Hell Or High Water. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘My mother and me.’

      ‘Ah!’ He nodded his head. ‘I gather you have no brothers or sisters.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘And your father’s dead.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Helen resented this interrogation, but she didn’t see how she could refuse to answer him, and with an obvious gesture she stepped back into the hall. It was another few seconds before he joined her, and her features had set in controlled lines. It was as if he was deliberately delaying her, and she wished her mother or Margot would appear and take this unwanted duty from her.

      ‘The music room,’ she declared shortly, throwing open the white panelled doors that led into a smaller, but equally attractive room. Here, one or two pictures still adorned the walls, portraits mostly, of long-dead Chases, whose likenesses would be of little value to anyone else. The carpet was Chinese, the grand piano reflected the warmth of the bowl of primroses that adorned it, and several pieces of eighteenth century mahogany gleamed with the patina of age. There was a small escritoire, a folding, gate-legged table, and a walnut bracket clock, whose ticking filled the quiet room with a steady rhythm.

      ‘Do you play the piano—Miss Chase?’ Jarret asked, strolling towards the stringed instrument which dominated one corner of the room.

      ‘I used to,’ she admitted, her words clipped and unwilling, and with a wry smile he seated himself at the piano and ran his long fingers over the keys.

      At once she recognised the melody of a popular tune of the day, mellowed to a lilting refrain that tugged at the heartstrings. Then, just as she was considering making the scathing comment that he was abusing the age of the instrument, he switched to a Chopin prelude, and drew the very soul from the poignant phrase.

      His eyes sought hers as he finished with a final sweep of the keys, and feeling obliged to say something, she tried not to sound as if she was envious. ‘You’re very accomplished,’ she averred, glancing meaningfully towards the doors again, and his rueful grin denoted his acknowledgement of how reluctant she had been to compliment him.

      ‘Faint praise?’ he murmured, as he passed her into the hall, and she closed the doors behind them with a distinctive click.

      The library was a cooler room, having the benefit of the north light, but seldom welcoming the sun. Nevertheless, the book-lined walls were warming, and the desk set squarely before the windows was an ideal place for anyone to work.

      ‘Did your father use this room?’ Jarret asked casually, wandering over to the desk and running his fingers over its tooled leather surface.

      ‘Yes.’

      As always, Helen was non-committal, but this time Jarret persisted. ‘What did he do—your father?’ he asked, propping himself against the side of the desk and folding his arms. ‘A country gentleman, was he? The local squire? Or did he have to work for his living like the rest of us?’

      Helen was shocked into speech. ‘I don’t think my father’s affairs are anything to do with you, Mr Manning,’ she declared, preparing to make her exit, but his next words arrested her.

      ‘As I see it, there has to be some reason why you dislike me so much, Miss Chase,’ he observed pleasantly. ‘I’d like to know what it is, that’s all.’

      ‘And—and you think learning about my father’s occupation will help you?’ she exclaimed.

      ‘Let’s say I’m interested in your background, as you’re obviously interested in mine.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Oh, come on …’ He rested his chin on his chest, looking up at her through the thick length of his lashes. ‘You think I’m coarse and uneducated, thoroughly unsuitable to own King’s Green!’

      Helen’s lips worked silently for a moment, then she said: ‘When my father inherited King’s Green, we owned the land for—for miles around. He—he was the squire, yes, but he worked hard for the estate, and only the high cost of living and the taxes he had to pay forced him to sell most of it.’

      ‘I see,’ Jarret nodded, but Helen had to disabuse him.

      ‘However,’ she went on, ‘if you think I—I object to—to you because I think you’re socially inferior, you couldn’t be more wrong!’

      ‘No?’

      ‘No!’ Helen swallowed before continuing. ‘What—what I do object to is—is Margot Urquart bringing her—her boy-friends here and pretending that they have the money to buy a place like this!’

      She realised she had gone too far long before Jarret’s dark features mirrored his contempt. She didn’t know what had possessed her to speak so candidly, unless it was his scornful comments about her father. She did know practically nothing about him, after all, and although shesuspected Margot was helping to finance his property speculation, she had no way of proving it.

      ‘So that’s what you think,’ he commented flatly, his lips curling with dislike. ‘My, my, what a devious little mind you have, to be sure! You really think I would let Margot buy me a country retreat?’

      Having gone so far, Helen had no choice but to go through with it if she wanted to save her self-respect. ‘Why not?’ she asked now, lifting her shoulders. ‘She’s bought everything else, hasn’t she?’

      He was off the desk and confronting her before her shaken senses could acknowledge her mistake. He had been close before, when he had detained her at the top of the stairs, but not as close as this, nor breathing down upon her with all the fiery ferment of his anger. His breath was not unpleasant, and it was flavoured by the Scotch her mother must have offered him, but its heat was unmistakable, combined as it was with the ice-cold glitter of his eyes.

      ‘You little——’ His harsh tones cut off the expletive with brutal vehemence, and Helen, who had never suffered such an assault before, shrank back in alarm. ‘What the hell do you think gives you the right to pass moral judgment on me, or Margot? What is it to do with you how we live or how we act? And if Margot chooses to spend her money in a way that suits her best, why should she have to defend herself to you?’

      Helen shifted unsteadily under his gaze, momentarily numbed by the fierceness of his attack. ‘I—I—I don’t care what Margot does, as—as long as she doesn’t expect—us to—to condone it,’ she stammered, struggling to recover her dignity. ‘And—and intimidating me isn’t going to make me—change my mind, Mr Manning,’ she added bravely.

      ‘No?’ Unexpectedly his eyes dropped to the modest neckline of her dress, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from clutching the collar about her throat. ‘Then perhaps I should give you a sample of what you’re missing, mmm?’

      Helen gulped. ‘Don’t you dare——’ she began chokingly, and then felt her words stifled at the source as his mouth descended over hers.

      He held her, his hands gripping her shoulders without respect or gentleness, the narrow fingers digging into her soft flesh. She was not crushed against him, but she was aware of the hard strength of his lean body, and ridiculously embarrassed by the pressure of his legs against hers. She had never been kissed СКАЧАТЬ