Authors: Jane Corrie
placed some, paper in her typewriter. One part of her was relieved—the other apprehensive.
Teresa saw the car as soon as she left the office, and wished that Michael hadn't decided to walk a short way with her. She knew she ought to have said that she was meeting someone, and who that someone was, but Michael would have attempted to stop her, or failing that would have waited for Carl Elton to show up and had a few words with him, and this wouldn't exactly have started the meeting off on a friendly basis.
It would be much better, Teresa reasoned, if Michael was caught off his guard. Then with a little luck he would accept the situation.
It did not look at first as if her reasoning had proved correct, for as the sleek car drew up alongside them Michael, with a gesture that was typically protective, stood in front of Teresa as he turned to face Carl Elton, who had now pulled up and sat waiting for her.
`It's all right Michael,' she said placatingly. 'I want to talk to Mr Elton; please don't make a scene,' she added softly as her anxious eyes met his scowling ones.
Michael's eyebrows rose as he said gently, 'You're sure you know what you're doing, Teresa?'
With a slight flush, she nodded firmly. 'Yes,' she said, adding in a voice that left no room for doubt, 'I'll see you tomorrow, Michael,' and she walked towards the car.
There was no doubt that Carl Elton had taken full note of this little byplay between her and Michael, and his expression was grim as he got out of the car
and opened the passenger door for her, not even bothering to glance at Michael, who still stood there watching.
Firmly shutting the door on her, Carl Elton got back into the driving seat and after giving her a quick searching stare, drove off. Teresa had expected them to sit and talk in the car, and was a little surprised that he obviously had a destination in mind as the car purred slowly through the town, and out on to the main road.
'Where are we going?' she asked the grim-looking man by her side.
'Home,' he replied tersely.
Hers—or his? she wondered, and as they passed the turning off to the chalet she had the answer. His.
When the car eventually turned off the main road on to a side road that clearly proclaimed the boundaries of Sunset Ridge on a large signpost, Teresa gazed about her with interest, expecting to see the homestead round the next bend, and was surprised to find that they had only entered the outskirts of the property.
There were paddocks that seemed to stretch for miles on either side of them; some with cattle grazing in them,' and others empty.
A short while later, Carl stopped the car and stared out at the scene before them. Teresa looked too, and saw an area totally different from the well-kept paddocks they had passed.
With his eyes on the land, Carl said abruptly, 'Whose idea was it—yours or his?'
Teresa started and looked quickly at him, then her eyes went back to the land. Of course, that must
be Rafferty's Legacy! and her uncle had given it back to him, hadn't he?
'Well, mine, I think,' she replied uncertainly, and seeing the hard swift look he gave her, she went on, hoping to explain it to him. 'It seemed such a stupid waste, and hardly worth causing so much friction.'
Her answer did not please him, and the tension around them tightened rather than relaxed.
'Hardly worth causing so much friction?' he repeated in a soft, deadly voice. 'I could have put it better than that. I'll allow for the fact that you haven't much idea of the value of land in these parts —now, or as it was then. Taking that land was the same as taking the bread out of a man's mouth; it was his livelihood—and that,' he went on grimly, 'was only the start of things.'
Teresa sighed inwardly. Her uncle had been so right when he had said their marriage would never work. She shuddered to think of the consequences that would have followed had he kept away until after the wedding.
Carl waited a second or so for her comments, but as she said nothing he started the car up again and they continued the journey.
It seemed a long time to Teresa before they came to the homestead, and as her eyes roamed over the lovely old house surrounded by lawns and shrubbed areas bordering on yet more paddocks on which now grazed sleek horses, she couldn't help comparing the obvious wealth of the Eltons with her uncle's simple abode.
As the car swept up the well-cared-for drive to the house, she found herself actually ashamed for ask-
ing her uncle to give back that land. He had so little left, while this man had so much.
Suddenly she wanted to get it all over with, finished, so she could go back where she belonged. It might not be a mansion like the one she was now looking at, but it was the only home she had, and what was more, with someone who was actually related to her.
The car slid to a halt beside the imposing front door that had a wide verandah running the length of the front of the house, and with a feeling of trepidation, she watched Carl get out and walk round to her side of the car to open the door for her.
Teresa got out slowly. She not only felt lost, but utterly miserable. She had been a fool to come. Her uncle had been right again when he had advised her to let things be, even if he hadn't said so in as many words.
With a half-mocking bow, Carl gestured towards the front door. 'You know the way,' he drawled, then giving her an amused' glance added, 'Or have you forgotten that too?'
Teresa looked at him and felt a spurt of annoyance. He was so sure of himself, wasn't he? and he still didn't believe she had lost her memory.
Her indignant eyes clashed with the amused blue ones, she shook her head. 'As a matter of fact I have,' she answered coldly.
His amusement vanished at her answer, and his lips thinned as he strode on ahead of her. 'Well, I'll have to refresh your memory, won't I?' he said grimly.
He led the way through the spacious hall whose
cool atmosphere denoted air-conditioning, and passing several rooms came to what Teresa assumed to be the sitting-room.
The luxuriously-furnished room, like the rest of the property, positively shouted money, and Teresa felt quite out of her depth as she followed Carl Elton into the room.
A tall girl unfolded herself from a deep chair and stood waiting for them. Teresa couldn't define the look she gave her as her dark blue eyes rested on her; probing, was as near as sh
e could get to defining it.
As the girl stared so too did Teresa, and she saw the blue-black hair twisted back and worn high on the head and falling in a ponytail. She wore hip-clinging jeans and an open-necked white blouse, neither of which, Teresa knew, could be bought off the peg, for although her clothes were deceptively simple, they were also very costly. Polished knee-high riding boots completed the ensemble.
In her plain cotton dress that could be picked up in any number of stores, and her open-toed sandals, Teresa felt even more out of place. Whoever this girl was, she belonged in this kind of setting; not only her clothes said so, but her lovely, if haughty, expression.
'Isobel! 'Why are you here?' Carl's voice held a touch of impatience in it. 'I thought you had company at home.'
'So we have, darling,' the girl murmured throatily. 'I only popped in to ask if we might borrow a few mounts for our guests.'
His reply was curt. 'Of course! Since when has it been necessary to ask?'
With an offhand shrug the girl's eyes returned to Teresa, and rested on her hair. `No wonder you did something about it, darling,' she said, a little spitefully to Teresa's sensitive ears. 'I couldn't think why you looked so different.'
Teresa felt a small spurt of surprise. The woman had obviously met her before, and was now commenting on her hair. Well, at least Teresa could understand the comment; she had noticed herself that she had used something to darken her hair. Whatever the reason had been, she had not bothered to shade it again, and she was now as nature had intended her to be, a redhead with a vengeance.
At the time of her discovery Teresa had been a little amused at the silent quip, but now felt at a distinct disadvantage. The man and the girl knew more about her than she did, and she stood there feeling completely at a loss as to what to say, knowing that whatever she said would sound stupid.
She was saved from this embarrassment by a very pointed look from Carl to the girl, who after giving another shrug, said hastily, 'Okay, I'm on my way,' and made for the door, gave a careless, 'See you,' when she reached it, and was gone.
Now that she was alone with Carl Teresa found herself wishing she could have followed the girl out of the morn, and felt rather than saw the impatient look he gave her as he said abruptly, 'Sit down, Teresa. We've a lot to talk about.'
Feeling apprehensive, she did as she was told: there was no point now in evading the issue, but how she wished it was all over with. Her unhappy eyes watched as Carl walked over to a cabinet and took out several bottles, then proceeded to mix some
drinks and handed her a glass of some concoction.
Teresa, accepting it, stared at it for a few minutes. He hadn't asked her what she would like, just got it for her.
His eyes met her puzzled ones, and he smiled grimly. 'My memory still holds good, if yours doesn't,' he commented harshly. `And now,' he said, still in that grating voice as he seated himself opposite her, 'let's have the gloves off, shall we? This loss of memory act just isn't going to work. I told you I don't play games, and my patience is running out fast—so let's have the truth, shall we? You've heard the old man's story, so now you'll hear mine.'
Teresa's wary eyes watched him settle back in his chair, noticing that he did not once take his eyes off her. 'Relax,' he said softly, `we've plenty of time. Dinner won't be served until seven-thirty.'
She started. Why, that was in two hours' time! 'I can't possibly stay to dinner,' she said quickly. 'I've my uncle's meal to get.'
For a frantic second it looked as if Carl would haul-her out of her chair and shake her hard; at least that was the impression she got, but then she saw his clenched fists relax as he took himself in hand, and straightened his fingers out along the arm of the chair. 'So he's made you his skivvy, has he?' he said quietly, yet there was an undercurrent of fury in his voice that warned her of his mood. 'He can get his own meal tonight. He's done it before, and he can do it again.'
There was such an air of finality in this statement that in spite of her trepidation Teresa was angry.
What an autocratic man he was !
She very much
doubted if he had ever had to get his own meal. Oh, no, there would be an army of servants to wait on him. `I'm sorry,' she said with just as much determination in her voice as he had had in his, 'I'm afraid I won't be staying for a meal. For one thing,' she carried on firmly, not failing to note the glint in his eyes, 'my uncle doesn't know where I am—and for another, I don't see why he should get his own meal. He'll be tired when he comes in.'
That did it! The next instant she found herself pulled out of her chair and held in an unbreakable hold. Whatever restraint Carl had put upon himself was now gone, and he was a very purposeful man. `By heaven,' he said through clenched teeth, 'I've had enough of this! I've tried to get through to you, but you're determined to get back at me, aren't you? It's one way of telling me there's to be no second chance, is that it? Wipe the slate clean and forget me? Well, I'm not going to let you do it, do you hear? So I took a hell of a knock when I found out who you were, I'm not denying it. I was punch-drunk for the rest of that day, and I don't recall much of what happened the following day either,' he added grimly, 'but I'm good and sober now. One thing alone stood out way above matters of pride and years of bitterness between the Eltons and the Raffertys, and that was you and me. The Raffertys aren't taking you from me.'
His gaze centred on her lips, and knowing what was coming, she tried to twist her face away from him, but he caught the back of her hair and forced her to accept his kiss, saying as his lips met hers,
'You can fight me for the rest of eternity. I'm not going to let you go.'
A stunned Teresa felt his lips on hers; gentle at first, then with a growing passion, and she tried to understand what was happening to her. She didn't feel distaste or disgust at the feel of his lips on hers, but she felt she should have done, and that brought her a great sadness. This man loved her, of that she was in no doubt. He was telling her so with his lips, and she couldn't respond, and it was no use pretending she could.
He held her away from him, and looked into her eyes. There was something about the lost, blank look in her lovely eyes that made him catch his breath sharply and jerk her to him again, holding her suffocatingly close to him. 'Oh, no ' he groaned. `So it's true, then?' he whispered against her hair. 'You don't know me, do you?'
Teresa moved her head in dumb confirmation, and attempted to pull herself out of his arms. This time he let her go and gently settled her back in her chair again, then stood looking down at her.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered, `so terribly sorry. I don't remember anything.' Her gaze left her hands that were locked together, and she stared up at him with pleading eyes. 'I only know what my uncle told me—I even had to be told my name.' She hesitated. `I know you met me in England, and brought me out here.' She hesitated again; it wouldn't be wise to say 'to marry me', not now, she thought miserably. 'I know I lost my mother and brother before I left,' she swallowed. 'I can't remember them either—my uncle couldn't tell me anything about that part of my life.'