A Time Like No Other (13 page)

‘I take exception to what you are saying, brother,’ Roly snarled, as incensed as Harry. ‘I have done Lally no harm, made no claims on her that could not be shared with the most stiff-necked matron. I treat her with respect as becomes the widow of my oldest friend and I resent your implication that I am doing my best to seduce her. She is as innocent as a . . . as a . . . schoolgirl and I have made no attempt to change that. We are friends who enjoy one another’s company and—’

‘Stuff and nonsense. Given half a chance and you would have her—’

‘Where,
where
?’ Roly’s voice was dangerous and he swayed over his brother who still lounged, an after-dinner cigar between his lips, on the sofa on the other side of the fire. ‘In my bed, are you saying, or in
her
bed? Goddammit, man, that woman of hers watches her like a bloody hawk.’

‘So you are saying that but for “that woman” you would have . . .’

‘No, confound it, I’m not . . .’ But even as he spoke Rory Sinclair knew that had it not been for Biddy Stevens, who always seemed to be hovering within earshot, he would certainly have done his best to get lovely Lally Fraser into his arms. He was half, well, not a half, but a little bit in love with her, as he had been years ago when good old Chris had married her, but he admitted that when Chris and Lally married, though he had been disappointed, smiling wryly and shrugging his shoulders since there were thousands of pretty girls in the world, he had not been broken-hearted. He doubted whether he could ever fall in love, truly deeply in love, for it was his nature to be light-hearted,
light-minded
, insouciant. He was never unkind, he believed, not deliberately but, good God, he was only twenty-four and meant not to marry for another ten years. Then it would be to a lady of unimpeachable character, young and beautiful and
monied
, who would bear him several healthy sons. Even had he loved Lally Fraser to distraction he would not have married her, for she was a poor widow with two sons. It was a shame since she was good company, as dedicated to having fun as he was himself. She made him laugh. She was intelligent and well bred but he must be the first, the only one to know in the biblical sense the woman he married. He had amused himself with Lally and she with him and had seemed to understand, in fact he knew she understood, for she had loved Chris and wanted no entanglements. Still, he would have liked to . . . to . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by his brother’s bellow as he surged from the depths of the sofa, throwing his cigar into the fire.

‘You bastard, if you had half a chance you would . . .’

Roly turned on his heel and strode towards the door. ‘I’m not listening to this nonsense a moment longer,’ he thundered over his shoulder. ‘You must be mad to think I would dishonour a lovely young woman who was once married to the best chum a chap ever had. She is my friend, just as Chris was my friend and I really don’t know what worm has got into your brain.’ Suddenly he stopped speaking, looking closely at his brother whose face had drained of all its healthy colour and whose eyes were narrowed to what seemed slits of madness. His hands were clenched into furious fists and it was at that point that Roly recognised what was savaging his brother. It was not, as he pretended, concern for the reputation of a friend but something much deeper and for a moment Roly felt compassion, then his young arrogance gathered force.

‘You’re in love with her yourself, aren’t you?’ he taunted, taking a step towards Harry. ‘That’s what’s eating you up. The thought that I might get what you covet. Well, let me reassure you, brother. I am not in love with Lally and never will be. I am merely cheering up a woman who has had a bad knock. She is young and lovely and had Chris lived would have been, as she had been for three years, the toast of the society in which she moved. I . . . I realise that she is not strictly speaking keeping to the rules of that society but there is no harm in what she and I do together. She deserves a bit of—’

‘
Fun
,’ Harry sneered, moving a step towards his brother.

‘Yes, if you must describe it as such and if you imagine that a decent young woman like Lally would . . . would dally with the likes of me then you are a fool. She loved Chris Fraser, and still does.’

He turned on his heel and, leaving his brother torn with an emotion so strong he was incapable of moving, slammed the door behind him. The servants, who had listened, paralysed, to every word, for how could they not, slowly came to life. Mrs Cannon, who had been the Sinclair housekeeper for many years, began to chivvy the three maids about the kitchen, clearing up the meal the brothers had just eaten. Her voice was inclined to break, for she was deeply shocked.

‘Now then, Ivy, finish sideing the table, and you, Annie, give her a hand. Tess,’ who was kitchen-maid, fourteen years old and agog with what she had just heard, ‘start on those pans and I want to see my face in them when you’ve done, d’you hear?’

‘Yes, Mrs Cannon,’ Tess said humbly, for she was the lowest of the low in the kitchen and at everyone’s beck and call. She ran into the scullery while Ivy and Annie made their way through the kitchen door to the passage, quiet as mice since they had no wish to meet Mr Harry, glancing fearfully at the closed drawing-room door behind which Harry Sinclair was slumped on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Roly had been at home for six weeks. He was to be off to Europe at the end of the week, he had told Lally, a trip that would take him through France, Germany, Spain, Belgium, Austria and Italy and he would be away for several months, but during those six weeks he was in the country he had called most evenings at the Priory. They had gone about a good deal, to balls, concerts and the theatre and even to the exhibition to which Harry had invited her. He had made her feel alive again. He had not ridden over the previous evening and she had been disappointed, but she had eaten her solitary meal, hoping up to the time darkness fell that he might come galloping up to the front door with his usual dash and verve, scattering Barty and Froglet’s carefully raked gravel. He had not come so she had gone to her bed, restless and bored, wondering how she was to manage when he had gone. He had kept her amused, if that was the word, taking her mind off her loss and the emptiness of her days, for when he was there she forgot about the estate, the farms, the problems of keeping it all in heart, and had been the girl who had ridden at the heels of Roly and Chris, who had been carefree with nothing but a bright future, the future the young are entitled to. She had not seen Harry whose guiding hand she had missed but it had not seemed to matter when Roly was there to make her feel young, pretty,
a woman
again.

He was at the door the next morning, laughing and joking and teasing Jenny who had answered the bell. He even got a twitch of a smile from Biddy who did not approve of him in the least particular, for did he not threaten her young mistress. Perhaps he meant to marry her, Biddy thought in the depths of her hopeful heart and though she would rather have given her lamb into the safe hands of Harry Sinclair who would return her to her rightful place in society, at least if she wed Roly, despite their dreadful behaviour, her reputation could be salvaged.

They rode across the park, through the woods and out on to the vast moorland, moving up the track that ran from Moor Wood. Roly had a magnificent seat in the saddle, his wide, laughing mouth shouting something back to her as he urged his gelding up the steep slope that led on to the moor itself. His hair was all a-tangle in the wind, tumbling with boyish disorder above his swooping eyebrows. His grey breeches clung to his strong thighs and buttocks and Lally thought how attractive he was and how she missed him when he was away. He wore no jacket and neither did she and her white cambric shirt could scarce contain her bouncing breasts, the nipples of which could clearly be seen. The fine fabric was taut, pulling at the buttons and her kid breeches, over which today she wore no skirt, revealed the soft curve of her booted calf, the long firm muscles of her thigh and the twin globes of her buttocks. Two handsome young animals intent on enjoying the bright and sunny day. The sky was high, placid and blue and the pale sunshine fell in a golden haze on the two riders. There was a slight breeze which was warm and soaked in the fragrance of the heather and gorse. It moved the shadows cast along the track they rode, rippling through the shoulder-high bracken.

At last they reached the summit of High Moor and with fluid grace they both sprang from their saddles and with a word to their horses and the black and white setters which had streamed behind them they sauntered across the uneven, spiky grass to stare, sighing, over the vast expanse of purple and yellow moorland that lay beneath them. For several minutes they were silent, for though they did not voice it they both loved this enchanting land. It was beautiful today, soft and mellow, kind and quiet, but they had known days, riding together with Chris, when it had been cold, wet, cruel, biting winds and fierce storms and they had all three loved it just the same. It was theirs. Their land, filled with their memories, of Chris whom they had both loved, of the bewitching past when they were children, and this place, to where they had ridden without words, had been a favourite haunt. They had roamed these moors, the three of them, ever since she had learned to sit a horse, she trailing far behind the boys since she was younger and had not had the strength nor the expertise to keep up. They had been riding since they had been old enough to sit a horse but it had not taken her long to catch up, to be as swift and as adventurous as they, guiding her mount across tumbling streams and wooden bridges and stony paths to huge outcroppings of rock like the one they had reached today.

Without a word they lowered themselves on to the soft dry grass, leaning their backs against one of the tall, grey-pitted roughcast rocks, shoulder to shoulder, their legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Still they did not speak, for a feeling of sadness had come over them at the thought that this would be the last time they would be up here together for a long time. It was still July but autumn would be next, to be followed shortly by the winter, a time when the weather would force them to be careful where and when they rode. God knows how long he would be away, Lally brooded and how she should keep herself from losing heart without his merry ways to keep her spirits up.

‘I don’t think I can bear it without you, Roly,’ she whispered and at once he turned to her and took her gloved hand in his. ‘You have made me feel so much better, helped me to accept Chris’s death, given me a breathing space. I know I must get on for the sake of the children but it will be hard without you to make life more . . . sparkling. That is what is missing in my life. Sparkle. It’s what Chris gave me, and so have you. I shall miss it, and you.’

‘Don’t say that, dear Lally. You will have plenty to keep you occupied with those farms of yours. You have neglected them shamefully while I have been home; no, I’m not blaming you. I have been just as much to blame by encouraging you to play truant. But there is a challenge there for you and you know how much you love a challenge. Remember that gate at the back of Mill House? Chris and I jumped it time and time again and time and time again you tried to do the same. And every time you came off. God, we thought you would break every bone in your body. We pleaded with you to give up but you wouldn’t and at last you did it. But you weren’t satisfied even then and had to do it again. That was a challenge you overcame and so is this. Those farms, the estate belong to Chris’s sons and it’s up to you to keep them safe for them. Old Harry’ll help you, like he did after Chris died.’

She hung her head and without thought he put his arm about her shoulders. She turned to him, thrusting her face against his chest and began to weep, the emptiness of the days ahead without him in them to cheer her up taking away the staunch resolution to be strong that she had imposed upon herself since Chris’s accident. Her body shook with her desolation, first for her young husband who had been snatched from her so cruelly and then for this man who had been his friend and was hers and was to leave her again. Not quite as Chris had left her since he would be back, but leaving her nonetheless to her sadness and the emptiness of her life.

‘Oh, Roly,’ she wept, putting her arm about his neck and lifting her wet face to his, and when his lips met hers he found them eager, warm, parted, moist with her tears and with something else that comes when a female is aroused by a male. Moving their heads, their lips trembled and clung and urgency overtook them, since he was a male and eager to take what seemed to be on offer and she was a female who had been deprived of physical love for many days and nights. Their breathing became ragged as his mouth moved down to her throat which she arched in need, then dipped down into her shirt to the swell of her breasts. His hands invaded her clothing, moving to cup her breasts, taking the nipples, first one then the other and rolling them between excited fingers. He was not gentle, for, spending time with her, he had been deprived of a woman ever since he came home. He moved swiftly, nailing her to the stone at her back, pulling her down in the grass so that her skin rasped against the roughness of the rock leaving bloody tracks, making her wince, his hands busy now with buttons and belts and she was the same for it had been so long . . . so long. The dogs watched, bewildered. Fred stood up and began to whine, then lay down again, her head on her paws, her ears twitching at the strange sounds that were coming from her mistress but Lally did not hear her. Her head was thrown back as her body responded to the delight that had been missing from her life all these months and when he entered her, throwing his own head back as he thrust in and out, she cried out, a long-drawn-out cry that silenced Fred’s whimpers and stilled the many small creatures who had their home on the rolling moorland.

They lay joined for several awkward moments, for both knew at once that what they had done was a terrible mistake, then he withdrew and sat up, adjusting his clothing, moving away from her, looking off into the distance as she did the same. Her fingers trembled as she buttoned her shirt and pulled her breeches into place. Neither spoke until Roly stood up and moved to the edge of the small plateau where they sat.