Secret Courtship. Grace Green
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her!
When she got back, she went into the cottage to put away her groceries before taking the video round to Sally’s.
The other woman must have heard the side gate clicking, because by the time Laura rounded the corner to the back garden Sally was opening the screen door that led out to the pool area. She was carrying a tray with a jug of iced lemonade and glasses.
“Lovely—you’re back!” Sally crossed to an umbrellaed table. “Come and have some lemonade.”
She took the video from Laura, and her smile was so appealing that Laura found herself smiling in return. “Thanks.” The blue waters of the pool sparkled as if scattered with dancing silver sequins. “I’d love a cool drink.”
“Make yourself at home—” Sally waved toward a lounger “—and excuse me a sec. Oh... your money’s on the tray...” Sally took the video inside, and Laura was tucking the bills into the pocket of her blouse when the other woman returned.
“I won’t sit on a lounger,” Sally said as she gave Laura a glass of lemonade, “because I’m afraid I might never be able to heave my great bulk up again.” With a laugh, she lowered herself awkwardly onto a straight-backed vinyl-strapped chair.
“What a beautiful pool,” Laura murmured. It was, but she couldn’t help comparing its formal setting with the charming English country garden Charity had created next door. Where Nick had interlocking brick, Charity had lawn; where Nick had mosaic tiles, Charity had fruit trees; where Nick had stiff rows of color co-ordinated annuals, Charity had a wonderful medley of old-fashioned perennials.
Absently, Laura slid her hand across her nape and lifted her perspiration-damp hair; even under the shade of the umbrella, the heat was intense.
“I can see you’re as hot as I am! Why don’t you pop home for your swimsuit and we can go for a dip?”
“I don’t have one.” The words slipped out before Laura could stop them. She dug her teeth into her lower lip. That had been careless ...
“You don’t have one?” Sally’s tone was surprised.
As casually as she could, Laura sipped from her glass before laying it down on the table. “My swimsuit wore out, and I’ve just never got around to replacing it.”
“Well, do get yourself a bikini next time you’re shopping, then we can cool off together!”
Laura cast around for the right words to extricate herself from the situation. She never wore a swimsuit now—and never would. Though the ugly scars on her back were no longer raw, they were still there ... and would be forever. She controlled a faint shudder as she pictured them.
“Thanks, Sally, but ... I’m not a swimmer—I’ve... er ... never really been a water person.” In her distress, she snatched at the lie, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Sally said. “But if you change your mind—”
“Hi, there.”
Laura felt her body become rigid as Nick’s lazy drawl sounded from right behind her. She hadn’t heard his car arrive; hadn’t heard him open the screen door and come out of the house. Bracing herself, she half turned to face him.
“Nick,” Sally said, “you’re back early!”
“The meeting had to be canceled at the last minute.” He had crossed to stand beside Sally, but as he responded to her comment his gaze was fixed on Laura.
“Too bad you had to go all that way downtown on such a hot afternoon.” Sally turned in her chair and gestured toward Laura. “You two have met, of course...”
“Yes.” Nick’s gray eyes held Laura’s steadily. “We’ve met.”
No man had any right to be so attractive. With the collar of his crisp white shirt open and the knot of his tie tugged loose, with his board-flat stomach accentuated by an expensive-looking leather belt and his long, powerful legs outlined by narrow-fitting trousers, he was so magnificently male that Laura felt her blood hum wildly in response. She gripped her glass and fought an almost overpowering impulse to press its cold surface to her heated cheeks.
What was he thinking as he stared at her so unblinkingly? How dull, bland and unattractive? How mousy, pale and boring? She had no way of knowing; his eyes were shuttered, his thoughts concealed as if behind a cold gray wall. She saw him place his fingertips lightly on Sally’s shoulders.
“Honey,” he said, “I heard the boys moving around.”
“Oh, they’re awake. Thanks, Nick.” She reached up a hand and he helped her to her feet. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, straightening, “once I get Matt and Mike into their swimsuits—they’ll want to go in the pool. It’s such a pity,” she called back over her shoulder as she crossed the patio to the house, “that Laura’s afraid of the water. We could have had an impromptu pool party!”
The moment Sally had closed the screen door behind her Laura felt panic tense her nerves even further. Why didn’t the man move? Why didn’t he either sit down, or go away? She couldn’t bear it when he stood like that, towering over her, like some hostile, threatening giantcouldn’ t bear the silence stretching between them...
“So—” Nick’s voice was neutral “—you’re Charity Brown’s great-niece.” He remained where he was, standing over her, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as he spoke.
“That’s right.” Forcing herself to appear calm, Laura sipped from her glass, and relished the cooling feel of the lemonade in her throat. “She was my father’s aunt.”
He moved his hands slightly, and she heard the jingle of keys. “You came here as a child, I gather.”
“You gather?” Laura raised her eyebrows.
He shrugged. “Let me put that another way. I know you came here as a child. Charity Brown told me you stayed with her for one whole summer.”
“Yes,” she said, “I did. When I was ten.”
“And you didn’t keep in touch with her afterward?”
Laura heard a warning bell go off in her mind. Had there been a trace of disapproval, even criticism in his tone? “I wasn’t allowed to keep in touch,” she said coolly. “When my father came to pick me up at the end of August, he and his aunt quarreled. Harsh things were said—on both sides. My father was an unforgiving man. From that time on he sent back his aunt’s letters unopened, and I was forbidden to write to her.”
“He was a drummer, I believe, with a popular band?”
How much had Charity Brown told this man? Laura felt a twinge of annoyance and resentment that he knew what he did about her. “A very popular band,” she said in cool tones. “He traveled all over North America... And after my mother died, when I was six, he took me with him.”
“Not very good for your schooling, I imagine, being on the road constantly.”
There it was again, that undertone of criticism...only this time it was more pronounced. “My father was a very clever man—” she put her glass down “—and he taught me himself, with the help of correspondence courses.”
“So you’re an educated woman, Miss Grant—” his voice was silky “—and one well able to make her own decisions. So tell me, as a matter of interest, are you still so much under your father’s influence that you continue to obey him without question?”
“My father died when I was eighteen,” Laura said, looking up at him angrily. “Just what are you getting at?”
His eyes glittered down at her. “And how old are you now?”
“I’m twenty-three, but—”
“What I’m getting at, Miss Grant, is this. I can understand