The Bride Of Santa Barbara. Angela Devine

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СКАЧАТЬ tools of her trade. A tape measure hung around her neck and a wrist pin-cushion studded with bright red and yellow and blue pins was attached firmly to her left wrist. She hurried across the room to meet them, both hands outstretched.

      ‘Oh, Daniel!’ she cried. ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in weeks. Hi, Beth, how are you? I’m Wendy Fulton. Now, what do you want us to do?’

      Hesitantly Beth began to explain. In a moment Wendy interrupted her to find a sketch-book and some coloured pencils. Beth sat down and began to draw and talk at the same time, with a sense of rising excitement. Was it really possible that they might achieve this incredible feat? Her eyes met Daniel’s and he gave her a faint smile. She caught her breath and then smiled back at him uncertainly.

      ‘Just call Blair’s down in the city if you need any fabric sent up,’ he told Wendy. ‘I’ll be in my study if you need me. And make sure this young lady gets some sleep some time tonight, won’t you?’

      And with that he slipped away.

      Beth had never worked so hard in all her life. Nor had she ever known that work could be so exhilarating. For the next few hours she was so busy that she scarcely had time to breathe. Under her direction the twelve women traced out patterns, cut fabrics and sewed together garments with a speed that amazed and enthralled her. And as the day wore on her secret conviction that Daniel Pryor was stark raving mad slowly began to give way to the wild hope that he might be a genuine miracle-worker. By seven o’clock in the evening, when the second shift of dressmakers came on duty, several garments were already completed. And more were laid out in pieces on the floor or pinned to the dressmakers’ dummies. When Benson came into the ballroom to announce that dinner was being served in the dining-room, Beth was too excited to join the others.

      ‘I’ll just stay on here and keep working,’ she said. ‘I’m really not hungry but if you could send me in something to drink I’d be grateful.’

      Ten minutes later the English butler returned with a glass of lemon mineral water, a toasted chicken sandwich and salad on a tray. Beth smiled warmly at him, gulped down the mineral water and left the sandwich for a moment while she went to check on some problems. For the rest of the evening time flew by as she cut out fabric, drew coloured sketches or hovered anxiously behind the sewing machines, directing the workers. At the back of her mind she noted absently that Benson had switched on the overhead lights and that the garden outside was growing dark, but she was absolutely stunned when a sudden burst of laughter in the corridor outside the room announced the return of the first shift of workers. The ginger-haired Wendy came back into the room and stopped dead with a reproving clicking of her tongue.

      ‘Oh, Beth!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Are you still here? Don’t you realise it’s three o’clock in the morning?’

      ‘What?’ cried Beth. ‘I don’t believe you.’

      She was crouching on the floor over a cutting-board and, as she tried to rise to her feet, a sudden cramp locked the muscles of her leg so that she had to hobble around painfully, squealing and massaging her calf. Wendy gave an exasperated groan and came to her aid.

      ‘Daniel will be furious if he hears that you’ve been running yourself as hard as this,’ she said. ‘Come on, sit down for a minute, honey, and let me massage it. When did you last eat?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Beth vaguely, giving a low gasp of pain as Wendy kneaded the cramped muscle. ‘I had a chicken sandwich earlier on.’

      Wendy’s glance tracked across the room to the plate containing a large toasted sandwich with a single bite taken out of it.

      ‘Oh, did you?’ she demanded drily.

      Beth grinned, showing fugitive dimples. ‘Well, I meant to,’ she said. ‘Oh, that leg is much better. Thank you, Wendy.’

      Wendy hauled her to her feet. ‘Look, why don’t you go to bed now?’ she demanded. ‘You look really bushed.’

      ‘I know,’ admitted Beth ruefully. ‘But I can’t bear to leave until I know that suede jacket is safely finished. That’s the one I’m really praying over.’

      Wendy took her arm and propelled her firmly towards the door. ‘Well, if you won’t go to bed, at least lie down in the conservatory for a while. And take some fresh food from the kitchen with you. I’ll come and call you when the jacket’s done.’

      Beth stretched, feeling the ache in her shoulder and conscious of the sudden throbbing in her head. ‘All right, I think I will,’ she agreed.

      Ten minutes later she ambled wearily into the back of the house and uttered a soft exclamation of delight. The room covered the full width of the house and was illuminated by concealed lighting hidden among the plants. As Beth pressed the light switch, a soft golden glow filled the entire room, revealing a luxuriant jungle of plants. There were huge tubs of tuberous begonias, pink and white and yellow. Baskets filled with trailing blue lobelias hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined with thickets of mauve hydrangeas. Every gap was filled with the brilliantly coloured foliage of coleus plants, pink and yellow and amazing shades of burgundy. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies and somewhere she could hear the sound of running water. Investigating further, Beth found a little grotto tucked away in one corner looking almost like a natural rock pool with its delicate ferns and mosses and a fountain rippling into a pool filled with goldfish.

      ‘Oh, how nice,’ she breathed, sinking into a conveniently placed chaise-longue and pulling up a bamboo table. She had been too tired to make herself a fresh meal, but she drank some lemonade straight from a can and ate the remains of her chicken sandwich and the salad. A large slice of Black Forest cake made a delicious dessert and she was asleep even before she had finished licking the last smear of chocolate from her fingers. How long she slept she didn’t know, but she dreamt that Warren was lifting her and carrying her away, except that in the dream Warren was far stronger and more tender than he had ever been in real life. It was only when her bare legs brushed against a damp hydrangea, spilling a shower of cold droplets over her skin, that she came awake with a start and realised that it was not Warren who was holding her. It was Daniel Pryor. With a startled gasp she tried to struggle free.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Put me down!’

      He did as she asked, but did not release her. His left arm remained tensed around her body, supporting her, and she could not help being disturbingly conscious of his nearness and warmth. Panic jolted through her and she tried urgently to twist away.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked in a puzzled voice. ‘Are you still dreaming? You look terrified.’

      His arm tightened around her.

      ‘No!’ she choked. ‘I’m not. I’m awake! It’s just that...’

      She paused and a shudder went through her. How could she possibly admit to herself, much less to him, that his mere presence was sheer torment to her? She inhaled sharply, feeling her senses swim at the spicy scent of his aftershave, mingled with the subtle aromas of the conservatory. Against the dark outlines of the plants his body seemed to loom over her, huge, primitive, vaguely threatening. And yet mysteriously she felt drawn to him so powerfully that her heart accelerated and her breathing grew fast and shallow. Her eyes dilated in alarm as he stepped towards her.

      ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘You’ve just woken in a strange place and lost your bearings. But you’re quite safe. Trust me.’

      His СКАЧАТЬ