Proud Harvest. Anne Mather

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      Lesley’s eyes sparkled dangerously in Carne’s direction for a moment, before she said: ‘That’s meant a lot to him in recent years, hasn’t it. Or has he been seeing Jeremy behind my back, too?’

      ‘Lesley!’ Carne’s voice was grim, and briefly she felt ashamed.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, addressing her mother. ‘But you know as well as I do how often Carne has troubled to see Jeremy since I left Ravensdale—–’

      ‘You little bitch!’ In a stride, Carne had covered the distance between them and was gripping her upper arms with fingers that dug cruelly into her flesh. ‘You little bitch!’ he repeated, less emotively, his gaze raking her shakily resentful features. ‘You know as well as I do why I stopped seeing him. You’d confused him enough as it was. A father who appeared at weekends and holidays is no father at all to a toddler barely out of his nappies, and you know it.’

      ‘That—that’s your excuse, is it?’ she got out jerkily, and his brown eyes darkened to appear almost black, filling the area around the dilated pupils with ominous obscurity.

      ‘Yes, that’s my excuse,’ he agreed savagely. ‘How do you salve your conscience, I wonder?’

      Lesley tore herself away from him, rubbing her bruised arms with fingers that trembled. ‘You always were a bully, weren’t you, Carne?’ she countered, but it was a defensive reaction, born of the desire to escape the physical awareness she had always had of him, an awareness heightened by the heated scent of his body and the raw sensuality of the man himself. It was an unconscious trait, but it was there, and she knew she was not the only woman to be aware of it.

      Mrs Matthews was looking distinctly distressed now, and ignoring Lesley Carne turned to her. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked gently, but Lesley’s muffled ‘Yes’ was overridden by her mother’s hurried denial.

      ‘Lesley had to know sooner or later,’ she said, and pointed to the cigar box on the mantelpiece. ‘Please—could I have one of those? I really need it.’

      Lesley stood by feeling childishly sulky and admonished as Carne lit her mother’s cheroot, but she couldn’t deny the fluttery feelings in the pit of her stomach. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t run the Mini into the back of the other car that morning, if she hadn’t got out of work early and come home and surprised them. When would her mother have mentioned Carne’s visit? When would she have revealed that her heart could not stand the demands put upon it by a child of Jeremy’s age and temperament? When would she have disclosed that she was actually negotiating arrangements without even consulting her daughter!

      Panic gave way to angry indignation once more. It was as if she, Jeremy’s mother, had no say in the matter. And Carne was obviously a willing accessory. And why not? It was, no doubt, exactly what he wanted. Once he and his mother got Jeremy to Ravensdale they would have eight weeks to work on him, eight weeks to twist everything Lesley had ever told him, eight weeks to turn him against the woman who had borne him. Self-pity swamped her. Carne’s mother had always hated her, had always resented the fleeting hold she had had over her precious son. Jeremy was that son all over again, the grandson she had always wanted to be there to take over Raventhorpe when his father retired. The long tradition of the Radleys was weighted against her. What possible defence did she have against that?

      Carne straightened from lighting her mother’s cheroot and regarded her coldly. ‘I suggest this matter needs further consideration,’ he remarked, toying with the heavy lighter. ‘I’ve arranged to stay in town overnight. I suggest we meet for dinner, like the civilised people we are supposed to be, and discuss what’s to be done.’

      Lesley stiffened her spine. ‘So far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to discuss,’ she retorted icily, but his gaze never faltered.

      ‘I’m staying at the President,’ he went on, mentioning the name of a comfortable three-star hotel in Russell Square. He glanced down at his casual attire. ‘I need a drink and a shower, but I’ll be back here to pick you up in—say, an hour and a half?’

      Lesley licked her dry lips. ‘You can’t force me to go out with you, Carne.’

      ‘For God’s sake!’ He swore angrily. ‘I should have thought you’d have got over that childish temper of yours by now!’

      ‘Why should I? You haven’t.’

      ‘Lesley …’

      Mrs Matthews’ fretful protest silenced any cutting retort Carne might have been about to make. Instead, controlling his anger with admirable skill, he said: ‘I’ll give you two hours, Lesley. That should be long enough for your mother to convince you that you can’t go on running away from life’s unpleasantnesses.’

      ‘Like you, you mean?’ she taunted, and then turned away, despising herself for behaving like a shrew. But it had been quite a day, and it wasn’t over yet.

      She heard Carne bidding her mother goodbye, and half turned as he let himself out of the apartment. His brooding gaze swept over her and found her lacking, and she concentrated her attention on her clenched fists as he closed the door behind him.

      The room was strangely empty after he had gone, but her mother was there and her eyes were full of reproach.

      ‘How could you, Lesley?’ she exclaimed, pressing out the half smoked cheroot with unsteady fingers. ‘Making a scene like that! I never thought you could be so—so vindictive!’

      ‘Vindictive?’ The word brought a sound of protest from Lesley’s lips. ‘Me? Vindictive?’

      ‘Well, what would you call it?’ Mrs Matthews demanded. ‘I asked Carne to come here, and this is my home, after all. How could you speak to a guest of mine in such a fashion?’

      ‘A guest of yours?’ Lesley stared at her ludicrously. ‘Mother, Carne is my husband? Separated, it’s true, but husband, nevertheless! You can’t accuse me of being rude to my own husband!’

      ‘I can, and what’s more, I do,’ declared her mother, with a sniff. ‘I think Carne showed remarkable restraint in the face of outright provocation. Jeremy is his son as well as yours, Lesley, whether you like it or not. And any court in the land would grant him custodial rights if he chose to make a case of it.’

      Lesley trembled. She couldn’t help it. It sounded so coldblooded somehow, and her mother had put her finger on the one thing she had always fought against considering.

      ‘Carne—Carne doesn’t need Jeremy,’ she said now. ‘I do.’

      ‘Try convincing a magistrate of that.’

      ‘Mother!’ Lesley stared with anguished eyes. ‘Mother, what are you trying to do? To make me give Jeremy up?’

      Mrs Matthews shrugged. ‘I’m just pointing out that Carne has been very patient, but I shouldn’t push him any further if I were you.’

      Lesley pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘You mean—I should have dinner with him?’

      ‘I mean that if Carne is willing to give the boy a home for the holidays, you should be glad to let him go.’

      ‘But, Mother, the only time I see Jeremy is in the holidays!’

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