Yesterday's Scars. Carole Mortimer
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back, then,’ was Celia’s curt greeting as she sneeringly watched Hazel take the stairs two at a time on her way up to her room. ‘Rafe isn’t to be disturbed at the moment,’ she added curtly.
‘I’ve already seen him,’ Hazel told her softly.
She knew Celia was surprised by this information by the widening of her mercenary blue eyes. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Not very pleasant to look at any more, is he, Hazel?’ she taunted.
Hazel shrugged, Rafe’s appearance had been a shock when she had first seen him again, but shocks were quickly overcome and familiarity soon took their place. In a couple of days she would have forgotten he had ever looked any other way. And in just over a week’s time she would have left here for good.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ she replied carelessly.
‘Perhaps you have,’ Celia sneered. ‘But not on someone who means as much to you as Rafe does.’
Hazel flushed, looking sharply at the other woman. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded tautly.
Celia gave her a pitying smile. ‘Rafe and I often laughed together over the fact that you imagined yourself in love with him before you left here three years ago. It was quite amusing to watch your constant playing for his attention.’
‘You’re lying!’ Hazel’s face was bright red. ‘Rafe isn’t like that. And I’m certainly not in love with him!’
‘Perhaps not now, not now he looks like something out of a horror film, but you were once. How fickle you are, Hazel! A few scars and you’re no longer interested.’
‘If Rafe finds me such an embarrassment why did he ask me to come back here?’ Hazel demanded defiantly.
Celia gave a satisfied smile. ‘He didn’t,’ she answered smugly. ‘I sent that telegram asking you to come home.’
‘You did?’ Hazel’s look was scathing. ‘Slightly late, weren’t you?’
She watched as Celia coloured uncomfortably. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked coldly.
‘Only that Rafe expected you to send for me a year ago when his accident happened—in fact, he believes you to have done so. Now why should he think that, Celia? Could it possibly be because you told him you’d written to me when in fact you hadn’t? Could that be the answer?’ Hazel mused.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ hissed the older woman. ‘Rafe didn’t need you then and he doesn’t need you now. You’re only here so that he can finally rid himself of the responsibility of the headstrong clinging child you’ve been in his life. After your birthday you won’t be welcome here at all.’
‘I already know that,’ Hazel returned softly. ‘But you didn’t need to bring me back to England to tell me that, a letter would have sufficed. America suited me very well, I could have done without this upheaval.’
‘That wouldn’t have done at all. You see, I know you, Hazel, you wouldn’t have believed it unless Rafe told you so himself. I gather he did tell you?’
‘Yes,’ came her reluctant reply.
Celia smiled cattily. ‘Then I hope you take his advice. You’ve been an intrusion in our lives far too long now, and the sooner you remove yourself the better.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hazel told her angrily. ‘I don’t intend staying anywhere where I’m not wanted.’
‘Then why have you stayed in our lives this long? Surely you must have realised when Rafe took you to the States that that should have been the end of it. We thought we’d finally got rid of you.’ Celia gave a harsh laugh. ‘But oh no, you had other ideas about that. Every month you wrote to Rafe, short letters, but just enough to make sure he didn’t forget you. Why was that, Hazel? Haven’t you had enough out of us the last eleven years without coming back for more?’
‘You’re a bitch, Celia, nothing but a bitch!’ Tears gathered in Hazel’s huge brown eyes. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair quite soon.’ Oh, this woman hated her much more than she had ever realised! ‘Perhaps Rafe will let James take me back to the airport tomorrow. I no more have any wish to stay here when I’m so unwanted than you have to have me here.’
‘Rafe will insist you stay until after your birthday, so don’t make it any more difficult for us than it is already. Rafe can do without your having tantrums and demanding to leave. Just stay out of his way.’
‘I intend to!’
‘For God’s sake, you two!’ Without either of them realising it Rafe had opened the door to his study and was now glaring furiously at the pair of them, his face almost satanic with its deep scarring. Hazel looked at him guiltily. How much of their heated conversation had he heard? ‘Do you realise your voices are carrying all through the house! If you have to squabble and bitch at each other like a couple of children at least keep your voices down!’
Celia moved to her brother’s side; petite and beautiful, she smiled up at him. ‘We weren’t arguing, Rafe, merely talking loudly because Hazel is halfway up the stairs.’
His deep blue eyes raked mercilessly over both of them, a certain harshness to his face. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Celia,’ he snapped abruptly. ‘Hazel’s only been back a few hours and already you’re at each other’s throats.’ He looked at Hazel and pushed his study door open further. ‘Come in here, I want to talk to you.’
‘Now?’
‘Right now.’ His tone brooked no argument.
Hazel trudged wearily down the stairs, Celia’s look of intense pleasure not escaping her notice as she passed the other woman. The study was just as she remembered it; wood-panelled walls, a huge mahogany desk, a couple of worn leather armchairs, scatter rugs on the polished floor, and well-worn books piled on the shelves along one wall, evidence of Rafe’s continual usage of them. She sat down in the chair facing the desk, her long shapely legs smooth and golden.
Rafe sat opposite her, the shirt he wore fitting tautly across his flat muscular stomach and wide powerful shoulders. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, the continuation of those disfiguring scars clearly visible. The jagged scar edge showed up whitely against his naturally dark skin and although Hazel longed to know the full extent of his injuries she knew he would not welcome her interest; his firm uncompromising mouth was evidence of that.
She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. ‘Well?’
His snapping eyes flashed her a warning. ‘Don’t take that attitude with me!’
‘Why not?’ she answered defiantly. ‘Is it only the prerogative of the Savages to be rude? If so, I apologise.’
Rafe sighed. ‘No, you don’t, we both know that. And must I remind you that you’re a Savage?’
‘Oh no, I’m not!’ she denied vehemently. ‘I’m a Stanford.’
‘Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.’
She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Fiery, huh?’
‘Exactly,’ he drawled with a grin.
In that moment he was the old Rafe, never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. ‘Oh, Rafe, I’ve missed you!’
His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. ‘You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.’
She shook her head. ‘You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.’
‘And you wrote often, I know.’ He sat back. ‘Did you enjoy America?’
‘Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.’
‘And