

Quickly closing the door behind her, she ran down the corridor
intent only on leaving the building as soon as she could.

"Got you!" a hoarse voice cried excitedly as a heavy hand

grabbed Laura by the shoulder.

Speechless with fright, she stared up into a red and triumphant

face. Oh no, she thought in desperation as she recognized the
night watchman, this can't be happening to me!

But it was. And the man was clutching her for dear life.

"Please let me go," she said coldly. "I only came in to collect
something I'd left behind."

"Did you now? Funny about that. I had a feeling you'd be

coming back."

"I left a brooch in my desk. My father brought me here to

collect it. As a matter of fact you'll find him waiting for me
downstairs."

"Giving yourself a bit of cover this time, eh?"

"You're talking nonsense." She tried to pull free but the man
would not release her and she began to struggle.

"Laura, what's wrong?"

She looked over the watchman's shoulder and saw her father
approaching them.
"I came to see what was keeping you," he said.

"I am." The night watchman spoke before Laura had the chance
to do so. "Sorry to be a nuisance, Mr. Winters, but I can't let
your daughter go until I've spoken to Mr. Andrews."

" What's Mr. Andrews got to do with it? She came here to collect
a brooch."

"I must still check with him."

"Why?"

"It might be best if you asked your daughter that question."

Her father looked at her and Laura knew that if she did not
explain, the watchman would do so; and heaven alone knew
how he would phrase it. Not that phraseology would make much
difference. Whatever way one put it, it amounted to the same
thing: a thief was a thief.

"Jake's desk was broken into a couple of weeks ago and some
plans were stolen," she said. "He… he thought I'd taken them."

"You!" John Winters's voice was high with disbelief. "You can't
be serious.''

"It was serious all right," the watchman said. "I've felt right
badly about it ever since I caught her. But I had to do my duty
and you won't get me to say I made a mistake. Wearing slacks
and a green jacket she was. Just like I told Mr. Andrews. "Sides,
I'd know that red hair anywhere."

Laura closed her eyes against the despair she knew she would
see on her father's face. If grief could kill, she would, like
Ophelia, now be in a watery grave.

"Get back to the car, Laura," her father said quietly, and then
looked at the other man. "I'll talk to Mr. Andrews in the
morning. You needn't fret about tonight. My daughter came
here with me."

"As long as you'll take the responsibility, then…"

Not waiting to hear any more, Laura ran out to the car. Within a
moment her father joined her and silently turned the car toward
home. She clenched her hands in fear against the tirade she
knew would be unleashed upon her, but he said nothing and the
silence was broken only by the swish of the windshield wipers
that monotonously held the rain at bay. How appropriate that
rain should have set in, she thought. It was almost as if the
heavens were crying for her.

They reached their front gate and, still without a word, went
into the house. Her father placed his coat in the closet and she
hung hers beside it. Two coats close together, yet after tonight
she and her father would never be close again.

"Come into the sitting room," he said. "We have to talk."

She did as she was told and sat by the heater that her hands
had automatically switched on. Yet no amount of electricity
could warm away the deathly cold that enveloped her.

"I gather that was the real reason you left Grant- ley's?" her
father continued. "It had nothing to do with you and Jake
quarreling. It was because he thought you were a thief?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth, lass?" Her father's voice was
so gentle that her very bones seemed to melt and she looked
up at him directly for the first time, happiness welling inside her
as she saw the expression on his face.

Reading her own expression correctly, he gave a slight sad

smile. "Don't you think I know my own daughter?" he went on.
"You could no more steal anything than pigs can fly! You should
have told me the truth."

"I was afraid. That watchman… he's so positive he saw me."

"Tell me what happened. Everything you did the night you were
supposed to have been in Jake's office."

She did so, aware of how thin her story sounded. "Nobody saw
me after I left Beth's," she concluded. "I just walked around,
not caring where I went, not even knowing how long I was
walking for. I was so busy thinking of Jake that—"

"And he doesn't believe you?"

"He can't understand how I could have walked around without

knowing where I was." She sighed. "I wasn't going to tell him I
was so busy thinking of him to even care where I was walking!"

"So you let him think you a thief instead?"

"It was pretty conclusive evidence," she admitted, "and he

accepted it readily enough."

" Meaning you wouldn't have done the same? "

"Of course I wouldn't!" she flared. "If you love someone you…
you believe them."

"Sometimes love makes you even more suspicious."

John Winters shook his head. "Green jacket and slacks and
curly red hair. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"

Puzzled, Laura looked at her father, and with none too gentle
hands he pulled her up and drew her to the mirror. "You look
very pretty with your hair short, don't you? And it makes you
look more than ever like Tim— particularly from the back."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You… you don't mean he… No,
not Tim!"

"Who else, then? Do you remember Beth teasing him about not
having his hair cut?"

Wordlessly she nodded. An idea that had, at first, seemed

incredible, now seemed the most likely solution. But what a
dreadful one!

"I can't believe it," she said. "Tim wouldn't steal those plans.
He's not a traitor."

"Not to his country," John Winters said heavily. "But any firm in
England would have bought them if they'd been the right plans.
It was just his bad luck he stole the wrong ones."

"No," she cried. "I don't believe you. He'd never do such a
thing."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Fear caught her, the implications of her father's words shaking

her. "You mean he's done it before?"

"Yes. That's why he left Grantley's. He got into debt and tried to
sell a list of our customers to another company. Luckily I was
able to use my influence with the board to stop him from being
prosecuted. Sometimes I wish I'd let matters rest. It might
have done him good to face the music. But when it's your own
son it's hard to stand by and do nothing!"

"Tim doesn't have a green jacket," she said inconsequentially.

"He has a black leather one, and in fluorescent light it could

easily be mistaken for green."

"Why are you so sure it was Tim? Just because he stole a list…"

"Well, I know it wasn't you. But if the watchman says he saw

you, then it can only be your double. And that means Tim. I'm
going to call Jake and tell him the truth."

Laura ran toward her father. "You mustn't. He'll send him to
prison."

"No, he won't. Anyway, he'll end up there sooner or later if

something isn't done to put the fear of death in him. This time
he stole the wrong plans but next time he might be luckier. No,
lass, we've got to put a stop to it while we can."

She shuddered. "I can't bear to think of it. That Tim could…"

"It's just as hard for me, lass."

Contritely she reached out and caught her father's hand. "I
know and I'm sorry. I'd do anything to spare you this."

"Even to letting Jake think you guilty?"

"I don't care what he thinks," she said firmly. "If he hadn't any
faith in me …….."

"Well, I'll not argue that one again. You're as stubborn as a

mule. But I still don't intend to let you have your character
ruined on account of your brother. Jake has to be told the
truth."

"Talk to Tim first," Laura pleaded.

"What good will it do?"

Ignoring the question, she went into the hall and dialed her
brother's number. He picked up the telephone almost at once,
his voice so eager that she guessed he was waiting for a call
from a girl.

"Laura," he said, his voice going flat. "How nice to hear from
you. How are things at home?"
"Fine." She clutched the receiver with damp hands. "We, that is,
dad would like to see you."

"I'll probably be over for lunch next Sunday. I'll phone on Friday
and let you know for sure."

"Dad wants to see you before then. It's important."

"Really? What's up?"

"He'd rather tell you himself. Can you come over tomorrow?"

"I can't. I've got a date."

"Well, break it," she said sharply. "We'll expect you tomorrow,
Tim."

For most of that night Laura paced the floor of her room.
Memories of her childhood would not allow her to rest, and the
escapades she and Tim had shared haunted the long hours.
Could her brother really be the thief? As she posed the question
she knew the answer. Tim had always wanted to be top dog, to
have the best of everything regardless of where the money
came from. As a youngster he had always had to have the
largest boat, the biggest bike, the latest fashion in clothes.
Many children were the same but they grew up to be normal,
decent citizens; a little more ambitious than most, perhaps,
even a little pushier. But not necessarily corrupt.

But her father had said Tim had stolen before. That was a fact
that could not be overlooked. Wearily she leaned against the
window ledge and stared at the dark, rain-lashed sky. Why was
her brother different? When had things gone wrong for him?
Was it because their mother had died when he was at an
impressionable age, or did the failure lie within himself? It was
a question even a psychiatrist could not have answered, and for
her to try to do so was ridiculous.

Once again she paced the floor. If only her own name could be
cleared without having to implicate Tim! And what would Jake
do when he learned the truth? If there was any possibility that
her brother might go to prison, she would beg her father not to
tell him who the real culprit was. No matter what personal
happiness it cost her, she could not allow Tim's life to be ruined.
She would speak to him… make him see the stupidity of his
actions… But he had already stolen before and gotten away with
it. If he went free this time, who knew where he would end up?

The question was still tormenting her the following evening

when, dinner nearly over, she heard her brother's motorbike
roaring down the road. A moment later the bell rang and she
ran to answer it.

Grinning, he stepped into the hall. "Here I am. Now tell me

what all the fuss is about."

" I'd rather leave it to dad.''

Raising his eyebrows, he went into the dining room, the smile
leaving his face as he saw the look on his father's."I'm here,
dad."

"Not before time." John Winters stood up, glancing at the rest
of his food with distaste. "I might have known you wouldn't be
able to go straight for long."

"What's all this in aid of?"

"Don't waste time lying or looking innocent. I know the truth

and so does Laura."

Tim glanced at his sister and then back to his father. "Truth
about what?"

"About the plans you stole from Grantley's. The worthless plans
you took to try to sell to someone else!"

For a moment it looked as though Tim would try and bluff it

out. Then he shrugged and sat down at the table. "Okay. I'm
guilty."

John Winters gripped the edge of his chair until his knuckles
showed white. "Why, Tim? Why did you do it again? Why can't
you go straight?"

"I could give you plenty of reasons but they all add up to the
same thing. Monty." He glanced at his sister. "You were right,
Laura. I'm running with a fast crowd and it's hard to keep up
with them. I got into debt."

"Why didn't you come to me? " his father asked.

"And have you read me a sermon the way you always do!"Tim's
face changed, grew rueful. "I'm sorry, dad, I didn't mean that.
The real reason is that I didn't want you to know I'd let you
down again. I owed money all 'round and I couldn't see my way
out. Someone told me Harold Simpson was in the market for
information about his business rivals and I was here one
evening when I heard you talking on the phone to Jake
Andrews.

I realized then you were working on something new. Something

big. I figured Andrews would be in charge of it, so I broke into
his office." His mouth gave a nervous twitch. "You're too
trusting, dad. You left your keys around and I was able to take
an impression and get a set copied. I know you won't believe
me, but even while I was doing it, I almost hoped the keys
wouldn't fit. But they worked like a dream and I was able to get
into the factory without any trouble. I didn't dream I'd got hold
of the wrong plans until I took them to Simpson."

John Winters went paler than he already was, and Laura knew
what a blow it must be to him to realize that his old friend knew
how treacherous his son was.

"You mean you actually took the plans to Harold?"

"That's why I wanted them in the first place." Tim was now
making no attempt to excuse himself and Laura remembered
how he had been as a little boy, when he would stare you in the
face and lie until, confronted with the knowledge that lying was
no longer possible, there would come the quick smile, the tears
and the immediate confession.

"What did Harold do?" John Winters asked fearfully.

It was only then that Tim showed his first sign of remorse.
"Something I'd never expected. He blew his top. Gave me the
worst bawling out of my life. Said he'd do nothing to encourage
the son of a friend of his to become a thief."

Laura, logical as ever, said, "Do you think he'd have bought the
formula if it had been the right one?"

"Not if it came from me. He made that very plain. But he

offered to settle my debts and give me a new start in Australia."

John Winters half rose from his chair. "He did that?"

"Surprising, isn't it? I was shattered.''

"Did you accept?" Laura asked.

"You bet. It was too good to refuse. I was going to tell you this
weekend, Laura. I didn't know you'd be blamed for this break-
in, though. Once I discovered the plans were worthless, I took it
for granted Andrews wouldn't do anything about it."

"Did Jake strike you as the sort of man who'd ignore the fact
that his desk had been burgled?" she said angrily.

"I thought he'd assumed it was someone in the factory who was
just curious. I never dreamed he'd blame you!" Tim came over
to her. "I've not been much good as a brother, but I'd never let
you be blamed for something I'd done. Not something as
serious as this. I'll go and see Jake Andrews right away and tell
the truth."

"You mustn't."She caught his hand. "Ifyou tell him, he might

decide to prosecute."

"He wouldn't do that," her father protested.

"Are you a hundred percent sure?"

"Of course not, but—"

"Then we can't take a chance on it," she interrupted firmly. "If

Tim goes to Australia he'll have the chance of starting a new
life. I couldn't bear to do anything to stop it."

"I don't intend to clear off and leave you to carry the blame,
"Tim said.

"It doesn't matter. It's over and done with."

"No." Tim squeezed her hands tightly. "I want to make a new
life for myself, but I won't stand a chance if I leave without
clearing your name first."

Behind them their father stood up. He came over and put his
arm on his son's shoulder. "You've spoken like a man, Tim. I'm
glad.''

Tim zipped up his jacket—the black suede one, Laura noticed

illogically—and walked to the door. "Where does Jake Andrews
live?"

"A couple of miles from here. Go past Grantley's and take the
first fork on the left. It's a wide road with houses set back
behind high walls. Jake has rooms in the last one on the left."

With a half wave. Tim walked out. The front door slammed, the
motorbike revved and then there was silence.
Laura and her father looked at one another and the tears in her
eyes were reflected in his. She went to the window and pulled
aside the curtain. It was raining again and the wind moaned
through the trees.

"What do you think Jake will do?" she asked. "Do you think he'll
have Tim arrested?"

"I doubt it. First he'll tear a strip off him—which Tim won't
forget in a hurry—then he'll come here and eat dirt." Her father
half smiled. "As much as you'll dish out to him."

She let the curtain drop back into position, remembering the
time, so long ago it seemed now, when she had gone to
Grantley's on a Monday morning determined to put aside her
pride and tell Jake she loved him. But now such a confession
was out of the question. If he could have believed her to be a
thief, he could have no deep understanding of her.

"Don't judge Jake too harshly," her father said. "He was always
sensitive where you were concerned. That's why he resented
you. You got under his skin in a way no woman has ever done."

"You sound very sure of the way he feels."

"I've worked with him. I've talked with him far into the night.
You mean something to him."

"You've never said any of this before," Laura murmured.

"I didn't want to interfere. But since you left the factory I've
been watching him; and a man of Jake's temperament doesn't
act the way he's been acting, unless he's in a hell of a state.
Mark my words, lass, he'll be here within the hour."

The minutes ticked away as though in slow motion. Restlessly

she went into the kitchen to make tea. She put the cups on the
tray, then the biscuits; each action automatic, done to fill time.
She had just brought the tray into the living room when the
doorbell rang. The crockery rattled and she looked at her father.
He half stood, then sat down again.

"It wasn't a motorbike, so it must be Jake," he said. "You go,

Laura."

Slowly she went to the front door and opened it. Jake stood on
the threshold. Rain had flattened his hair and ran in rivulets
down his face. He stared at her without a word and she
stretched out a hand.

"Jake! I'm so glad you came." He stepped into the hall and only
then, as the light fell on his face, did she see tautness in his
features. Her joy seeped away. "What's wrong?"

Without replying he put his hand under her elbow and led her
into the living room.

John Winters rose. "Hello, Jake. I take it you've seen Tim?"

Jake hesitated, as though puzzled by the question. He pulled

back his shoulders and then looked around the room as if he
found it difficult to meet their eyes.

"Yes," he said in a low voice. "I… I saw him. I was on my way to

the factory to collect some papers when he passed me on his
motorbike. I was surprised to see him down my road—it isn't on
his way to Manchester—and I wondered if you'd asked him to
deliver me those diagrams you'd been checking." Jake went to
the mantelpiece and stared down into the electric heater. The
glow of the bars cast a reddish color upon his skin but failed to
disguise its pallor. "I stopped and called him but he didn't hear
me—it was raining too hard—so I turned back to see if he really
was making for my place. Suddenly a little girl ran into the road
from behind a parked car. Tim swerved to avoid her and… God,
John, I'd give anything not to have to tell you this, but he…
he…"
"Out with it, Jake," the older man said faintly.

Jake lowered his head. "He ran straight into a brick wall. It was
the only way he could miss the child and he took it."

Laura swayed and clutched at the table for support.

"You mean he______ " She could not go on and Jake finished
the sentence for her.

"He's dead. I ran back but there was nothing I could do." His
voice shook. "Tim didn't have a chance. It was him or the child.
I know it's not much consolation to you, but he died like a
hero."

Laura looked at her father and then turned l(o Jake, knowing in
that instant what she had to say.

"Tim was here to dinner. He was on his way home and must
have taken a wrong turn."

"Laura!" her father said.

Across the room she stared at him and, knowing what she was
pleading for, he looked away. Tim had never lived like a hero
but he had died like one, and no matter what happened to her
own life, she had no intention of doing anything to diminish the
brave way he had chosen death.
 CHAPTER NINE
Although Laura was content with the decision she had made not
to tell Jake about Tim, her father was in total disagreement
and, a week after Tim's funeral, told her he was not going to be
a party to her silence. A momentary temptation almost made
her accept this, but love for her twin was stronger still, and she
stubbornly insisted that nothing be done to smirch his name.

"But Tim wanted Jake to know the truth," her father insisted.

"It's pointless," Laura replied. "If Jake had believed in me

despite the evidence, it would have meant something to me to
tell him the truth. But to drag Tim's name in the dirt to satisfy
my ego… no, dad. Things are best left as they are."

"But if Jake knew the truth, you'd stand a chance of getting

together with him."

"There's no love without trust."

Accepting this, her father did not broach the subject again, and
they both tried to resume the pattern of their lives. Laura was
too apathetic to do anything except remain at home. She had
not seen much of Tim in the past year, yet his death left a gap
in her life that she felt could never be filled.

"You've got to snap out of this depression," Robert said one day,
when she voiced her thoughts to him. "You know Move you. I
wish you'd marry me."

"It wouldn't be fair. Liking someone isn't a basis for marriage."

"At least think about it." He caught her hand. "Will you?"

It was easier for her to give in to Robert's request than to argue

with him, and as the weeks passed she became more and more
dependent on his company. She was still pondering whether or
not to accept his proposal when Beth told her of a possible job.

"The Ministry of Health is doing a survey on the diet of

industrial workers in the Midlands and the North, and you have
exactly the qualifications they're looking for."

"I'd have to travel around quite a bit, though. What would

happen to Dad?"

"I'll undertake to see his protein intake doesn't suffer the nights
you can't get home!"

"So that's it. You're a designing female after all!"

Beth looked so embarrassed that Laura stared at her in

surprise. Words she had said as a joke did not seem to be a
joke after all. How wonderful if Beth and her father were to fall
in love. She almost said as much but then held her tongue. She
had no idea how her father felt and was reluctant to give her
friend false hopes.

Laura's letter of application gained her an immediate interview

with Professor James, the dietitian in charge of the project. Her
work at Grantley's stood her in good stead and she was
convinced it gave her an advantage over the other applicants. A
week later he telephoned her to say she had been accepted,
and within forty-eight hours she had joined the ranks of the
employed.

From then on she was too busy to brood. Nothing could

completely erase the pain of Tim's death nor the sense of loss
she felt each time she heard Jake's name, but she had hopes
that time would help her to forget the past, and she was no
longer reliant on Robert.

A month passed and Laura was busily and happily occupied.

She had been asked to write a report based on her experience
of running the canteen at Grantley's, and she was delighted to
find she could think of Jake without feeling her bones turn to
jelly.

Nonetheless she was glad when she had delivered it to the

professor and could continue her normal routine of interviewing
and traveling from factory to factory; though the mileage she
put in meant she was rarely home before nine or ten at night,
and frequently had to stop over at a hotel.

"You're working too hard," her father commented one morning

when she was—unusually for her—able to stay home for a day.

"It's better than being idle. Anyway, I enjoy it. If—"

The telephone bell interrupted her and she went to answer it,
almost dropping the receiver as she heard Jake's voice, brusque
and blunt as ever. So much for her hopes that he meant nothing
to her. Shaking, she leaned against the wall.

"I'll fetch dad,"she said huskily.

"You're the one I want. Professor James has sent me the report
you've written about our canteen. He wants me to let him
publish it."

She swallowed hard. "Will you?"

"Yes. But I've a few things I'd like to add to it. I'm in my office
now. Get over here as soon as you can and I 'll tell you what
they are."

There was no "Will you?" or "Is it convenient?" Just the bland

assumption that she would do as he said. Yet somehow she
wasn't annoyed by his manner; instinct told her that his
attitude stemmed from embarrassment. He needed to see her
and, bearing in mind the situation between them, only by
keeping it strictly businesslike would it be bearable.
Calling out to her father that she was going to Grant- ley's with
him, she rushed upstairs and slipped into a dark green suit. It
made her hair look a richer Titian, which in turn emphasized her
pallor, and she carefully applied rouge to her cheeks. Not for
anything would she give Jake the satisfaction of knowing how
much she still hungered for him.

Entering his office she was reminded of the last occasion she
had been here. But the memory did not show on her face,
which was as composed as though this meeting with him were
one of the routine ones she was now used to having with
factory management.

As usual he was in shirtsleeves, his powerful shoulders outlined

against the dark gray wall behind him. "You're looking well,
Laura."

"I am." Her voice was cool. "I love the job."

"That's a weight off my mind."

Her head rose indignantly and her resolution to keep her control
began to slip. "Don't pretend you lost any sleep over firing me!"

His hands clenched on the desk. "Don't you think it's time to
forgive and forget?"

"That depends who's doing the forgetting and who's doing the
forgiving."

"I wouldn't have thought that needed an answer."

"Still the same trusting Jake," she replied and sat down, glad to
hide her trembling legs. "What comments do you want to make
on the report?"

He picked up a file in front of him and handed it across to her.

She opened it and stared at a series of graphs. "What does this
represent?"
"Our overall production since you left." He leaned across the
desk and pointed to a drop in the curve. "After your departure,
the canteen went back to a high carbohydrate diet. A month
later production began to fall. Then I remembered that first
argument we had and I got the manageress to switch back to
your menus! You can can see the result for yourself. Our
production's gone up to maximum again."

Laura's eyes sparkled. "That's wonderful. And you're willing to

let me use this?"

"Why not? It's one more proof that you were right."

He came around the desk and stood in front of her. "Do you
really like your job, lass?"

The huskily spoken question, plus the "lass" at the end of it—so
tender and warm—was nearly her undoing, and it required all
her strength not to stand up and throw herself into his arms.

"I like my job very much. I can use my training and I'm
meeting interesting people."

"That's a weight off my mind. I honestly mean that. I hated

quarreling with you. I wish we could be friends again."

"How can you be friends with a thief?"

"You're not a thief. You wanted to hurt me because I'd hurt

you."

"And you think my way of hurting you was to break into your
office and steal a secret document?" Bitterness was so strong
inside her that it left the taste of gall in her mouth. "I'm sorry,
Jake. However happy it would make you, I can't confess to
something I didn't do."

The warmth died out of his face. "Have it your own way then. If
false pride is keeping you silent, you're welcome to it. But you
'll not finding it keeping you warm at night."

"How I keep warm is my affair!" Putting the folder into her

briefcase, she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Unfortunately it was not as easy to close her mind to the

implication of what he had said. He still believed her capable of
malicious spite, still had no idea of her basic character. So much
for distance lending enchantment! All it did for Jake was make
him more positive in his attitudes.

This latest example of his lack of understanding affected her far

more than she could have envisaged, and for several weeks
afterward even her job seemed futile. It was only a sudden
awareness that something was happening to her father that
forced her out of her introspection. From a weary, middle-aged
man who thought only of work, he had now become the jolly
extrovert he had been before her mother had died. There was
only one explanation for it: Beth. So she was not surprised
when her father told her they wanted to get married.

"I hope you won't mind too much," he said, digging burned-out
tobacco fiercely from his pipe, the way he always did when he
was embarrassed.

Laura hugged him. "I'm delighted for you. Beth's the nicest
woman I know."

"I'm glad you've taken it this way. I was worried in case you
were… Well, you've been in charge of my home for so long, I
was afraid you wouldn't like another woman around."

"There won't be another woman around," she said firmly. "Once

you're married I'm going back to London."

"I see." There was a pause. "What about Robert?"

"I can't marry him. I'd rather be single than make do with
second best."
"Still Jake?"

A ring at the door saved her from answering and she hurried to
open it. Beth stood on the step, her face so anxious that Laura
could not help giggling.

"Welcome, Stepmamma. Dad's just told me the news. It's the

best thing I could have heard."

Beth sighed happily. "You're really pleased?"

"I'm delighted. Tell me when you've set the date and I 'll leave
you to your wedded bliss."

"There's no need for you to move out just because I'm moving
in."

"Oh, yes there is." Together they entered the living room. "I'll
be glad of the chance of returning to Lon don."

John Winters put his hand on Beth's shoulder. "Seems there's

no point in us waiting, my dear. Name the day and I'll get the
license. Unless you'd like a big wedding?"

"I'd hate it."

He smiled with relief. "Harold will be disappointed. I bet he was

hoping for a slap-up affair."

"He'll have that when Elaine weds. And from what I can see of
it, that won't be far off."

Laura went rigid. "Is she… are she and Jake getting engaged?"

"That's what she said."

Poor Jake. The thought rushed into her mind and would not be
dismissed. Elaine would never make him happy. They were too
different in temperament and outlook. Jake needed a woman
with depth and spirit, not a spoiled child. Yet he would marry
her and eventually join his father-in-law's company. Without a
son to take over from him, Harold Simpson would not rest until
he had achieved this. And once it happened, Jake would be tied
to Elaine for as long as she wanted him.

"Let's settle on a month from now," Beth said, breaking into

Laura's unhappy mood. "That will give the hospital time to find
a replacement for me."

"Will you stop nursing permanently?" Laura asked.

"Yes. I'll enjoy keeping house. And if I get bored, I'll go on a

few committees!"

Laura burst out laughing. "A committee lady at last. I'll buy you
a hat with a feather!"

"I'll wear it, too."

Beth joined in the laughter and John Winters settled back in his
chair with a look of pleasure. The two women he now cared
about most were the best of friends. He sighed contentedly.
Things were going right again.

Laura did not have the same feeling of satisfaction. What should
have been a pleasurable decision—after all, returning to London
had been her secret goal from the moment she had left the
place—was turning out to be a very hollow victory. To be
honest, and with herself she was trying to be, she would
infinitely have preferred to stay where she was. The idea of
living in a big city where the streets were full of strangers,
where neighbors did not know you and no one cared whether
you lived or died, was a daunting prospect. Hard though it was
to admit, she had become used to this small town whose dour-
faced people were warmhearted and caring in a way that
Southerners were not. But not for the life of her would she
vocalize her sentiments. To London she had said she was going
and London she would depart.

Despite Beth's wish for a quiet wedding, there were at least fifty
people in the church on the day they married. But no crowd
could hide the sight of Elaine and Jake, and Laura wondered
how long it would be before they, too, were standing where her
father and Beth were standing now. The question was agony,
bringing with it a picture of life with Jake: his face at the
breakfast table, his head on the pillow beside her, his arms
close and warm…

After the ceremony it was difficult to avoid him, for Elaine made
a point of coming her way.

"I hear you're returning to London?" she said. "You won't be

able to go potholing on Hampstead Heath."

"There are other compensations."

The green eyes were sharp with malice. "Jake told me about the
shaft you nearly feel into when you went potholing with him.
They've found a small lake there, you know, and I suggested
they call it Laura's Folly!"

"I vetoed the suggestion," Jake said crisply, his eyes fixed on
Laura. "As you were the one to find it, I think you should be the
one to name it."

"How big is it?" she asked steadily.

"We're not sure, but we'll be exploring it tomorrow. How about

joining us?"

Laura's head lifted defiantly. If Jake thought he could hurt her

like this, he had better think again! "I'd love to." She found
herself enjoying not only his surprise but also the anger on
Elaine's face. "It will be a fitting farewell for my departure."
"Till the morning, then," Jake said. "There's only a few of us
going, so we'll be using our cars. I'll collect you at ten."

Laura spent the rest of the day metaphorically kicking herself

for accepting his invitation. No matter how much she had
wanted to bolster her pride, to go potholing with him would
throw her into his company, and since this was something she
had wished to avoid at all costs…

But it was too late to retract now, and though Sunday morning
found her in a state of nerves, none of her torment was visible
as she went down the front path to greet Jake.

"Willing for me to be your guide again?" he asked as she

climbed into the car.

"Why not?"

Her composure flummoxed him and he fell silent for a few

minutes, only speaking again when she made herself chatter
about the work she was doing.

"Professor James must be sorry to see you go," he said.

"Our project is nearly over, anyway."

"Will you go back to your old job?"

"Probably," she lied, for she had not given it any thought.

"So everything will be the same for you," he said flatly.

"Except that my brother is dead and my father has remarried."

"Do you resent the last bit?"

"Of course not. I'm delighted for him. And for Beth, too."

"You're the only one to whom nothing happened."

There was no denying the sarcasm in Jake's voice, but Laura
refrained from answering him and was unutterably relieved to
see they were approaching the stretch of moorland where the
caves began.

Still very much the novice, Laura followed Jake into the gloom
of the underground world. She regretted she had not been
more consistent in following this unusual hobby. Not that there
would be any chance to do so once she was living in London.

"We're nearly there," Jake said behind her, and she rounded a
bend to see a narrow gallery running along the cave wall.
Immediately below lay a dark gleaming surface of water, black
as ebony, mysterious as a veiled woman.

"It has hidden depths," Jake said, as though reading her

thoughts. "But after lunch we'll see if we can find the spring
that's feeding it.''

"And uncover its secrets? "

"Ifwe can. I've always disliked secrets."

He looked as though he wanted to say more but was forestalled

by a group of other potholers who joined them, and together
they perched around the gallery and drank hot tea and ate
sandwiches.

Afterward they fanned out to explore the passages that led

deep into the heart of the cavern, and Laura was poignantly
reminded of her first expedition, remembering that here Jake
had first kissed her. How much had happened since then, and
how different her feelings were for him now.

"We'd best be turning back." Jake spoke at her ear. "We've been
going for nearly two hours."

"As long as that!"

"Aye. Time flies when you're doing something you like."

"Can't we go on a bit farther? This will be the last chance I get."

She was sorry the moment she'd spoken, furious lest he think
she was playing for sympathy. But he made no comment and in
silence led the way back to the lakeside.

In their absence the water had risen and they edged their way
carefully along the gallery balancing only a few feet above the
dark glittering surface. Then came the steep climb to the top of
the first chimney where they met the rest of the party.

"Anybody find the source of the lake?" one of the men asked.

There was a chorus of no's and as it died away a young man

pointed to a gap set between two boulders midway toward the
roof. "Perhaps it comes from there."

Jake craned his neck. "You may be right. We'll make for that
next week."

"Why not now?" the young man asked and looked around him.
"Are you all game?"

This time there was a chorus of assent, and with Jake leading
the way they climbed the rock face and eased their way through
the gap.

The water course led precipitously along a curving tunnel until,

after some five hundred yards, it disappeared through another,
much narrower gap in some rocks.

"We've lost it," Laura said, disappointed.

"No, we haven't." Jake pointed to another tunnel branching off

to their left. "If we go through there I've a feeling we 'll meet a
spring a bit farther on."
"You're wrong," the young man said and nodded toward yet
another tunnel. "I think that's the one to follow." He plunged
forward and the rest of the party went with him, leaving only
Laura and Jake.

"We might as well see who's right," he said and, bending almost
double, set off down the tunnel of his choice, Laura following
close on his heels.

After a few yards they emerged into a small cavern. At one end
there was a sheer drop and they inched forward and peered
down to see an expanse of water.

"So I was right." Jake sounded pleased. "There's the source of

your lake."

"But it can't be. It looks so different. Anyway, it's not on the

same level."

"It's higher," he agreed.

"You mean it's much lower."

"It will be considerably higher before long. Just wait till the
water stops rising. It probably comes up to where we're
standing now and then pours down to form the lake."

Watching the water as he spoke, Laura was forced to concede

he was right. As always!

"It's rising pretty rapidly," she agreed.

"It must be raining outside. That usually affects the level. Come
on, we don't want to be caught in a flood."

If the climb toward the source had been difficult, the return was
even worse, and her back ached as she kept it bent double and
inched her way through the tunnel.
"How much farther is it?" she gasped.

"Only a couple of yards. It's always worse when…" The rest of

his words were drowned by what Laura thought was a heavy
rumble of thunder and instinctively she looked up.

"Jake! "she screamed. "Look!"

Tilting his head, he did so, and at the same time caught Laura
by the waist and pulled her back against the wall.
Simultaneously the roof above them seemed to stave in and a
shower of rocks richocheted about them, the noise
reverberating loudly in the enclosed space.

"What is it?" she shouted.

"A landslide. It sometimes happens."

"Particularly when I go potholing!"

He shrugged, and the movement of his body brought his chest

hard against her breasts, making her realize he had used
himself as a shield to protect her. It was a heartbreaking
thought and she wondered if the protective gesture had been
instinctive. But the result of it was proximity, and she was
intensely conscious of his body against hers and his arms
forming a barricade. Held in this way, her fear died, and she
was aware only of the pounding of his heart and the tremble of
his body that she felt certain came from a deep, though
suppressed, desire.

Gradually the rubble and dust settled and Jake turned and led
the way back. They stumbled along the passage, turned toward
the gap and stopped in horror. A massive boulder was blocking
their way.

His expletive was softly spoken but blue enough to give

indication of his dismay.
"How bad is it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Before he could answer, a faint voice reached them and they

strained their ears to hear it.

"Are you all right in there? Can you hear us? Are you all right?"

"Yes," Jake shouted. "How's the rest of the party?"

"Shaken but not hurt. We've no hope of shifting this boulder

ourselves. We 'll have to go for help.''

"Be quick about it. You know why." Jake turned to Laura. "Let's
go back to the little cavern and wait. There's no point standing
here."

They stumbled back down the gully and reached the cavern.
Laura peered over the edge to look at the lake again. What had
once been a placid stretch of water was now a heaving pool
rising swiftly up the side of the rocky walls.

"I hope we're rescued soon." Her voice was thin with fear and
he caught her hand.

"Don't worry, lass. I've been in trickier situations than this."

He held his lamp higher, its glow dispelling the gloom. "Let's sit
by the wall. We'll be more comfortable."

They sat on the floor and Jake turned the lamp off. "Ill put it on
again later," he said in the darkness. "I don't want to use up all
the fuel."

The blackness intensified the sound of rushing water below and

she shivered, feeling the dampness clinging to her face like a
wet veil.

Jake pui his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"We'll conserve more heat this way," he said.
She knew his reasoning was valid but wished it were not the
case. If only he was holding her close because he wanted to,
not because necessity demanded it.

She closed her eyes but opened them again immediately. Even
though it was dark and she could not see, the mere lowering of
her lids gave her a sensation of blindness, and she sat up in a
panic. Was it her imagination or was the sound of water louder?

"Put the lamp on and see if the water's rising."

"There's no need."

"Please do it, Jake."

With a grunt he obeyed. A comforting glow dispelled the

blackness and he moved and looked down at the lake. "It's a bit
higher but not much."

His tone was calm but she did not believe him, and before he
could stop her, she stretched out and peered over the edge into
the depths.

But there was no depth. Only a foot away the black water
swirled evilly, as though bubbling from a witches' cauldron.

Roughly he pulled her back. "What the hell did you have to look
for? "

"I wanted to know the truth. If that boulder isn't moved soon,
we'll drown!"

"They'll move the boulder," he assured her. "You've nothing to

worry about. The main thing is to keep warm."

She yawned and put her hand to her head, noticing the strange
languor that was enveloping her. Fighting down her fear, she
thought carefully about the situation they were in. The boulder
blocking the entrance must also have sealed off the air and if
the rising water didn't drown them first, they would die of
suffocation.

Next to her Jake stirred. His breathing was shallow and she
knew he was trying to conserve the air. But it was hopeless to
do that. All it would save them would be a few moments of life.
But those few would be spent together…

"The oxygen's going," she whispered.

"I knew you were too intelligent not to realize that," he said on
a sigh.

"We're done for, aren't we?" she whispered again.

He did not answer but she felt his body tense and then slowly
relax as if he realized the futility of lying.

"I've never thought much about death," he said huskily, "but if

it has to be now, then I'm glad I'm with you."

Shock held her in its grip. Then all fear and lassitude dissolved
as she absorbed what he had said.

"I'm glad, too," she replied. "It's silly to pretend any more. I
love you. I have for a long time."

"You're the only girl I've wanted to marry." He moved his hand
and found her face. "If we get out of here alive, will you marry
me?"

"Even though I'm a thief?"

"You're… no thief." Languor slurred his words. "I don't care what
the… the night watchman said. You might have been the only
redheaded female at Grant- ley's, but it… couldn't have been
you in my office that night."

She had waited a long time to hear him say this but was too
numb to feel any sense of joy. No longer did her body belong to
her. All she possessed was a mind and even that seemed to be
floating free, hovering above her control. Tim… Elaine… Jake…
There was so much to say but the words would not come. She
drew a gasping breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears,
each beat an explosion, and the explosions grew louder and
louder, resounding through the cavern and shaking the ground.

"Laura!" he cried. "Darling, hold on! They're trying to crack the

boulder. Laura…"

The rest of his words faded and she slipped into oblivion.

A brilliant light, beating down into her eyes with the intensity of
a hundred suns, forced her to cry out, and the sound brought
the touch of cool hands to her face.

With an effort Laura opened her eyes on a world of daylight,

white walls and a nurse bending over her.

"Begorrah," a strong Irish voice said, "and it's nice to see you
with your eyes open. You've slept the clock around."

"Jake!" she cried. "Is he alive?"

"Very much so. He left the hospital this morning. Bright as a

leprechaun!"

Naturally! Laura thought crossly and, her mind at rest, slipped

back into slumber.

When she awoke again it was evening and her father and Beth
were sitting beside the bed.

She stared at them in surprise. "I thought you were on your

honeymoon?"

"We came back when we heard the news on the radio," her
father replied.
"That wasn't necessary. I'm fine." Weak tears slid down her
cheeks." I've spoiled everything for you. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be daft." Beth sounded as practical as ever. "There's

nothing like a bit of extra excitement to liven up a honeymoon!"

"What's wrong with me?" her new husband inquired.

"I'll answer that when we're alone." Beth patted Laura's cheek.
"Don't look so miserable, love. You'll be fine in a couple of
days."

"I'm well enough to leave the hospital now," Laura mumbled.

"You're to go back on your honeymoon. Promise me!"

"We promise," Beth soothed. "Now close your eyes and rest."

"Only for a few minutes," Laura agreed and fell fast asleep
again.

The next time she awoke it was to a world of daylight. Energy

had returned to her body and with it came the return of
memory. No longer was the future bleak. It was as bright and
promising as the day outside. If only Jake were with her to
reaffirm what he had said. Poor Elaine, she thought, and
wondered how the girl would accept her defeat.

Breakfast over, Laura combed her hair and put on lipstick. Her
face was pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes. But
the eyes themselves glowed with happiness.

At noon the glow was less pronounced. There had been no word
from Jake, and when lunchtime came she could only toy with
her food, pushing it from one side of her plate to the other.
Surely he could have left the office for an hour in order to see
her? In fact it was strange he had not come last night with her
father and Beth. Panic made her reach for the bell and she kept
her finger on it until a nurse hurried in.
"Were you telling me the truth about Mr. Andrews?" she asked.
"Is he alive or dead?"

"Alive, of course. What a question! I told you yesterday he was

perfectly well."

"I wasn't sure… I was expecting to see him…"

"You haven't been allowed any visitors except your family until
today. I'm sure he'll be along this afternoon."

The relief that flooded Laura was almost like a pain and she lay
against the pillows. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I won't bother
you again."

"Then you'll be an angel, not a patient!" the nurse said cynically

and whisked out of the door.

Slowly the sunbeams ceased their dance at the foot of Laura's

bed and the bright afternoon light melted into molten gold.
Every few minutes she glanced at her watch, but rosy fingers of
sunset were streaking the purpling sky before a knock came at
the door.

"Come… come in," she called and leaned forward, excitement

sending the blood to her cheeks.

The door opened and her joy seeped away like water into sand.

"Darling," Robert murmured, and placed a box of grapes on her

bedside table.

Disappointment made it impossible for her to speak, but Robert

assumed she was still tired and cheerfully talked the time away.
After a little while she was able to smile at him, though what he
said to her and what she replied remained forever afterward a
blank. All she remembered was seeing him standing at the door,
ready to leave.
"I suppose there's no hope of your changing your mind and
staying in Eddlestone?"

"Why should I change my mind?"she parried.

"Because I have a feeling you don't want to go back to London.

You're only leaving because of Jake, aren't you? You're in love
with him."

"Must we talk about it now?" she demanded, on the verge of

tears.

"Oh Laura, I'm sorry." He was beside the bed again, contrition
making him bend over her. "It's just that I hate seeing you
make a fool of yourself. I've known for weeks that it's Jake
Andrews you love, but I wouldn't admit it to myself. Then when
I came in here and you saw me and looked so miserable, I
knew you'd been expecting him!"

"I wasn't," she lied. "You don't know what you're saying. I
wasn't expecting him."

"Then you won't be disappointed to know he's with Elaine. I saw

him heading to her place as I came to the hospital. She's been
away for a few days and he was tearing up to see her."

"I don't want to know." Laura managed to hold on to her

control, but the effort brought a film of perspiration to her
forehead. "Would you mind going, Robert? I'm rather tired."

"Sure." He went to the door, hesitated as if he wished to say

something further, then shrugged and left.

Only as the door closed behind him did Laura bury her face in
her hands. She hated Robert for telling her about Jake but knew
she should be grateful to him. At least he had ended her foolish
dreams.

Jake… Elaine… The two names hammered in her head with each
beat of her pulse. What a fool she had been to believe all he
had said to her when they had been trapped in the cavern.
Convinced they were going to die, Jake had only talked of love
and marriage in order to comfort her. The knowledge robbed
her of her last shred of pride, leaving her spirit raw.

Outside in the corridor there was the clatter of a trolley and her
door opened. Though her life was over, hospital routine must
continue.

"I don't want a wash," she said in a tight voice.

" I don't intend to give you one,'' a deep voice replied.

For a moment it seemed as though time stopped, and even the

clouds scudding across the darkening sky remained suspended,
motionless.

Slowly she lifted her head and saw Jake. He looked at her in
silence, then dumped a bunch of flowers on the bed. They
slithered across the blanket and fell with a rustle to the floor.

"They'll be crushed," she said stupidly.

"Who cares?"

Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her into his
arms, holding her so tightly that the buttons on his jacket dug
into her skin. He was large and warm and exuded the vitality
she always associated with him. But it was fatal to let herself be
aware of him, and she pushed him violently away.

"No, Jake. Let me go."

He took no notice and she pushed him again, her hands

clenched into fists. Realizing she meant what she said, he
released her.

"What's the matter, Laura?"

"Nothing. But it isn't necessary for you to go on with the act."

"What act? Have you gone daft?"

The rudeness of the question was so typically Jake that she

started to laugh. It bubbled up in her throat and would not
stop; peal after peal of hysterical laughter.

"Laura, be quiet!" He shook her roughly but the laughter went

on, and suddenly he bent his head and pressed his mouth on
hers. The laughter died on a choking breath and she gasped,
shuddered and then lay quiet. He lifted his head away but still
remained close, his weight heavy on the side of her bed.

"Now for heaven's sake, woman, tell me what's troubling you."

"Nothing's troubling me," she whispered. "That's why you

needn't pretend any more. We're no longer in the cavern and
we're not going to die. You're perfectly free to go back to
Elaine."

"I see." His expression told her that he did. "And what would
you say if I told you I don't want Elaine?"

"I'd say you were a liar! You've just been with her. And don't
bother denying it because—"

"I've no intention of denying it. I had to see her. Until I'd done
so I didn't feel free to see you." His grip tightened on her again.
"Do you think I was joking when I said I loved you? How can
you be such a fool! I've always loved you, but I never realized
how much until I thought we were going to die. That's what I
had to tell Elaine."

"Off with the old before on with the new," she said bitterly.

"If you like to put it that way, you can," he said uncomfortably.
"Though I never asked her to marry me. I give you my word on
that. She amused me and flattered me but I never considered
marrying her. I don't expect you to understand why I started
taking her out, but it sort of began, and then it… it went on."

"I think I know why," she said, remembering all Beth had told
her of his background.

"Then if you do, surely you can see why I had to talk to her
before I could come here?" He sighed. "It was quite a scene, I
can tell you."

"She said you'd ruined her life and you were the only man she
ever loved?"

"Something like that," he said sheepishly. "But I don't believe it.

She only wanted me because I was hard to get."

"Yet you were willing to let me go back to London," she

reminded him. "I even had my train ticket."

"So had I," he confessed and took a crumpled green card from
his pocket. "I intended to follow you. On Saturday, at the
wedding, I knew I couldn't let you go. I wanted to tell Elaine the
way I felt but I didn't get the chance. Straight after the
reception she went to Liverpool to see a girl friend who was
going off to Canada, and I realized I'd have to wait until she got
back."

"You really meant to follow me to London?"

"Yes."

"Even though you thought I was a thief?"

"I didn't think that anymore. What I said in the cavern was
true. I knew you were innocent no matter what the night
watchman said."

Foolishly she started to cry. Not gentle tears but harsh sobs that
shook her body. Jake stroked her hair, kissing her burning
forehead and her damp curls.

"Don't cry," he pleaded. "I love you." He tried to tilt her chin but
she wouldn't let him, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

"No, I look dreadful when I cry."

"You could never look dreadful to me." He went on stroking her

hair. "You're beautiful, Laura. Beautiful, brave and loyal."

There was something in the way he said the last word that
made her look at him.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I know about Tim. Your father came to
see me before he and Beth left this morning."

"I didn't wantyou to know."

"I can understand that. But I'm glad I do. I was a fool ever to
have doubted you. Can you forgive me?"

His tone was so pleading that she could not bear it. "Don't be
humble, Jake," she said shakily, "or you'll be a stranger to me.
I've only known you as rude, sarcastic or passionate!"

"What a brute you make me sound. My only excuse is that I

was scared of falling for you. From the moment I met you I
never had a moment's peace."

"You didn't need to fight me,"she said.

"Oh yes, I did," he grinned. "I've always been scared of bossy

redheaded women!"

"I'll never succeed in bossing you."

"That still won't stop you trying," he replied and gently touched
his lips to hers.
Her mouth moved beneath his and her response aroused a
greater response in him. His hands caressed her throat and
shoulders, touching the soft skin of her breasts. She shivered
with desire and pulled him closer, but he gave a sudden groan
and pushed her back upon the pillows.

"Laura, don't! I've a lot of control," he said thickly, "but you're

in a pretty vulnerable position!" Rising from the bed, he went to
stand by the window. "Don't make me wait long. Marry me
soon."

"As soon as you wish."

"The minute you get out of here. I'll get a special license and—"

"I can't get married without my father," she protested. "He'd be

awfully upset."

"No, he won't. I as good as told him what to expect by the time

he got back from his honeymoon!"

"You were very sure of me, weren't you?"

"I have to be sure of you." He was beside her again, bending

close yet not touching her, his face serious. "Apart from my
mother, you are the only woman I have ever loved. And now
that you know it, you can use it against me for the rest of my
life."

"Against you?"

"Aye. As a weapon that can destroy me or as a shield that can

give me strength."

"Only strength," she said huskily. "I could never do anything to

hurt you. Never."

He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "How will you feel
about making Eddlestone your home? "
"Home is where you are.''

His laugh was buoyant and happier than anything she had yet
heard from him.

"When I'm boss of Grantley's, as I will be, one day, we can live
in London."

"You'll still never be a Londoner," she teased. "You'll always be

my rough diamond lover."

"I like the last word best," he whispered.

"So do I,"she smiled. "Oh darling, so do I."