There was a moment’s silence; Evan looked off into the distance, staring up at Pennistone Royal, that great stately home sitting atop the hill, thinking about her childhood in Connecticut…It had been so bleak in many ways, and yet there had been her father, and of course her grandmother, who were her great boosters.
Evan’s face brightened and she exclaimed, ‘There was always Glynnis. She was there for me, my lovely gran. It was she who really brought me up, and she was–just wonderful.’
‘I bet she was. And she was truly beautiful, if that snap you showed me this morning is anything to go by,’ Gideon murmured.
Evan nodded. ‘It’s amazing to think that Robin kept it all these years.’
‘It’s obvious he had a real big thing about her, my sweet, just as I do about you. I wish we could go back to Allington Hall and make love.’
She laughed, shaking her head. ‘I do, too, but we can’t.’
‘I realize that. I have a sinking feeling that we’re stuck here for lunch. With Tessa.’
‘Yes, and Jack Figg. Just the four of us.’
‘Oh. Where’re Linnet and India?’
‘Linnet told me she was going to the Harrogate store, and later to see Sir Ronald. Julian’s brought him up from London, but he’s not well apparently. Julian’s worried about his grandfather. She was going over for lunch with them, and India’s meeting a friend.’
‘Thank God Jack’s here, he’s good company,’ Gideon said. ‘Tessa can be hard to take. How is she, by the way? I guess it was some ordeal on Wednesday.’
‘It was. She really suffered, as I told you. There were moments when I thought she was going to pass out from anxiety. She was frantic. Yesterday she seemed a bit better, less agitated, but so quiet. She seems to alternate between looking worried and being preoccupied. Linnet thinks she’s changed a lot in two days, but I’m not sure.’
‘I hope it’s for the better,’ he shot back succinctly.
They sat and finished their drinks in silence and then Gideon said suddenly, ‘I guess we’d better wend our way.’ They rose, picked up their empty glasses and began to walk slowly up the hill. It was still scorching hot and the blue sky and brilliant sunlight combined to make it the most gorgeous August day.
Gideon stole a look at Evan, thinking how young and fresh she looked in her strapless cotton sundress and sandals. She was not wearing any make-up except for a touch of lipstick, and she suddenly seemed vulnerable and tender and he wanted to protect her, cherish her. He couldn’t help thinking what a strange childhood she must have had with a depressive mother. Several times she had expressed worry about her own chances of inheriting her mother’s illness, wondering aloud to him if it was genetic. He wasn’t sure about that, but after eight months he knew her well now; he was quite certain she had not inherited that troubling disease, would not fall prey to it.
As for Evan, she was also thinking about her mother, wondering what had brought about this change in her…at least what had made her sound so…upbeat. There was just no other word for it. Her thoughts flew to her father: she dreaded the idea of telling him he was part Harte, that she was part Harte, and that she was contemplating marrying a Harte. Trouble lies ahead, she thought. I’m going to have trouble with Dad, especially about Gideon.
She stole a surreptitious look at him through the corner of her eye, and her heart seemed to melt within her. He was the nicest, kindest man she had ever met, not to mention charming and good-looking with his reddish-blond hair and green eyes. Emma Harte’s colouring, she thought, the same as Linnet and his father. He was a full-blooded Harte and she was half Harte, but so what? She loved him very much and she had every intention of marrying him, no matter what her father said. Well, I’ve finally made up my mind, she thought, at least about Gideon. And she smiled to herself, pleased.
‘Where have you been, Emma? Dad’s been looking for you all over the place. It’s about Lady Hamilton Clothes.’ As he spoke Sir Ronald Kallinski adjusted his glasses and peered at the couple standing in front of him. The sun was behind them and he could not see them properly; he blinked several times, focusing first on the woman and then on the man.
‘Is that you, Michael? What are you doing with Emma? You’re delaying her.’
‘Grandfather, it’s me, Julian, not my father. And this is Linnet, my fiancée, not Emma. You know Linnet, Grandfather, she’s Paula’s daughter, Emma’s great-granddaughter. We’re engaged, remember?’
‘Yes,’ the old man said vaguely, sitting up straighter on the sofa.
‘I think you must’ve been dozing, Grandfather, and having a dream perhaps–about the old days, eh?’ Julian smiled at him.
Sir Ronald blinked again and peered at the couple. ‘Of course it’s you, Julian, and Linnet! I suppose it’s possible I was daydreaming about the past, that’s what you do when you’re over ninety: dream about the days long ago, live with the memories. I’m one of the last, you know, except for Bryan O’Neill, Linnet’s grandfather, and Edwina, Robin and Elizabeth. All of the others are gone now. Yes, I’m one of the last.’
‘That’s true, but you’re pretty healthy,’ Julian said in a strong, reassuring voice, motioning for Linnet to sit down next to his grandfather on the sofa. He took the chair opposite them; he was worried about his grandfather, to whom he was close, and cared about his well-being.
Sir Ronald turned to gaze at Linnet, and said in a voice tinged with awe, ‘But my goodness, Linnet, you could be her. Now, when I look at you, I feel as if I’m seeing a ghost, a reincarnation. You’re the spitting image of Emma, lass.’
‘I know, Uncle Ronnie, everyone tells me that.’ She smiled at him and went on, ‘Julian and I have come to have lunch with you, and tell you about our marriage plans.’
‘Although I’m a bit doddery on my feet, I’ll be there!’ Sir Ronald announced in a voice much stronger. ‘You can be damned sure of that. I’ve not made any plans for dying, oh no, not just yet. I still have too much damage to do.’ He began to smile. ‘It’s going to be the joy of my life, seeing you two get married. It was always a dream of Emma’s…that a Kallinski and a Harte would wed one day.’
‘And don’t forget I’m also part O’Neill,’ Linnet reminded him. ‘So Julian and I will be linking the three clans when we tie the knot.’
He nodded. ‘That’s fantastic, my dear. And what’s the date then? Last time I asked, you said you didn’t know. Julian, do you know yet?’
‘We haven’t settled on the actual date, Grandfather. But it will be during the first week of December, probably the first Saturday. We’ll make a final decision in a few days.’
‘And where will you be wed?’ he asked, beaming at them. Their arrival had cheered him immensely. Nothing like the young to keep you young.
‘Mummy wanted it to be at the church in Pennistone Royal village, but now we’re not too sure about that…there seem to be a lot of people to invite. So Dad’s been talking about Ripon Cathedral.’
‘Aye, that’s a grand place, a very beautiful cathedral indeed. Your father sang “The Minstrel Boy” there, long, long before you were born, Linnet.’
‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘at Emma’s funeral, wasn’t it? He told me about it once.’
‘Aye, it was. Where’s your father, Julian? I thought he was coming up here this weekend.’
‘He is. He said to tell you he’ll be arriving in time for dinner, Grandfather. Now, would you like to go in for lunch? Mary told me when we arrived that we can sit down any time you wish.’
‘Well, all right, why not. Got to eat a bit, keep myself alive and kicking for your impending nuptials.’ He smiled benignly at them both. ‘I think you’ll have to help me up,’ he muttered, staring at his grandson. ‘My bones ache, you know. I’m living on borrowed time, I suspect.’ He chuckled and turning to Linnet, he said, ‘That’s what your grandfather’s always telling me, so it must be true.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Don’t move!’ Dusty exclaimed without looking up, his eyes f
ocused on the canvas propped on the easel. ‘It’ll just be another few minutes, and then you can have a stretch. Perhaps a few seconds even.’
‘It’s all right, I’m not going to move a muscle,’ India answered. ‘In fact, I’m fine, really I am.’
‘Good girl, good girl!’ He still didn’t look at her, concentrated on the painting, and then quite suddenly he exclaimed, ‘There, that’s it! I’ve got it! Just those last few strokes were what I needed. Okay, sweetheart, you can stand up and stretch those lovely limbs of yours. I know you must be bloody cramped by now.’
Dusty put down his brush and wiped his hands on a paint rag, then dropped it on the work table and stepped around the easel. He walked over to the chaise where India reclined and taking hold of her hands he brought her to her feet. ‘You’re a marvellous model,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms. ‘Absolutely bloody marvellous. You didn’t even flick an eyelash.’
‘I tried very hard to keep perfectly still,’ she said, laughing, looking up into his face.
‘Oh God, are you luscious today,’ he murmured, bending towards her, finding her mouth with his own. His lips lingered on hers; she wrapped her arms around him, found herself leaning into his body, longing for him again even though they had only just made love two hours ago. He devoured her mouth, slid his hands down her back and onto her buttocks and pressed her even closer.
He brought one hand to her breast, played with her nipple, visible under the filmy black chiffon top she was wearing. Carefully, he lifted the top, bent over her breast, kissed her nipple, and then stopped abruptly, stared up at her and said, ‘Let’s go back to bed. I can’t stand fooling around like this when I want you so badly.’
‘Yes,’ was all she said, and then she smiled at him and whispered, ‘but the painting will never be finished at this rate, Mr Rhodes.’
Holding her away from him, he looked down into her large, shining eyes and murmured, ‘Only too true, Lady India, only too true. But this lad wants to–’
She stopped his words with her mouth, kissing him deeply, and then pulling away she said softly, ‘I’ll be here for the rest of the day. And tonight. I can stay as long as you want me to stay, Mr Rhodes.’ Her smile was inviting, her eyes provocative.
He smiled back at her, enjoying the way she was flirting with him.
‘It’s the weekend, and I’m free as a bird. I can be here with you. And whatever you want to do with me you can–paint me, feed me, talk to me, and love me, love me, love me,’ she finished, her voice teasing. ‘Yes, please, to the latter.’
‘You’ve got that exactly right, my lady.’ Dusty hugged her to him and added, ‘You’re the best, India, just the best. I can’t begin to tell you what it’s like making love to you…it’s the nearest thing to ecstasy I’ve ever experienced.’ When she remained silent he said in a low voice, ‘I mean that, you know.’
‘Yes,’ was all she could manage, feeling weak at the knees. His words filled her with happiness, thrilled her. She wanted him to love her in the way she loved him, with all his heart and soul and mind.
Dusty released her, and looked down into those silvery eyes. ‘All right, a bit more work and then we’ll have a lovely break. Later I’ll paint you for another hour or two and then I’ll make you dinner. I’m glad you’re not planning to abandon me, it’s great we’ve got the whole weekend together.’
‘I’m glad too,’ she agreed and raising her arms, reaching for the ceiling, she stretched her long lithe body. She was a little cramped after reclining in one position without moving for almost two hours, yet the time had passed quickly. She enjoyed being with him in the studio, watching him as he painted. She was so much in love with him she couldn’t see straight; he was the only man she had ever cared about in this way and the only man she wanted forever, and that was the truth.
Dusty began to move around himself, stretching, breathing deeply, bending, touching his toes, and saying, between movements, ‘Thank God for the air conditioning. If I hadn’t put it in just think how stifling it would have been on a day like this with all these windows. Are you all right, India? How about a glass of water?’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine. This black chiffon blouse is as light as air, and so are the harem trousers.’ She laughed and looked down at them, making a little grimace. ‘All I need are bells on my ankles, bells on my toes and a tambourine and I’d be quite exotic’
‘Don’t knock it. You look very sexy in that outfit, and those trousers! Wow! They don’t leave much to the imagination.’ He rolled his eyes theatrically.
‘Oh Dusty, you’re priceless,’ she said and ran over to him, threw her arms around him. ‘I do adore you so–’
The door of the studio flew open with such force and a rattling noise so loud it startled them, and they swung their heads, gaped at the young woman who had suddenly appeared on the threshold. They were horror-struck. The woman looked demented, her face twisted in rage, her eyes blazing, her hair horribly tousled; even her clothes seemed all awry on her body, in disarray.
‘Get away from him, you bloody whore!’ she shrieked at India, her voice high and shrill. ‘Get away from him. He belongs to me.’
The woman came into the studio at a run, her eyes swivelling around, taking in everything–Dusty’s paint-stained t-shirt, India’s flimsy costume, the rumpled bed at the far end of the room. Finally she spotted the canvas on the easel, the beginning of a life-size portrait of India.
Rushing across to Dusty’s work table she grabbed the first knife she saw, a jackknife he used for cutting canvas, and made a run at the painting, the knife raised and pointed at the portrait. ‘Whore! Whore!’ she screamed.
Dusty had been frozen to the spot in shock, unable to move for the last couple of seconds, but now he went into action, suddenly realizing that she was about to rip his work to shreds. Pushing India to one side, he dashed over to the easel, stood in front of the painting to protect it, and took the thrust of the knife, which had been intended for the canvas, in his left upper chest. Instantly blood spurted, and then gushed, staining the white t-shirt, staining it vivid red.
India cried out in dismay and fear.
The woman, who had the knife raised to strike again, began to scream when she saw the blood on the front of his t-shirt. Instantly dropping the knife, she swung around and flew out of the studio, banging the door behind her.
Dusty stepped over to the work table, grabbed the paint rags and pressed them to his upper chest, steadied himself against the table, cursing under his breath.
At once, India raced over to him, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. ‘Oh God, Dusty, this looks really serious!’ she cried and ran to the bathroom, came rushing back with a pile of small hand towels. ‘It’s bad,’ she said, taking the paint rags out of his bloody hand, pressing two of the clean towels against his chest, then placing his hand over them. ‘Keep the pressure on,’ she instructed. ‘We must staunch the bleeding the best way we can.’
‘I think she’s severed the artery,’ he said in a strangled voice, and suddenly his face crumpled; he stiffened, biting his lip. ‘Jesus! That’s a bloody blinding pain!’ he gasped, and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Quite aside from the excruciating pain he felt suddenly and unexpectedly weak in the legs.
‘Get dressed, India. Be quick. I need to get to Harrogate hospital. I need surgery, I’m sure. Please hurry, I’m losing a lot of blood. I could bleed to death with a severed artery, and I’ll certainly go into shock very soon.’
‘Give me a minute,’ India exclaimed, aware of the pain in his bright blue eyes, the agony twisting his mouth into a grimace. She threw off the black chiffon outfit, scrambled into her cotton trousers and t-shirt, grabbed her handbag and rushed back to him.
Taking hold of his right arm, she helped him to stand. ‘Come on, let’s go. I’ll grab some more towels as we leave. Where did you put the door keys? I must lock up.’
‘Table. Near the door,’ he gasped.
He sounded so terrible India
tightened her grip on his arm, and glanced up at him. He was chalk-white now and beads of sweat stood out on his face.
‘Don’t pass out on me, darling,’ she said in a strong voice. ‘I’ve got to get you to the car and then to Emergency.’
‘I’ll just about make it…I hope,’ he groaned.
Brilliant sunlight blinded India as she and Dusty came out of the studio, and she was glad she had parked close by, just behind this building, instead of near the barns. Helping him along as best she could, she soon had Dusty seated in the Aston Martin, the seat belt across his chest and buckled. Groping in her bag, she pulled out two more hand towels she had grabbed from the bathroom as they had left, put them under the seat belt and on top of the other towels already there.
Once she had finished she looked at him, noted the pain glazing his eyes, the intense pallor of his face. Now he was ashen, still perspiring profusely, and she knew she had very little time to get him to Emergency before he went into shock. And the loss of blood was frightening. After closing the door she ran around to the other side of the car and got in, put the key in the ignition.
‘The studio door,’ he mumbled, partially turning his head to look at her. ‘Lock it.’
‘It’s double-locked, Dusty, don’t worry,’ she reassured him, turned the key and started the car, then backed up the dirt road and headed around the house to the main driveway. At one moment she said, ‘The seat belt’s holding the towels in place, darling,’ but he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were closed, and his right hand was still pressed down on the towels covering the wound.
Slowing the car as she came to the main gates of Willows Hall, she took out her cell phone and punched in Linnet’s number. It was answered after only a few rings. ‘Hello?’
‘Linnet, it’s India. Don’t talk, just listen please. I’ve got a very serious problem. Dusty’s been stabbed. Badly. An artery’s been severed, I think. He’s losing lots of blood. I’m just leaving Willows Hall. I should make it to Harrogate District Hospital in about twelve minutes, unless there’s more traffic than usual. Call Emergency would you please, Linny? Tell them I’m coming. That way they’ll be ready for us.’