Authors: Jane Corrie
WHEN Carl collected Teresa later that day, she half expected her uncle, who had returned a short while before, to put on a show of outraged feelings and add a few more pithy remarks calculated to infuriate him, and was highly relieved when he chose to confine his displeasure to a ferocious scowl directed at Carl and left it at that.
As Carl turned the car out of the turning to the chalet and on to the main road, he asked how she was, and on receiving a satisfactory answer, inquired politely whether she had enjoyed her evening out with Michael Oates—a little too politely, Teresa thought miserably, for it was obvious that he was jealous.
She managed to keep her reply light when she answered that she had really enjoyed it. Although this was not strictly true, she had enjoyed herself until a certain event had occurred that had forced her to end what might have been an extremely enjoyable date.
His barely concealed annoyance at this reply made her want to shout out to him that he need not be jealous of Michael, for he alone held her heart and would always do so. She pressed her lips together; these thoughts were dangerous. Teresa knew she would need all her strength to get through the evening, for it would have to be the last date she
would have with Carl. She wasn't a good enough actress to carry on the deception.
.Her eyes alighted on Carl's lean tanned fingers lightly holding the wheel, and travelled up to his wrist where the blond hairs overlapped the strap of his wrist watch. There was such strength there, she thought sadly, and for one weak moment was tempted to lay her hand over that strong one so near to her and tell him everything—to let him take the burden off her shoulders. He would know how to comfort her.
As tears pricked her eyes, she looked away quickly out of the car window, and away from temptation. She had to be on her guard from now on, for it was the little things that could betray her. There had not been much time for her to get used to the reversal of her feelings towards him. It was, she mused, like finding yourself in the desert, completely alone and not knowing which way to go—then suddenly, all that you held dear was there waiting for you with open arms, arms that would ease away the heartache and loneliness. Her throat constricted; but it was a mirage, she told herself bitterly; a mirage she had only been allowed to catch sight of before it disappeared again, leaving her bereft and even more miserable than before.
When they came within the precincts of the ranch, Carl gave a running commentary on how, as the years progressed, various parts of the land had been cultivated and what it was now used for. Teresa listened, although she remembered that he had told her this before, when he had first brought her to his home. Her heart constricted as she realised
the effort he was making to bring her gently back to the beginning of things.
When they reached the homestead Carl ushered her into the house, and Teresa only just managed to prevent herself from addressing Mrs Ray, whom they passed in the hall, and admitted ruefully to herself that she would have to be on the lookout for any further incidences. It would, for instance, be most unfortunate if Isobel Johns just happened to call in, for she had actually called her by her name, hadn't she? and Carl would be instantly alerted should another confrontation take place. There was no doubt Isobel would seize on the opportunity of unmasking her to Carl, and she would not be likely to believe that her visit that morning had coincided with Teresa's return of memory. It would be a little too apt for her credulity, and Teresa had to admit that under the same circumstances she too would be just as sceptical.
Carl's low but intimate, 'Sit here, darling,' as he indicated a window seat to her, sent tremors of trepidation pulsating through Teresa, and she longed for the end of what was probably going to be the stiffest test of endurance she had ever had to face.
'I've spoken to Turnbull,' he said quietly as Teresa seated herself and he sat beside her. 'I guess it's going to be, as he told you, a question of time.' He picked up her hand and studied it, then slowly turned her palm towards him and bent his head and kissed it.
The feel of his lips on her skin made her tremble, and she made herself look away from that fair head of his and out to the paddocks fronting the homestead, so that he would not see the effect this action
had on her. She saw the verdant green of the paddocks, and her eyes lingered on some horses grazing in the distance—at least that was the scene in front of her, but all she really saw was one very big blond man, with eyes as blue as the sea on a summer's day, and the trick he had of raising one eyebrow slightly when either amused or annoyed. Lovingly, her mind's eye slowly traced over his face, to that strong jaw of his and the cleft in his chin. She caught the scent of aftershave mingled with the smell of tobacco, faint, but it was there, and it all went to make up the familiar and loving personality of the man she loved. His tan shirt and brown gabardine slacks, with matching brown and tan tie, would in happier times have produced a smile of approval from her. He was always very particular in his dress, and Teresa couldn't ever remember a time when he looked anything else but immaculate, no matter what he wore.
`Don't you want to know how we met?' he teased her lightly, as if sensing her constraint and putting his own interpretation on it.
Teresa swallowed. This was going to be worse than she had thought. To feel this way, and to have to sit and listen to things she had already recalled—and what was far worse, to have to pretend that it was all new to her—she didn't think she could do it!
Mercifully for her Carl decided not to press the point, but squeezed her hand and got up, saying that he was an extremely bad host, and would she like a drink? She nodded quickly. She needed a breathing space badly, and clutched at the opportunity offered.
With eyes that held a haunting sadness she
watched him walk over towards the side cabinet and start to mix the drinks placed on a tray there. She found she couldn't take her eyes off of him; it was as if she were desperately trying to memorise everything about him—his broad shoulders, the way his hair curled slightly at the edges, and the fine leonine shape of his head. Not a thing would she forget, she told herself, for his looks and bearing were burnt into her memory for what had seemed like years. She would never forget him, nor cease to love him, no matter what.
Some of her thoughts must have communicated themselves to him, as he swung round suddenly to meet her eyes. In that one unguarded moment she knew with dreadful certainty that he was aware of the truth.
There was a dull clink as he put down the glass he was holding, never for a second taking his eyes away from hers, and holding them in an inescapable hold covered the distance between them. She found herself crushed in his arms before she could utter a word of protest, and he was kissing her with an intensity that frightened her.
'Now tell me you don't know me,' he said softly, when he allowed her respite. 'Just try, that's all,' he whispered against her lips before crushing them to his once more.
Teresa never knew how she got the strength to pull herself away from him. Her love for him must have given her the spur she so badly needed. She wouldn't let him throw up all he held dear for her—she wouldn't! 'Very well,' she said breathlessly, 'I do know you,' and as he made a move to take her
into his arms again, s
he made a restraining gesture. B
ut it's no use, Carl. I'm not marrying you.'
For a second or so his eyes reflected the shock she had given him, then they narrowed. 'Would you care to explain that?' he asked in a silky but dangerous voice.
Teresa quaked inwardly; she had never been afraid of Carl, but she was now. The man who stood before her and the man she had known were poles apart. This man was ruthless and would brook no denial. She could almost feel the tension of the leash he had put upon himself straining to the limit of endurance. Her fear was not physical but mental; he could so easily reduce her to a state of incapacity merely by touching her. This he knew very well, so it would be useless to try and deny it. He loved her and wanted her enough to break down physically the pathetic barriers she might try to use against him.
Her frantic mind tried to come with the answer to her problem; if she told him the real reason why she could not marry him, he would bulldoze through her reasoning in a matter of seconds, assuring her that her fears were groundless and the marriage would work out, thus leaving her no loophole.
`Well? I'm waiting,' he said with a note of warning in his voice that told her that her excuse had better be a good one!
Praying for inspiration, she tore her gaze away from him and concentrated on the pattern of the beautiful carpet at her feet, then without realising it, Carl gave her the lead she wanted.
`I suppose it's that damned feud, isn't it?' he said
harshly. 'Well, I told you once it wasn't going to take you from me, and I meant every word of it. So you can dismiss that for a start. We're going up north, remember ?'
The last words galvanised Teresa's numbed senses into action. How could he even consider such a proposition? Why, only a short while ago he was telling her the history of Sunset Ridge, and even she had caught the pride that had unknowingly crept into his voice as he spoke. With this thought came another, and brought with it a nagging suspicion that Isobel had been right in what she had said about Carl never allowing a Rafferty to rule Sunset Ridge, and it was this that gave her the courage to attain her goal. She wrenched herself away from his arms, that had once again enclosed her.
She walked over to a chair some way away from him, and steadfastly refusing to look at him said in a low voice, 'All right, if you want the truth, it is the feud—at least,' she amended wearily, 'that's how it started.' This time she did look at him. 'I don't love you, Carl,' she asserted quietly, hating herself for what she had to do to him. Seeing the purposeful set of his jaw and his move towards her, she shook her head warningly. 'Oh, I admit the physical attraction between us is still as strong as it was—but it's not enough.' Her voice faltered on these words; couldn't he see how hopeless it was? Why had she to be the only one who could see the misery ahead?
'I don't believe you,' he said flatly. 'There's more to this than meets the eye, and I mean to get to the bottom of it,' he threatened.
Teresa was near the end of her tether; it was all
or nothing now. She loved him, yet she hated him for what he was making her do. If only he'd given her one thought that night, all this heartbreak could have been avoided. 'Don't you see?' she cried out vehemently, her words holding the conviction she felt. 'I stopped loving you that night you turned away from me.' Once again her voice faltered, but she made herself go on. 'Can you imagine what you did to me?' she asked him bitterly. 'How I felt? You were everything to me,' she whispered, 'and you turned away from me.'
There was silence for a second or so, then she went on again, not trusting herself to look at him. 'I can't explain it, Carl,' she added wearily, 'everything went dead inside me.' She hesitated. 'Perhaps if I hadn't lost my people ...' This time she did look at him and was shocked by the look on his face. He was not looking at her, but beyond her at some distant object; probably reliving that night, she thought, and she longed to comfort him, to wipe out that stricken look and make him smile once more, but she couldn't do it. He had to see things as they were. One day, she told herself miserably, he'll thank me for this.
When he did speak, his voice was low and held a trace of bitterness in it. 'As I said once before, if I remember rightly, I get no second chance, is that it?'
Teresa hastily looked away from him and nodded dumbly. 'I'm so sorry,' she managed to whisper.
'I guess,' he said slowly, 'it couldn't have been the real thing for you in the first place, and yet ...' His words took on a deeper note and Teresa very nearly broke down. 'I could have sworn we were made for
each other. It just goes to show,' he added bitterly, 'how wrong one can be.' He looked at Teresa and his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. 'Forgiving is part of loving, Teresa, and if you can't forgive,' he shrugged, 'then I guess there's nothing left to say.'
For that at least, Teresa was grateful, for she knew she couldn't hold on much longer, and as if it were tacitly agreed that there was no point in dragging things out, he suggested stiffly that he took her back to her uncle.
The ride back was the longest and most unhappy journey Teresa could ever remember having to undertake. Carl seemed as far away from her in his thoughts as he had been the night she left him and she didn't attempt to break through his preoccupation.
When they arrived at the chalet Teresa got out of the car swiftly, and in a voice that hardly sounded like her own, said jerkily, 'Thank you, Carl—well, goodbye ...' She couldn't think of anything else to say, but knew he would understand.
He nodded his acceptance of her unspoken message that she would not be seeing him again. 'You might,' he said on a note of enforced brightness, 'wish me luck in my new venture up north.'
Teresa stared at him; what did he mean? There was no need for him to go up north now. 'Surely you'll stay at Sunset Ridge now, won't you?' she asked hesitantly.
Switching on the ignition, Carl gave her a half-bitter and half-mocking smile. 'I'm not planning to be around to watch you marry Oates,' he said harshly, and Teresa looked away hastily. The next