LIVVY PACED RESTLESSLY round the kitchen. Richard Field had been gone for almost an hour. Where was he? When would he be back…?
She stopped abruptly. Why should she concern herself with him? Wasn’t it far more sensible simply to carry on with her plans as though he had never arrived to upset and unnerve her?
There was that long list of chores Gale had given her for a start, and Monsieur Dubois had left before she had had an opportunity to ask him about the gas supply to the cooker and fridge.
She had no idea how much or how little might be left in the existing containers, but common sense told her that it would be a good idea not only to have a reserve supply but also to know that she was able to change over the canisters when necessary. They looked heavy, and she suspected that the betraying signs of rust on the connections would mean that a certain amount of brute force might be necessary to release an empty container and replace it with a fresh one.
No doubt, along with the generator, the farmer had deemed this a male area of skill and knowledge, but she did not want to be left in a position where she was dependent on Richard Field, not only for lighting and hot water, but for cooking as well…
She had stoked the range, unpacked and put away her clothes and the provisions, cleaned the kitchen and explored the rest of the house, apart from the bedroom which Richard Field had commandeered.
As Gale had rightly said, the farmhouse, while structurally sound, needed a considerable amount of work doing on it.
‘No way will that one antiquated bathroom be enough,’ she had told Livvy, ‘especially if we invite friends down. I’ve told George we’ll need at least two extra bathrooms, one for us, one for guests, and possibly a shower-room as well.’
‘I’ve spoken to the local builder—he’s Monsieur Dubois’ cousin. Of course, he pretended at first that he would be too busy to do anything for months, but they all try that on…I want you to go and see him, Livvy, and remind him that I want work started on the alterations this summer. I’ve given you a list of the bathroom fittings and the sanitaryware. When you order it, make sure the plumber gives you a firm delivery date…’
It was a great pity that Gale herself couldn’t have been here, Livvy reflected feelingly. With her cousin to contend with, Richard Field would have found himself in a very different situation indeed.
Since she was here for the whole summer, she did not really need to tackle the list of instructions Gale had given her immediately, but she suspected that her cousin would expect her to deal with them with the same gusto and determination which she herself would have exhibited, and besides, she felt too tense and on edge to relax properly and too off balance still to want to be here when Richard Field got back.
Gale, typically well organised, had supplied her with maps and even given her a list of places of local interest, the hill town of Rocamadour, the caves and under-ground lake aptly named River Styx of Gouffre de Padirac. She had been looking forward to exploring the region, to enjoying its richly wooded countryside and famous rivers; she had been looking forward to peace and solitude, to an opportunity to replenish her spiritual and mental resources. Now…
Now she was a seething, agitated mass of jangling nerves and tensions.
She drove first to the farm, to thank Madame Dubois for her kind welcoming gift and to submit herself to the older woman’s appraisal and inspection.
It would have been an affront to madame were she not the first to be able to report on the new visitor.
Livvy’s French ancestry, already known to madame, was re-examined and discussed, madame’s probing enquiries as to the reasons for Gale’s and the children’s non-appearance gently sidestepped, and Livvy was on the point of leaving when madame commented to her that monsieur, her friend, also spoke excellent French.
Did he too have the benefit of French blood in his veins? madame asked her.
Livvy checked. It was obvious that Monsieur Dubois had told his wife that they were lovers, and Livvy had the frustrating conviction that, no matter how much she tried to tell the older woman the truth, she would not be able to convince her.
The countryperson’s mind was an earthy one, Livvy knew that, but nevertheless it galled that already in the minds of local people she was seen as Richard Field’s lover.
Resisting the impulse to tell madame that she neither knew nor cared what Richard Field’s ancestry was, she took her leave of her.
Her next port of call was the home of Monsieur Dubois’ cousin, the builder. As Livvy had expected, he was out, but his wife made her welcome, listening while Livvy explained her mission.
Armand, her husband, had only the previous day mentioned the work he had promised to do for madame, her cousin, she told Livvy.
From the village, Livvy drove on to the local market town, not because she was reluctant to return to the farmhouse—and potentially Richard Field, she assured herself—but she was after all supposed to be on holiday, enjoying herself and relaxing, and she certainly could not do that with such an antagonistic, overbearing, judgemental and totally impossible man about.
The market town was small and pretty, surrounded by heavily wooded countryside, its dominating architectural feature the stone bridge spanning the river. As she drove across it, she saw half a dozen men fishing on its banks. George was a keen fisherman, part of the reason he and Gale had opted to buy the farmhouse. But now it seemed there would be little chance of her cousin and her husband spending long family summer holidays here.
Sadly, Livvy parked her car, a fresh anger stirring against Richard Field for adding to the stress Gale must already be under. From his comments, it was obvious that he was well aware of the discord between Gale and George. As George’s friend, he should be advising him to repair the damage to his marriage, not seeking to take advantage of the situation by trying to push through an underhand deal to buy the farmhouse.
However, from the opinions he had expressed to her, it was obvious just how he looked upon her sex, Livvy acknowledged, and as she headed towards the small market square her face burned as she recalled his comments to her and how he had reacted when she…
She stopped walking, her body tensing as she tried to reject the sharp thrill of sensation quivering through her.
She was not really sexually responsive to him, she denied. That had just been a momentary aberration, a brief heartbeat of misjudgement by her bemused senses. It meant nothing, and if just now, remembering, she had for one unnerving second actually felt her body quiver into unexpected awareness, her mouth soften as though it could actually physically recall the intense sensuality of his kiss, then that meant nothing too.
The small town was very quiet. Good French housewives did their shopping early in the day, when things were still fresh and choice abundant. Now the town drowsed in the later afternoon sunshine, the small group of men seated outside the bar on the edge of the square watching Livvy with admiring interest as she crossed their line of vision.
Tempted by the cool shade promised by a narrow alleyway leading off the square, Livvy walked down it, pausing outside a small bookshop.
In England she had not given much thought to how she would occupy her evenings; she had plenty of work to do preparing things for the new school term; she had her radio and tapes, and had assumed that, after long, lazy days spent exploring the countryside, she would be only too glad to have some early nights.
That, though, had been before she had discovered that she would be sharing the farmhouse with Richard Field. Somehow she could not imagine herself feeling relaxed enough to do that while he was around.
She would need something to occupy her time, to put a safe, uncrossable distance between them. She went into the bookshop, emerging over half an hour later, after an enjoyable conversation with the proprietress, carrying a parcel which contained the two novels she had bought.
Yes, they should keep her well and truly occupied for the next few evenings, and make it clear to a certain wrong-headed male that she was quite definitely not interested in him. All she had to do was to sit tight and wait for him to leave. He couldn’t be planning to stay very long—could he?
As she drove back to the farmhouse, the closer she got to her destination, the slower she was driving, Livvy recognised. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t afraid of him, was she?
Not afraid, but his assessment of her, his denunciation of her, however wildly wrong they might have been, had left her feeling vulnerable as well as angry.
Was it that, or was it that shatteringly unexpected brief reaction to him which was disturbing her?
Uncomfortable with her thoughts, Livvy drove into the farmyard and discovered to her relief that there was no sign of the BMW.
Garaging her own car in one of the large empty buildings, she gathered up her purchases and headed for the house, stopping in surprise when she saw the small, thin cat waiting hopefully by the door.
Automatically she bent down to stroke it, smiling as it responded with a loud purr, weaving itself round her legs.
Although its tabby coat was glossy, its body was thin, the amber eyes pleadingly hopeful as Livvy reached into her handbag for her keys. It had probably come from one of the local farms, she acknowledged, as she opened the door and it followed her inside, and just as probably wasn’t likely to be missed…It had the lean outline of a farmyard hunter rather than a domestic pet, although it seemed to have all the instincts of the latter, from the way it had greeted her and was now making straight for the warmth of the range.
She hadn’t the heart to put it back outside, and before very long Livvy discovered that she was responding with shameful weakness to the silent plea in the amber eyes, pouring it a saucer of milk and rooting through her provisions until she came across a tin of sardines.
Quelling her conscience by telling herself that, as a farm cat, it would probably be a good mouser, she tried not to listen to the sharp voice of her conscience warning her that Gale might not be too pleased about her new house guest.
An hour later, as she sat down to enjoy the omelette she had just made and drink the glass of clean, sharp-tasting if a little rough local wine she had bought, she reflected that if it had not been for Richard Field’s unwanted presence life would be not very far short of perfect.
The kitchen warmed by the range and scented with the rich smell of her cooking, the cat half sleeping, half purring by the fire in front of her; the familiar comforting and yet exciting ambience of a French country kitchen; in the half-light of dusk, stirring memories of happy childhood holidays in Brittany, all combined to make her aware of how much tension she had been under lately, how little time she had had for enjoying this kind of simple pleasure and relaxation.
And if she accepted the assistant headship, there would be even less time. She had gone into teaching because she wanted to teach, and the dilemma she now found herself facing depressed her.
Of course she wanted to progress—who wouldn’t? But as a teacher, not an administrative manager.
She wondered if Gale had had any success in getting in touch with George. She must phone her. She was frowning as she carried her empty plate and glass over to the sink. Richard Field still hadn’t returned. Where was he?
It irked her that she should be so preoccupied with him. It was just because he had made her so angry, she told herself as she washed the things she had used.
Gale and George were going to have to spend a good deal of money if they were to achieve all the improvements Gale wanted, Livvy reflected as she dialled her cousin’s telephone number. In Gale’s shoes, she wasn’t sure she would want to go ahead with putting the work in hand in view of the problems she and George were facing, but Gale had been adamant when she spoke to her that she was not going to let what she had described as George’s foolishness change her plans.
As Livvy waited for her cousin to answer her call, she frowned unhappily. It upset her to know that her cousin was having matrimonial problems, for the children’s sakes as well as for Gale’s and George’s. For George actually to take steps to sell the farmhouse without telling Gale was the last thing she would have expected him to do.
Gale wasn’t answering the phone; she must be out. Livvy replaced the receiver and removed the list of chores Gale had given her from her handbag, placing it on the table.
While she was studying it, the cat jumped up on to her knee, miaowing plaintively. Laughing, Livvy stroked her. The cat responded with a loud purr and settled herself comfortably on Livvy’s lap.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Livvy told her. ‘I’m going upstairs to have a shower and an early night. You, I’m afraid, are going to have to go out…’
The cat purred more loudly. Perhaps in the morning she would be gone, back from wherever she had come from, Livvy reflected. If so, she would miss her; there was something comforting about her presence, something reassuring. She stood up with the cat in her arms and then froze as she heard the sound of a car’s engine and saw its headlights as it turned into the yard.
Richard Field was back. Only now did Livvy acknowledge how much a part of her had been hoping that he had changed his mind…done the decent thing and decided to leave.
She wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed confrontation or arguments, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t let him bully her into giving way to him.
Still holding the cat, she waited for him to appear, watching as the door-handle turned and the door itself opened inwards.
For a moment, as he saw her, he looked almost shocked, and then he demanded grimly, ‘Hasn’t anyone warned you about the dangers of leaving doors unlocked? Anyone could have walked in. Or was that perhaps what you were waiting for?’ he added softly, his mouth curling into a cynical, derogatory smile. ‘I don’t suppose a woman like you can go very long without sex. Who is it this time? Another casual pick-up like the one at the auberge?’
Livvy clutched the cat tightly, ignoring the small protesting sound it made, tension holding her body stiffly upright, her mind flinching from his words as though they were actual physical blows, but she refused to let him see how much his accusations and attitude had affected her.
She was not even going to dignify them by denying them. She had no need to prove anything to him, defend herself from remarks which all those who knew her would have found laughably absurd. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that, contrary to what he had imagined, she had not invited those unwanted attentions—and to add that it was no thanks to him that she had escaped being raped.
In her arms, the cat gave a protesting miaow and wriggled.
Immediately he focused on it, frowning.
‘Where did that come from?’ he demanded.
‘I found her outside. Not that it’s any business of yours,’ Livvy told him furiously.
He was looking at her, his eyes full of contempt and a brilliant, dangerous anger. It was almost as though he wanted her to challenge him, to provoke him, Livvy recognised, swallowing on her reaction to him.
‘You realise that it’s probably covered you in fleas?’ he told her.
Livvy refused to respond. What did he think she was? The kind of silly idiot who would immediately throw the cat to the floor in horror? Nevertheless, she made a mental note to buy some flea powder when she next went shopping.
Ignoring his comment, she walked towards the door, still carrying the cat in her arms.
His terse, ‘Where are you going?’ checked her just as she reached it, and this time as she turned round to face him she made no attempt to hide her anger. Her eyes were brilliant with it, her whole body registering her independence and resentment.
‘I’m putting the cat out for the night, before I go to bed. Not that it’s any business of yours,’ she told him fiercely.
‘Going to bed? At this time?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Somehow you don’t strike me as the early-night-with-a-good-book type.’
‘The reason I’m going to bed early is because I can’t bear the thought of having to spend any more time than I have to in your company.’
She opened the door, put the cat down and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. Her car was parked only yards away and for a moment she was achingly tempted to get in it and simply drive away. But how could she do that? She had promised Gale she would stay, and besides, why should she allow a man like that to bully and manipulate her? And that was what he was doing. He was probably hoping she would leave, already gloating mentally over his victory over her.
Taking deep, steady breaths of fresh air, she turned round and walked back into the kitchen.
As she walked past him, Livvy saw that he was studying the list she had left on the kitchen table. Lifting his head, he looked at her, his eyes cold and cynical.
‘I see that despite the fact that Gale doesn’t seem to want George’s company, she isn’t averse to spending his money. How like a woman.’
‘That isn’t true,’ Livvy defended her cousin hotly. ‘George is the one who…’ She caught herself up abruptly. She wasn’t going to discuss her cousin’s marriage with him.
‘Gale made those plans for the farmhouse last year…’
‘When she must have known that George had already over-extended himself to buy this place. No wonder the poor devil is…’ He stopped abruptly while Livvy stared at him, her own feelings pushed to one side as she wondered how he came to know so much about George’s financial affairs. George had never struck her as the kind of man to confide in other members of his sex. Come to think of it, a man like Richard Field was the very last kind of man she would have imagined someone like George having as a close friend. They were so completely opposite. George, the devoted, mild-tempered, placid husband and father, Richard Field, so openly contemptuous of her sex, and so very obviously neither mild nor placid.
And at the back of her mind, although she fought to acknowledge it, was an awareness of the greatest difference between them: George was her cousin’s husband and she knew Gale loved him, but there was no way that even her cousin could claim that George possessed one-tenth of the intense male sexuality that Richard Field had in such abundance.
‘Did your cousin even think of the financial burden she was forcing on him when she overruled him and insisted on buying this place?’
‘Gale wanted the farmhouse so that they could all come here and relax,’ Livvy protested, but nevertheless she was biting her bottom lip, remembering how often in the past other members of the family had criticised Gale for her domineering ways, and for the manner in which she often steamrollered over any opposition to her wishes.
Gale would never knowingly do anything to hurt George, Livvy was sure, but perhaps unknowingly…She caught herself up…What was she doing, allowing him to sway her judgement, to…?
Across the table from her he gave a harsh snort of derision.
‘For them all to enjoy? Or for her to brag about to her friends…’
‘She wanted to be able to get George to take a proper holiday,’ Livvy interrupted furiously. ‘She wanted to get him away from that monster of a boss of his who treats him like a slave, making him work virtually twenty-four hours a day. If there are any problems to Gale and George’s marriage, then he’s the one who’s caused them with his impossible demands on George, not Gale…Gale and George were perfectly happily married until he took over the company…’
Livvy stopped. She was breathing hard, her face flushed, her temper high. She flicked a look in Richard Field’s direction.
His face was shadowed and unreadable, his body still.
Something about his silence, his stillness goaded Livvy on, rushing her into impetuous, angry speech as she added contemptuously,
‘No wonder his own marriage ended in divorce. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually wanted to break up George and Gale’s marriage, if he was actually deliberately…’
‘You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
Livvy tensed, blinking nervously. Something she had said had obviously touched a raw nerve. She had never seen him looking so angry, not even before when he had…She shivered and backed nervously away from the table. If he should try to take hold of her again, to punish her with a repeat performance…This time he wouldn’t find her such an easy victim; this time she would be prepared, on her guard; this time she would be able to withstand the fierce intensity of his sexuality, meeting it with icy coldness, letting him know how she truly felt about him, how…
‘If your cousin really wants to find an explanation for the breakdown of her marriage, she should look to her own behaviour and not try to blame it on someone else…’
The flat, dead tone of his voice made Livvy focus on him; his reaction was so very different from the charged, intense response she had had from him earlier that it took her several seconds to recognise that she had nothing to fear; that he was not going to reach for her and take hold of her, subjecting her to the kind of physical domination and punishment he had inflicted on her before.
‘I am not going to discuss my cousin’s marriage with you,’ she told him. ‘Your criticism of Gale is unfair and ill-judged, but then…’
She paused, recognising that there was little point in telling him that he was as wrong about Gale as he had been about her. The man plainly had a bias against the female sex, despite the fact that the aura of intense, raw sexuality which surrounded him must surely attract women to him like moths to a flame.
‘Yes?’ he prompted broodingly, watching her with a concentration that made her shiver again. ‘But then what…?’
Livvy shook her head. What was the point in entangling herself in another confrontation with him? She picked up her parcel of books off the table and turned away from him.
It was barely nine o’clock, and yet her body ached as though she had been up far longer and worked much harder, Livvy recognised as she showered tiredly. Her muscle-tension was no doubt the result of the strain Richard Field’s presence was imposing on her.
She was beginning to regret giving Gale her promise to stay, and yet there was also a small, stubborn part of her that would have been reluctant to retreat and leave Richard Field in victorious possession of the day—and the farmhouse.
It had been unfair of him to make those accusations against Gale. After all, what did he know of her? Gale had known nothing about him…Which meant that he could only have drawn his conclusions about her from things George had said to him.
Livvy paused as she got out of the shower, frowning as she turned this knowledge over in her mind, ignoring the damp, naked state of her body as she worried at her thoughts.
Used to living on her own and the privacy of her small home, where she was accustomed to padding naked from her bathroom to her bedroom, it had never occurred to Livvy to lock the bathroom door.
In fact she was so disturbed by the issues raised by her thoughts that, when the bathroom door first opened and Richard Field walked in, she simply stared at him blankly until he drawled unkindly, ‘If this is meant to be some kind of invitation, then the answer is no…’
Flushing hotly, Livvy reached for her towel, wrapping it quickly round her naked body, outrage battling with embarrassment.
‘You had no right to walk in here without knocking,’ she protested huskily.
‘You should have locked the door.’
‘If I’d known you were going to come creeping in here like a…like a voyeur, I would have done,’ she retaliated.
She felt flustered and angry, thrown on the defensive and still embarrassed. Surely he must have realised as he opened the door that she was in here…Why hadn’t he simply closed it again and gone tactfully away?
Because he just wasn’t that kind of man, she reflected bitterly, because he was enjoying goading and humiliating her. She could just imagine how she would have felt had their positions been reversed; no way would she simply have stood there and stared, the way he had been staring at her…
It was on the tip of her tongue to resort to childhood and ask what was wrong, hadn’t he seen a naked woman before? But she suspected that to do so would be very dangerous indeed, and highly provocative as well.
She could see already that she had angered him by her earlier accusation. He confirmed it as he leaned towards her, blocking her exit, asking her softly, ‘What is it exactly you’re trying to do? I’ve already told you I’m not interested. Still, I’ll give it to you…you don’t give up easily. What is it? Does the thought of having sex with a man whom you know despises you excite you so much that it overcomes the potential humiliation of being rejected, or is it just that you’re so desperate for sex that you don’t care who you have it with?’
Livvy gave a small, choked gasp of shocked fury. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, denials she wanted to make, feelings she wanted to give vent to, but stronger than any one of them was her need to escape from him and from the humiliation scalding her.
Before she had met him, she would have laughed in disbelief at the idea of any man saying such things to her. She was simply not that kind of woman. She was quite reticent and even a little remote with the opposite sex, and she had certainly never, ever felt the remotest need to behave in any of the ways he was suggesting.
She could feel her legs starting to tremble and she was afraid that if she didn’t get away from him soon she would disgrace herself completely by either fainting or bursting into tears.
Her heart was pounding as though she had run a mile; she felt sick, tense and very, very vulnerable.
He moved slightly away from the door and she took her chance, almost running through it as she told him through gritted teeth, ‘You were the one who came barging in here. I did not invite you. If one of us is looking for sex, it certainly isn’t me…’
She shot past him and into her bedroom without allowing him to make any response and then stood leaning against the door while her body trembled with shocked reaction.
Beneath her towel she could feel the too-fast beat of her heart—and the taut stiffness of her nipples.