Pagan Enchantment. Кэрол Мортимер
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‘Then you are frightened—–’
‘I am not!’ she snapped. ‘I just don’t think it’s fair to put something like that to my father. He’s never really got over losing my mother, all he needs is my asking him if he’s really my father!’ She gave Gideon Steele a disgusted look. ‘I won’t do that to him.’
‘Then take my word for it—–’
‘I won’t do that either,’ she told him coldly, giving the impression she would never take his word for anything. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not the girl you’re looking for, so why don’t you leave me alone?’
‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t have bothered to find you in the first place,’ he said harshly. ‘Anthea’s past is her own affair—and my father’s if she chooses to tell him about it. But she told us both about you last year.’
‘Why?’ Merry frowned.
‘If you aren’t her daughter why are you interested?’ His eyes were narrowed.
She flushed. ‘You involved me in this, I just wanted to know all the facts.’
‘If you aren’t the Meredith Charles I’m looking for then I don’t see the necessity of acquainting you with them.’ He moved to the door. ‘As you suggested, I’ll go back to my source. And I suggest you go to your father.’
‘I—–’
‘I’ll be back, Meredith,’ he warned. ‘And if necessary, I’ll bring Harrington and the dossier to prove the truth to you.’ He swung the door open. ‘I’d advise you to be prepared. Go and see your father, Meredith,’ he said softly. ‘After all, what real harm can it do? I’m sure there must be some way you can ask Malcolm Charles if he is your father without being blunt about it. I’ll be seeing you, Meredith,’ he promised before leaving.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Vanda hurried into the room as soon as Gideon Steele had left the apartment, ‘but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ She grimaced. ‘And he isn’t the sort of man you can argue with.’
‘No,’ she agreed vaguely, pulling her suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. ‘I’m going to see my father for a few days, Vanda. I—If Mr Steele should come back, you don’t know where I’ve gone, all right?’
‘Are you that frightened of him?’ Vanda asked in an awed voice.
She gave a taut smile. ‘I’m not frightened of him. I just—I don’t like him.’ And she didn’t, she didn’t like his self-assurance, his arrogance—and most of all she didn’t like the things he had told her.
‘He didn’t offer you a part, then?’ Vanda sat on the bed as she watched Merry pack.
Only that of his stepsister, she thought hysterically. It was unthinkable that a man like that should be any sort of relative of hers, no matter how remote. ‘No,’ she answered calmly enough. ‘And as the play has folded I thought I’d go and see Dad for a few days. He gets a little lonely without my mother.’
In fact her father seemed sprightlier than ever. His job in the nearest town at the branch of one of the countries leading insurance agencies kept him very busy, filling most of his evenings at least.
He met her at the station, hugging her before taking her case out to the car. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got your call,’ he smiled at her, his hair still as black as her own, his eyes more hazel than green; he was still a very handsome man, despite being in his late forties.
Merry listened to all his chatter about the locals in the little village she had lived in most of her life, knowing all the two hundred or so inhabitants by name, and most of their pets too! After the impersonality of London it always warmed her to return to Wildton, and she waved to several of the neighbours children as they played in their gardens.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ she said with pleasure as she followed her father into the small bungalow that seemed so empty without her mother’s bustling presence in the kitchen.
‘You have,’ her father said softly, putting her case in her room, filled with the posters of pop stars she had put up when in her teens still on the walls, the patchwork quilt on the bed, the bookcase full of the romance novels she still devoured by their hundreds, an old guitar propped in the corner of the room.
She looked sharply at her father. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged, a sad smile to his handsome face. ‘When you left two years ago you were still a little girl, now you suddenly seem grown up.’
Merry’s bottom lip quivered, and suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing into his shoulder as if she would never stop. She felt safe in her father’s arms, safe and secure, with Gideon Steele pushed firmly to the back of her mind.
‘Hey!’ her father finally chided, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Surely growing up isn’t that painful?’ he teased, his gentle strength comforting her.
‘I’m afraid it is.’ She wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief he gave her, her smile rather weak.
‘A man?’ he prompted softly.
‘I—Yes,’ she decided, knowing the truth was too much to even think about. ‘A man.’
‘Now I definitely feel old,’ he smiled. ‘My daughter’s first unhappy love affair!’
‘Oh, Dad!’ she sniffed, smiling broadly. Everything seemed so normal when she was with her father, when she could feel his love, could see their similarity in looks, that Gideon Steele’s suggestion now seemed as ludicrous as she had said it was. Seeing her father’s gentle love for her she was ashamed of ever doubting him.
It was an enjoyable time- at home, and yet she was aware of a subtle difference in her own behaviour. She was unsettled, irritable, and it wasn’t just because of her lack of a job when she returned to London. She found herself watching her father with a keenness she had never felt before, felt anger at herself for noticing that the similarity between them was only superficial, their colouring going a long way towards giving the impression of father and daughter. There was also the fact that both her parents were tall. She had always credited her own diminutive height to one of her grandmothers, but now she had an uneasy feeling inside her. She was starting to believe Gideon Steele’s fantastic claim!
The day she came home from an afternoon’s shopping and found him sitting in the lounge with her father she knew that he, at least, was convinced there was nothing fantastic about it.
‘A friend of yours from London,’ her father smiled as she came in, carrying two cans of beer through to the lounge.
Merry wouldn’t, even in her wildest dreams, ever call Gideon Steele a friend. Although he gave every indication of being one as he stood up to greet her.
‘Meridith!’ He gave her a warm smile, accepting one of the cans of beer from her father. ‘Thanks,’ he accepted gratefully, turning back to Merry. ‘I’ve just been telling your father how we met.’
She swallowed hard. ‘You have?’
She had known he was here before she entered the house, had seen the Ferrari outside and knew no one else could own that black monster. He was several inches taller than her father, more powerfully built, and looked extremely fit in the fitted black shirt and black trousers. He seemed to dominate the whole room—and the people in it!
‘Yes,’ he continued to smile. ‘It’s the only good thing Harry Anderson has ever done in his life, I should think.’
‘Harry?’ she echoed sharply, wondering what on earth he had been telling her father. Of course, her father already knew about Harry, she had told him all about the disastrous play. But what could Harry possibly have to do with Gideon Steele and herself?
‘He sounds an atrocious person,’ her father grinned.
‘Oh,