In Want of a Wife?. CATHY WILLIAMS
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Lizzy revved the engine of her motorbike and felt that familiar thrill as it roared into life. She swung it out of the garage and down the short drive to the main road.
Three years ago, she had had special tyres put on that could better cope with snowy conditions, and she was now grateful for that window of foresight because conditions were truly terrible.
The trip to Crossfeld House on a clear, sunny day was a circuitous one of winding roads. Snow made the trip slower and much more difficult.
But it was only when the fall of snow began making it difficult for her to see that Lizzy eventually acknowledged that she might be in a spot of bother.
Ahead of her, the tiny pinpoints of lights from Crossfeld House at least indicated that she hadn’t been totally disoriented by the blanket of snow. But those small dots of light were also a reminder that her marvellous wheels weren’t quite so marvellous after all. And there was no way that she could walk the motorbike to Crossfeld; it was too big and too unwieldy.
Also, after nearly an hour of slow riding, the cold was beginning to worm its way through and under her layers of clothes, finding her tender skin and sinking its teeth in. Another hour and she would be putting her life at risk.
She pulled out the packed lunch which she had laughed at her mother for providing and gratefully bit into a cheese and pickle sandwich, washing it down with some coffee which had likewise been provided for her, despite her protests.
Then, with a sigh of defeat, she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled through to her sister.
CHAPTER THREE
LIZZY watched the headlights of the Range Rover draw closer, searching her out. This wasn’t the tired old four-by-four which had been left by the side of the road. This was a shiny black monster and not much fancy guesswork was needed to figure out who was behind the steering wheel.
‘You mustn’t try and walk here!’ Rose had exclaimed in horror when Lizzy had explained the situation to her on the phone. ‘You’ll collapse!’
‘I’m not some kind of pathetic Victorian maiden,’ Lizzy had been quick to point out, whilst acknowledging that her sister was right. There was no way she could walk to Crossfeld with the snow coming down in barrels and she was too far from her own house to risk turning back.
‘I’m sure Louis wouldn’t mind. He had a new car delivered; it would take him no time at all. Will you be okay waiting?’
‘I could probably give it another try,’ Lizzy had ventured optimistically, but the suggestion had fallen on deaf ears. Now as she waved to the car, making her presence known, she almost wished that she had pressed a bit harder.
‘Are you completely mad?’ Louis swung his long body out of the car, fighting against the brisk wind. ‘What the hell possessed you to pull a stunt like this? Get in the car!’
Lizzy gritted her teeth together. Unlike the last time, when he had been on the receiving end of her help, he was dressed for the weather now. Thick jeans were tucked into black, fur-lined wellies and under the padded waterproof jacket she suspected that there were several layers of clothes. He was a fast learner.
‘I can’t leave my bike.’ She folded her arms and stood her ground.
‘And that would be because …?’
‘It’ll be ruined.’
‘Tough. You should have thought of that before you decided to come haring out to Crossfeld House to rescue your sister. Who, by the way, doesn’t need rescuing.’ He flung open the passenger door. ‘I’m giving you to the count of three, and if you’re not in you can bed down here for the night.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘If I were you, I wouldn’t put that to the test. I was called out from an important conference call to rescue the damsel in distress. I’m not in the prettiest of moods.’
Lizzy climbed into the car. She should, of course, thank him for coming out to rescue her, but gratitude stuck in her throat; she stared ahead in stony silence.
‘I’m sorry to have interrupted your conference call,’ she eventually managed through stiff lips.
‘You’re a lunatic.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve ridden my motorbike in snow.’
Louis glanced across at her. She was soaking wet, except for her hair, which she had managed to shove underneath the helmet. Not even the leather jacket, the boots and the scarf had protected her against the onslaught of the weather.
‘I’m amazed your parents let you out of the house,’ he gritted.
‘I’m twenty-three. They couldn’t very well stop me.’
‘Which, of course, gives you the right to drive them out of their minds with worry?’
‘Oh, please! I didn’t think you cared about my parents or the state of their minds.’ She shot him a sideways glare.
‘You’re headstrong. You’re opinionated. You’re arrogant.
And you shoot your mouth off without bothering to stop and think first. Little wonder that your mother’s given up on your chances of marriage.’
Lizzy thought she would explode. She could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate with rage and she breathed in deeply, counting to ten.
‘You’re entitled to your opinions,’ she said in a controlled voice. A brief silence pooled around them. ‘I may be a little headstrong, and a little opinionated, but I certainly am not arrogant.’
‘You were arrogant to think that your sister couldn’t survive a night at Crossfeld without you storming in to her rescue.’
Lizzy squashed the surge of discomfort his remark provoked. Of course she hadn’t been arrogant in thinking that she would be doing Rose a favour by showing up at Crossfeld to give her moral support; that was what sisters were all about. But she didn’t ask you, a little voice whispered in her head. If she had wanted your support, wouldn’t she have asked for it?
‘Rose isn’t like me,’ Lizzy muttered. ‘She isn’t well equipped when it comes to looking out for herself. She gets upset easily and she never, ever fights back.’
‘So you thought you’d jump on your motorbike and get to Crossfeld so that you could do her fighting for her.’
‘What’s wrong with looking out for the people you care about?’
‘Nothing, but sometimes the people you care about are perfectly capable of looking out for themselves because they’ve moved on without you even realising it.’
‘If you’re telling me that Rose doesn’t need me to look out for her then maybe you should see that Nicholas doesn’t need you to look out for him.’
‘You’re right. Maybe he doesn’t.’
He glanced sideways at her and her heart lurched as their eyes met in the silvery darkness.
‘What are you saying?’ Her heart was still in stop-start mode and her voice was high and breathless. ‘That you accept Rose and Nicholas as an item?’
‘I’m saying that I can’t picture you being a teacher.’ Louis moved the conversation swiftly along. What had he been saying—that he might be in the process of having a re-think because the bristly, outspoken woman next to him had managed to make him think outside the very tidy little box over which he had always had complete control? His mouth tightened in automatic rejection of that idea.
‘Really. I mean, how do you cope with rebellious pupils without exploding? And I can’t picture you wearing a suit to work.’
‘A suit? Teachers don’t wear suits!’ But she couldn’t