A Will to Love Read online

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’ Murray’s voice was close behind her, making her jump.

  ‘It’s my house, as Tracy reminded me.’ Annie swallowed, trying to force her breathing and heart rate back to normal. ‘Besides, in an emergency, we should all muck in together, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘The old war time spirit, eh?’ He chuckled, and the sound curled Annie’s toes. ‘You’d better count my mother out. The only mucking in she’s interested in is when there’s brass attached.’

  In spite of herself, Annie turned round to where he stood, far too close behind her. ‘Are you from Yorkshire?’

  ‘You noticed the authentic accent, did you?’ He smiled, mocking her. ‘Yes. I’m from Yorkshire – originally. Fallowfield was the house my father bought when he married my mother, but she preferred to be nearer London, so he bought another house in the Home Counties. I was brought up there, but when my mother left, father and I used to spend our holidays up here.’

  Where is he now, your father? Annie wanted to ask. For some reason, she had assumed that he was dead, presumably because Marion lived with her son, but unless he had been much older than Marion when he married her, he could well be very much alive. But Murray had finished with confidences and moved away to make tea in a large brown teapot.

  ‘Leave those to drain,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ll do them when I’ve taken my mother her tea.’

  Annie turned backed to the sink and squirted yellow liquid into the bowl. Tracy was right, Murray would help. Damn! Why did he persist in undermining her dislike? Why couldn’t he have carried on being that arrogant autocrat she had met a week ago instead of reinforcing this insidious attraction that curled under her ribs and into her stomach, that wound itself into her brain, reducing it to cotton wool? She needed her brain unclouded, to resist whatever he and his mother were planning – for planning something they were, that much was clear from what she had overheard last night, when they thought she was in bed.

  ‘I’ve poured you a cup of tea,’ Murray called as he left the room, and Annie turned round to dry her hands. For a while she stood by the table nursing her cup, inhaling the comforting scent of the tea, which was her staple restorative, normally taken within five minutes of rising. Perhaps now she would begin to function properly and get herself out of this awful situation. Except that it wasn’t awful, was it? Exasperated with herself, she went back to the sink and gazed out at the snow covered grounds. Under any other circumstances, being snowed in with Murray Campbell would have been the stuff that dreams were made of, but not now. She must not succumb, she told herself firmly, trying to blot out the picture that kept coming into her mind of his lips just touching hers, the smell of his cologne in her nostrils and his hands warm on her shoulders.

  ‘Mother is going to have breakfast in her room.’ He had appeared silently beside her again, making her jump.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t creep up on me like that.’ She injected annoyance into her voice to cover her confusion.

  ‘Did I?’ He was amused, taking a tea towel to dry the few glasses she had washed. ‘You mustn’t be so sensitive.’

  ‘Your mother doesn’t think I’m sensitive.’ Annie rinsed her cup in the hot water.

  ‘You really mustn’t take any notice of the things she says in the heat of the moment. She doesn’t mean them.’

  ‘No.’ Annie looked down at her bubble covered hands. ‘As I said earlier, if you and she would start being truthful with me, perhaps we would all get on better.’

  ‘Now why do you think we are being any more untruthful than you?’ He hung the tea towel on a rail by the Aga and went to sit on the edge of the table, watching her with narrowed eyes.

  Annie let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m not being untruthful! What would I have to lie about? You know who I am; it’s not as if I’m a false claimant – an impostor! You found me yourself, I didn’t come looking for you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t need to, did you? You already knew you were a legatee.’

  ‘A minor one, yes – and nobody was more surprised than I was.’

  ‘Except your mother.’

  ‘She wasn’t just surprised, she was furious.’ Annie looked up at his cold expression and squared her shoulders. ‘Anyway, I don’t see what it’s got to do with you. He wasn’t your father.’

  ‘But Marion is my mother.’

  ‘And she’s playing the wronged wife?’ Annie laughed bitterly. ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’

  The steel spikes came right through the silk this time as his face became almost frightening. ‘I don’t think you have the right to speak of my mother like that.’ His eyes had changed to the colour of the North Sea in winter and Annie shivered.

  ‘Don’t I?’ she asked bravely. ‘She seems to be able to say what she likes about me.’

  ‘She isn’t well.’ His temper was going, she could see, and in a minute he would begin to make those wild yet controlled accusations that he had flung at her the first time they met. Good, she thought. Then I’ll be able to hate him again.

  ‘So because she’s not well, you believe everything she says? Whereas I’m a strong and healthy young woman, so you can treat everything I say as lies?’ She was goading him, she knew, and he was going to hate her before she hated him. Something inside her shrivelled into a tiny cold ball and lay beneath her rib cage like lead.

  ‘That is not what I meant.’ He came to his feet in a rush and stood towering over her, dark and intimidating in a gunmetal sweater and black jeans. ‘God, you’re an infuriating woman.’

  ‘I’m infuriating?’ Annie’s voice came out as a squeak. ‘That just about takes the biscuit. What about you? Here I am – uncomplicated and open as a book – all I want to do is get rid of this damned house and go back to real life – and there’s you – devious, twisting my words and actions, suspecting me of things I can’t even dream of.’

  ‘Be quiet, woman,’ he roared, closing the gap between them and grabbing her upper arms. Shaking with nerves and anger, Annie gazed up at him, her mouth open in shock, while the emotional temperature shot up around them, fizzing in the air like electricity. Then, just as she thought her lungs would burst from holding her breath, he pulled her roughly against him and bent his head to hers.

  Annie had heard of people’s knees going weak, of shooting stars and dizziness when they were kissed, but she had never believed it. Until now. Murray’s mouth was weaving a spell around her, his tongue warm and searching inside her mouth – how had that happened? And her arms were round him, sliding under the thick wool sweater, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back.

  Suddenly, he raised his head and put her away from him, looking as dazed as she felt.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was unsteady and she was obscurely pleased. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’

  Annie moved backwards out of his reach. ‘No, I don’t imagine you did,’ she replied in a low voice. Murray had lost control and that was most definitely not part of the plan.

  His gaze was intent as she met his eyes. Something flickered in their depths, something that brought the little cold ball of lead to faint life somewhere in her solar plexus, and she swallowed hard.

  ‘That was truth.’ His voice was so quiet, she barely heard him, and stared in shock, trying to believe her ears.

  ‘Murray.’ The kitchen door swung back sharply against the wall and Marion’s wheelchair whispered into the room. ‘I thought you were fetching my breakfast?’

  ‘Annie and I were talking, mother.’ He kept his eyes on Annie, who had never felt so uncomfortable in her life.

  ‘Really?’ The wheelchair glided between them and Marion looked up at Annie’s pale face. ‘I wonder what about?’

  She was in command again this morning, the wolfish smile in evidence, the dark hooded eyes alert.

  ‘About you, mother.’ Murray’s eyes were still impelling her to look at him.

  ‘Of course.’ Marion’s smil
e was even wider. ‘And what did she have to say for herself?’

  Annie was galvanised into speech. ‘I am present in both mind and body and I would prefer to be addressed directly. I was, in fact, defending my right to be as rude to you as you are to me. Your son didn’t seem to agree with me.’

  The silence that fell told Annie she had scored a point, especially as faint colour tinged Marion’s cheekbones and her eyes dropped from Annie’s to cast an almost furtive glance at Murray, who moved across to take the handles of the wheelchair.

  ‘I think it’s best if you go back to your room, mother. I’ll bring you some toast as soon as I’ve made it.’ He pushed the wheelchair to the door and held it open for Marion to pass through, then turned back into the room.

  ‘I think I have another apology to make,’ he said, stopping at arms length from Annie, who still stood as though rooted to the spot. ‘I agree that my mother is unpardonably rude to you, and you have every right to treat her accordingly.’

  Annie searched his face for some sign of the passion that had so recently flared between them, but his expression was closed once more, his eyes unreadable. She sighed.

  ‘I don’t intend to be as rude to her as she is to me, despite what I just said. It would merely bring me down to her level.’ She went to move away and then looked back at him, pain showing clearly in the warm brown eyes. ‘But it hurts!’ she burst out, before wheeling back to the sink and plunging her hands into the cooling water.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ came Murray’s voice eventually. She waited for more, staring into the sink, but nothing else came and she heard him moving around behind her and then the click of the automatic toaster.

  He didn’t come back after he’d left with his mother’s toast. Annie worked on automatically until the kitchen was put to rights and then set about learning the vagaries of the Aga. She checked that she had all the ingredients for a beef casserole with wine, which she could put into the slow oven after lunch and then, with a last look round, she went out into the hall.

  The mundane tasks had given her a chance to pull herself together after the emotional events of the last hour and she was more than ever determined to leave as soon as possible after making sure Marion knew she could have the house – and whatever money there was. The whole atmosphere of the last 15 hours had been so highly charged she felt if she didn’t have a rest from it, and especially her ambivalent feelings towards Murray, she could easily break down. Why, she questioned the empty air, did the first man to get through to her in years have to be someone she could not have? Someone who was dedicated to another cause, who was only concerned in getting her out of his life? Pressing her lips together, she made purposefully for the small drawing room door and Marion’s inner sanctum.

  Behind the screen, the door stood ajar and she could hear the low murmur of voices. Before she could allow herself to hear anything of what was being said, she tapped lightly on the door and went in.

  Marion sat in her chair by the window looking out over the front of the house and the snowbound drive, while Murray crouched before her on his haunches. The expressions on their faces told her she had been the subject of their conversation, Murray’s for a second unguarded, Marion’s petulant. Murray stood up, she took a deep breath and spoke.

  ‘I’ve just come to say I shall be leaving as soon as humanly possible and until I do, I consider myself the owner of this house and extend its hospitality to both of you. I shall prepare lunch and dinner for all of us, but I don’t expect us to eat together if you would prefer not to. Once I have gone, I intend to see my solicitor and formally hand over this property and the remainder of my father’s estate to you, Marion.’ She paused to gauge the effect of her words on her listeners, neither of whom had moved a muscle, and went on. ‘Now I have made my intentions plain, there can be no cause for the hostility that has been between us, can there? You’ve won, Marion, not that I was even in the race knowingly, so you can relax, and once I’ve gone, you can forget all about me.’

  As there was no immediate response from either mother or son, Annie started for the door, head held high.

  ‘Wait.’ Marion’s voice was sharp and as Annie slowly turned back, she caught a shamefaced glance at Murray. ‘Please.’ Marion added. Annie waited until the silence threatened to send her screaming out of the room, then Marion spoke again.

  ‘My son has pointed out that I’ve had no right to be as – as …’ she looked at Murray for help and didn’t receive any. ‘Well, to have taken a dislike to you … I would offer to go home – back to Fallowfield – if the weather permitted, but it doesn’t. I appreciate your offer of the house, naturally, but my son thinks …’

  ‘That you shouldn’t just give it up like that,’ finished Murray for her.

  ‘Well. You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you?’ Annie looked from one to the other. ‘One minute I’m the evil illegitimate daughter turning the poor widow out of her home, the next I’m being told I shouldn’t give it up “just like that”. You’ll forgive me if I appear confused.’

  Murray looked angry. ‘Why can’t you accept it in good faith?’ he rasped.

  ‘Why can’t you?’ countered Annie. ‘I never wanted the place anyway, I’ve told you more than once. Why make things difficult?’

  Murray let out a hissing breath. ‘My mother has just made you an apology …’

  ‘No, she hasn’t,’ contradicted Annie. ‘She said you told her she was wrong.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Murray swung away to pace the room. ‘My mother’s admitting she was wrong about you, so the least you can do is stay and be pleasant.’

  ‘I was offering to do exactly that, if you were listening.’ Annie looked at Marion. ‘And I don’t think your mother’s admitting anything of the sort.’

  Marion’s colour was higher than Annie had yet seen it and her eyes were glittering feverishly. For a moment, she experienced a pang of guilt, wondering if she was responsible for causing a sudden decline in Marion’s condition.

  ‘Look, let’s just leave it there,’ she added hurriedly, before anything else could be said. ‘I’ll call you when lunch is ready.’

  Out in the hall, she discovered she was shaking and rested her head on the cool surface of the newel post.

  ‘Annie.’ Murray came up behind her and put a hand on she shoulder to bring her round to face him. Reluctantly, she lifted wary eyes to his.

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the drawing room. ‘I seem to be apologising constantly, don’t I?’

  Annie said nothing, concentrating too hard on quelling the traitorous feelings that were threatening once more to submerge her.

  ‘Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, even if my mother doesn’t.’ He stood back and looked at her. ‘You’re tired. Why don’t you go back to bed for an hour?’

  ‘No.’ Annie shook her head. ‘No. I’ll find something to do until lunch.’

  ‘Why don’t I take you on a tour of the house? I know you’re determined to give it up, but you might as well see where your father used to live.’

  Annie bit her lip, undecided.

  ‘Come on. Look on it as a peace offering from me, if you like.’ Murray stepped forward and took her elbow.

  Annie sighed. ‘All right.’ She gently disengaged her arm and moved past him into the hall. ‘Where do we start?’

  Murray smiled. ‘That’s better.’ He looked round. ‘Let’s start upstairs.’

  How could he behave like this? Annie wondered, as she followed him up the wide staircase. As though nothing had happened, as though there had been no passionate exchange between them less than an hour ago, as though there was no dissension. She watched his face, his body, the way the light caught his hair, the movement of his muscles beneath the dark clothes and her body ached, her mind despaired. She hardly took in anything of the guided tour he gave her, although she made automatic responses when they were invited. Eventually when he had taken her round the outside o
f the house and the nearer outbuildings he stopped on the front step, hands thrust deep into jeans pockets.

  ‘I’d better go in and call my office – if I may use the phone?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Of course,’ muttered Annie, looking down at the dirty snow at her feet.

  ‘Singularly unimpressed, weren’t you?’ His voice had lost the pleasant warmth it had held for the last half an hour.

  ‘No.’ Annie looked out at the snowy landscape. ‘It’s a lovely house.’

  ‘But no bloody good as an olive branch.’

  Annie looked up in surprise at the suppressed anger in his voice.

  ‘Olive branch?’

  ‘Oh, forget it, Annie. It’s quite clear you don’t want anything from me, my mother or this house. You’ve convinced me.’ His eyes were icier than the tracery on the windows, his expression more forbidding than the lowering distant hills. ‘I’ll see you at lunch.’

  Annie watched him disappear inside, her insides contracting in what felt like physical pain. The last tenuous thread of conciliation had been snapped and she was the one who had snapped it. For whatever reason, Murray had offered, as he said, an olive branch and she had refused it. Impatient with herself, she turned and went back down the steps to the terrace that ran along past the main drawing room. Had she refused it? Or was it simply that she didn’t believe it? Given the maelstrom of conflicting emotions she had suffered since meeting Murray Campbell and his own paradoxical attitude to her, one minute cold distrust, the next overwhelming sexual awareness, it was, she supposed, quite natural that she would be hesitant about any overtures he made. Why couldn’t he see that?

  But he hadn’t and he had gone. He had sloughed her off and now all she could do was get through the hours until she could leave and try and forget him as he would undoubtedly forget her. After all, what was there to forget? A woman who had upset his mother, who had been a mild threat to the even tenor of his family life and who had been dispatched with a minimum amount of fuss, despite his mother’s unreasonable determination to cause trouble. Annie swallowed the painful lump in her throat and blinked unaccustomed tears from her eyes.