Dear Deceiver(28)

She risked a glance into the sitting-room before she left, smiling at  Brand who was snoozing on the table and at Punch who was goggling at the  downhanging golden brush. Brand had accepted the pup from a great  height; an extra courtier never came amiss. Friends including the  natives were welcome at Glenglass, but he ruled the roost. He snored, he  hunted, he played and he ogled. He had than all under his claw.

Haidee had to admit that Rory had been good about Brand. In happier days  she had sometimes thought it was a case of two strong men.

Paul had said he would pick her up on the main road outside the forest  entrance. It was nearly three-quarters of a mile from the house, but she  had long ago lost her nervousness of the woods. In fact she was just  beginning to 'hear' them, and this was easier at night. Tonight,  distressed as she was, the background music was there as ever to be  interpreted, the call that meant owl or hunted bird, the cracking twig  that could be rabbit or weasel.

It was uncanny to stop and think how closely she did fit this side of  the girl who had loved Glenglass so crazily. And, from a personal point  of view, sheer tragedy that she would be remembered for her share in  today's fire. She loved these trees, the oak and ash descendants of the  first Irish forests, the immigrant beech and chestnut which were young  in time, and yes, even the spruce and pine which the little owls  frequented. If she could have lived the rest of her life here, learning  and caring, she would, she realized, be just as happy as Brand.                       
       
           



       

But that was absurdity. She checked her thoughts and stood in the  shelter of the wall to watch for Paul's car. After a few minutes it came  and she stepped forward.

'You made it. Good,' Paul commended, stretching for the door.

She had her hand on it when a form moved out of the darkness. Fingers bit through her trench coat into the soft of her arm.

'No, you don't,' Rory's voice was as biting as his hold. 'Not this time.'

Not this time... could he possibly think ...

'Paul's taking me-' she began.

'Paul's taking you nowhere.' The voice was quiet, the grip remained that  of a vice. 'That's one bit of history I'm not having repeated.'

A gusty wind had cleared the rags of cloud off the moon. She saw his  face, shadowed in indigo, eyes glittering. 'No need to be so dramatic,'  she said with creditable cool. 'We were going for a drink, that's all.'

'I've heard that once before,' the stony voice reminded her. 'On that  occasion, if you remember, you asked me to listen for Toby.'

To remember was beyond her, to grasp his meaning was easy. It must have  been in terms as casual that ten years ago Suzanne had walked out of his  life.

'I give you my word,' she started breathlessly. 'It wasn't...'

'You may keep your word, Suzanne,' he interrupted. 'It's never been  worth having. A week back I was uncertain, now I know. Keep your big  eyes and the lies you tell with them. But be damn sure I'm keeping  you-at least until you've finished the job you came for.' A rough hand  thrust her back and wrenched the car door open. 'Do you need that  repeated or have you got the message?'

Talk about temper! It needed only Paul's justifiable anger and the fuse  would be lit. Haidee looked fearfully from the dark glowering face to  Paul's poised head and decidedly strained smile.

'You're being ridiculous,' he said uneasily.

'Is that all you've got to say?'

'What else? She's told you, we were going for a drink.'

'Why hide out here, then?'

'No reason at all.' For the second time that day Haidee felt sorry for  Paul. He was not a boor or a bully and it was on her account he had  come.

'Do I have to spell it out for you?' Rory thundered. 'It's near on a  mile she's walked to get here, in the dark. Don't you know the kind we  can get in the woods at night? Supposing she'd been assaulted. What  then?'

'How could I have been assaulted?' Haidee struck in. 'There wasn't a soul about. I do keep my eyes open, you know.'

A nasty gleam lit the ones regarding her. 'That shows how well you do it. I was there, girl, walking behind you-all the way.'

He slammed the door of the car so viciously that Paul's head had to draw  back. Haidee's share was three forthright sentences. 'You're bad  medicine, Suzanne. Don't think I don't know it. But you're not walking  out on me now, by heck you're not!'

If he had walked behind her on the way down, his long angry strides now gave him a lead.

'I didn't bring Brand, you know,' Haidee panted. 'I couldn't go without  Brand.' Infuriating not to be able to keep up. She gave a little run.  The face beside her under the low-brimmed hat remained impassive. 'We  were going for a drink, I tell you,' she asserted. 'I wanted to talk to  Paul.'

'You can talk to me.'

'You!' Her voice cracked hysterically. 'What good would that do? You don't care for anything but trees.'

'I certainly don't care for histrionics,' he said cuttingly. Talk sensibly. I'll listen.' It seemed the height of condescension.

'If you could be human for five minutes, you'd see why I wanted Paul's company. I don't say he's perfect-'

'So you do draw the line somewhere?'

The implication was unmistakable. And insupportable. A great mouth of  anger swallowed Suzanne and what she had or had not done. Haidee stood  alone, burning with resentment and injustice.                       
       
           



       

'Yes. At spite and malice. And inhumanity. Paul may be careless...'

'Careless?'

Regardless, she swept on. 'He doesn't treat you like the dirt under his  feet. He's kind, approachable, understanding. Understanding of women,  actually.'

'Go on.' It was said icily.

'All right. We like to be treated like people. You'll never get anywhere-'

'Is that an invitation?'

She stopped gasping.

'I hope not,' the voice continued relentlessly, 'because I'm not in the mood to accept it.'

It cost her a second to take it in, what he said, what he had meant, the  cold glint in his eyes. Then numbness went. She saw red, almost  literally, as her hand resounded against his cheek. It was like striking  a rock. He simply looked more graven, more controlled.

'As an honest tramp, Suzanne, you held me, fool that I was, for years.  As a hypocrite I can't stomach you. But you'll stay for Jennie's sake-if  it's the last thing you do.'

The rest of the walk was covered in silence. Haidee had no heart for  further protestations. Rory's face might have been a steel lake. Not a  muscle moved as they climbed the steps to the house. 'He loathes me,'  she thought, and could not baulk at the follow-on. For ten years Suzanne  Hart had lived in memory, a question mark between love and hate. Haidee  Brown arriving in Glenglass had been received accordingly. Now at last  it had resolved itself and the answer was here-cold animosity. No shade  of liking. Suzanne had not brought that about. She had. She done.

She walked into the hall as though brickbats were flying about her.

Punch was sitting on the landing, absurdly squat, absurdly fascinated.  Brand was showing off on the newel post, puffed with his own beauty. He  was revolving like a teetotum as Rory clattered upstairs. The noise  startled him and he teetered and lost his hold. As he scrabbled, Haidee  snatched him up, her heart in her mouth. He had had a fright and he  clung, a kitten again, burying his head in her coat. 'Sorry,' said Rory  awkwardly.

'Sorry!' she hurled. 'If he'd fallen...'

Ferocity took her over. Brand, warm and soft in her arms, seemed  suddenly small. He could have been maimed or worse. She saw Rory's face  change as he looked at her. He took a hesitating step forward.

'Don't touch him,' she blazed. 'He's terrified. I wish I could take him away!'



They could have been two statues, he with a wry mouth and haggard  cheeks, she magnolia pale with falls of dark hair. For a matter of  seconds their eyes held each other like wrists in a measure of grips.  Then Rory's dropped and he turned abruptly on his heel.





CHAPTER EIGHT



Sunday, inside and out, was a wretched day. The rain fell continuously  and being cooped up in the house was the last thing Haidee wanted. The  atmosphere between Rory and herself she knew could not go unnoticed by  Jennie and Toby.



On Monday things were no better. The hospital visit was accomplished in  the rain and Jennie, no doubt with the best of intentions, was  solicitous. Haidee felt irked and loathed herself. Antonia was 'about  the same', but the nurse, telling them this, did so with a headshake.

As they drove home the sky lightened. In Glenglass the rain had stopped  and Toby was sighted in the village. Haidee pulled up and hooted. To her  surprise, not only Toby's small figure came trotting, but a taller one,  one she thought had left the day before.

'No hurry,' Paul said vaguely as she commented on this. 'And anyway, I  was worried about you.' He lowered his voice. 'I think you should get  out, love. Come back with me tonight. The fellow's dangerous.'