Ivory Innocence (6 page)

"I dare say you would," he replied. "But I choose to have you dine with me. Not as a guest, Miss Andersen, but as an adult member of my household. If there's one thing I hate, it's eating alone. So you'll do me that small courtesy. Besides, since you're going to be spending your days with Janey, I dare say you'll be glad of some proper conversation."

Ivory drew a long breath and let it out slowly. "Yes, Mr. Kendrake. Do we, er, dress for dinner?"

"I certainly don't undress, as a rule," he replied drily. "But there's no need to go to extremes, unless we have guests."

"I see. Thank you. Then I'll do as I am?"

"I'm afraid not. I'd prefer you to put on a skirt. I don't like women in trousers."

Ivory's eyes sparked but she bit back the retort that sprang to her lips and said, again politely, "Yes, Mr. Kendrake."

"Right." He strode toward her. "If you continue to fall in with my wishes, we shall get along famously, Miss Andersen. Now I'll go and see my daughter."

Seething, Ivory watched as he crossed the hall and climbed the stairs two at a time, his long legs carrying him with no apparent effort. He was nothing less than a dictator! she thought hotly. Imagine having the nerve to tell her what to wear!

However, since she had still to establish herself at the Hall, she decided to obey him, at least for the time being. Returning to her room, she sought out a dress that had not become too creased in the packing and found one in a light silky material in pale green. She put it on, seeing with chagrin that the neckline was rather too low for her liking, especially for dinner with Matthew Kendrake. But since her other skirts and dresses looked bedraggled from being crammed into suitcases, the pale green would have to do.

At precisely a quarter to eight a gong sounded in the hall below. Ivory went down, to find Matthew Ken-drake, dressed in a gray linen suit and open-necked shirt, standing in the doorway of a room she had yet to see.

"In here," he instructed, taking a long, slow look at her from veiled eyes.

They moved into a dining room, furnished with quiet good taste, silver candelabra reflected in the surface of a table that looked as though it could seat ten in comfort. Matthew sat at the head with Ivory on his right, where a place had been laid for her, and he made conversation in an impersonal vein. They ate cold consommé, followed by roast lamb with mint jelly, and vegetables cooked to perfection. There was wine, too, which Matthew poured into crystal glasses.

Ivory sipped the wine and found it delicious. "This is very good. What is it?"

"Nothing very elaborate. A German hock I found in the cellar. My uncle kept a fine collection of wines to please his guests, but then he was a connoisseur— something I don't pretend to be."

"Your uncle?" Ivory said quietly, twirling the sparkling glass between her fingers.

"He owned this estate before me. Since he never married and therefore had no children, I was his sole heir. The last male Kendrake, that's me."

From the corner of her eye, Ivory could see his lean brown hand lying on the shining table, set off by a white shirt cuff. Across the back of it a jagged scar showed white. The last male Kendrake, he had said. And she was the last Meldrum. Between them there were old accounts to be settled.

She looked up, and saw his eyes shadowed by a somber light. "Where did you come from?" she heard herself ask, and was astonished: she hadn't intended to say any such thing.

"Here and there," was his reply. "I was born in England. But if you mean where do I call home, I'm not sure. Here, perhaps. For the moment, anyway."

Then he might be persuaded to sell the Hall, she thought. Of course, since his wife had died only six months before, he must have given up his home to come to Hedley Magna.

"You've spent some time abroad?" she asked, her curiosity aroused despite herself.

"Yes. Australia, in case you're wondering. I've developed a bit of an outback twang, haven't I? I'm a partner in a sheep station there. But I have other business interests, some of them inherited from my uncle. I don't grow roots easily." His hand flexed on the table as if he were disturbed by the personal questions. "And you, Miss Andersen? Where were you born?"

She experienced a wave of relief at the way he had phrased it, saving her from having to lie about her connection with Hedley Magna. She let her gray eyes meet his serenely. "In Kenya, actually. My father had a cattle ranch. But after my parents died I came back to England to live with my grandparents. They're gone now, too. So I suppose that leaves me without any real roots, either."

He lifted his glass, blue eyes mocking her above the rim. "Kindred spirits, Miss Andersen?"

"I wouldn't say that," Ivory said hastily. "You're obviously used to living well. My background is more humble."

"That," he replied, "is not an adjective I would have applied to you, Miss—or may I call you Ivory? Janey tells me that's your name. It's charming. Unusual. How did you come by it?"

"I've been told that my father named me. He was probably influenced by the ivory poachers he sometimes had to deal with. Apparently when I was born he said my hair was the color of old ivory, so…" She gave a little embarrassed laugh and shrugged.

"Your skin, too," Matthew said in an undertone, his glance caressing the smooth line of her throat and the soft curve of flesh exposed by the neckline of her dress. "Like ivory. Only softer, I imagine."

She threw up a hand to fiddle with the slim silver chain round her neck, but Mrs. Barnes' entrance to clear the plates and serve dessert saved her from having to reply. She was furious with herself for allowing the conversation to become so personal. She had started out with the intention of asking him about his uncle, but that scar on his hand had turned her thoughts to Matthew himself, for some unfathomable reason.

The following afternoon, Ivory and Janey sat in the shade of the lime tree reading an adventure story. Janey read slowly, stumbling over the harder words and becoming more and more frustrated until she threw the book down and leapt to her feet.

"I don't want to read it! Anyway, it's Sunday. Nobody has school on Sunday. You can't make me—" She stopped short, suddenly dropping to the ground with her eyes on the house.

Glancing round, Ivory saw three people coming onto the terrace: Matthew, a redheaded girl wearing a brief wraparound dress, and behind them a young man whose likeness to the girl marked them as brother and sister, though his hair was darker.

"Oh, hell!" Janey muttered, shocking Ivory. "It's Carla."

"You mustn't use such language," Ivory gasped. "Where on earth did you learn that?"

Janey merely stared at her with mute defiance.

Sighing, Ivory saw that Matthew had not headed for the poolside as she had thought but was bringing the visitors toward the lime tree. She scrambled to her feet, brushing at the seat of her jeans, and Janey dodged away to run behind the one-story wing where the Barneses had their private accommodation.

"I see my daughter's being her usual sociable self," Matthew said with a wry smile and a disapproving glance at her jeans. "Miss Andersen, I'd like you to meet Carla Forsythe and her brother Corin. Our neighbors, in a manner of speaking."

Wondering why the name Forsythe rang a distant bell in her mind, Ivory shook hands. The redheaded Carla gave her a withering look from green eyes, but her brother smiled warmly, holding Ivory's hand longer than was necessary.

"Good grief, Matthew," he said. "Nannies didn't look like this in my day. Miss Andersen, I'm delighted to meet you. When may I enroll in classes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Corin!" Carla snapped. "I thought we were here for a swim. Matthew, darling, do change your mind and have a dip. Don't be an old bear."

She drew Matthew away, and Ivory watched them go. They made an attractive couple, Carla clinging tightly to the tall man's arm, her bright hair almost brushing his shoulder.

"I only wish we had a pool at the Manor," Corin said, and shrugged. "Ah, well. See you later, Miss Andersen."

As he strolled off toward the pool, Ivory saw his sister throw off her wrap dress to reveal her golden body clad in the tiniest triangles of white material. The costume made Ivory's bikini seem like a coverall, and she was sure that Carla's swimsuit would be transparent when wet. Unwilling to be a spectator to what was obviously a brazen invitation scene, Ivory went in search of Janey, feeling irritable.

The little girl stood on the front drive, viciously digging a deep rut in the gravel with the scuffed toe of her shoe. The fact that the gravel was showering over the red sports car that stood on the drive appeared coincidental, but Ivory knew it was not.

"Janey, stop that at once! You'll scratch the car. And you're ruining the drive when Mr. Barnes spent all morning raking it."

Janey stopped her antics, but threw back her head and scowled. "I don't care. I hate her!"

"Janey." Ivory crouched down beside the child, an arm about the thin waist. "It's no good saying you hate people. If she's your Daddy's friend—"

"She's after him," Janey declared. "Everywhere we go, she turns up. She even came out to Australia once."

"Friends do visit each other," Ivory said, but she wondered exactly what Janey meant and where she had heard expressions like "after him" spoken in such meaningful adult tones.

"I saw him kissing her!" Janey said. "On the verandah, at Wallaroola station. I was supposed to be asleep, but I saw them. And she lives near here. That's why Daddy came, so he could be near Carla."

Ivory stood up, a frown creasing her brow. Surely Matthew had not been having a relationship with Carla before his wife died. But why not—he was a Kendrake, wasn't he? The Kendrakes cared for nothing and no one. Bitter thoughts filled her mind… on account of Janey, and of Matthew's dead wife, who had been betrayed.

To calm Janey down, she took her for a walk in the woods that cloaked the edges of the grounds. She pointed out the different flowers and trees, using the walk as a subtle lesson, and she thought Janey had forgotten her temper until they returned to the house, when the child refused to go anywhere near the back lawns. Instead she dragged Ivory into the kitchen, where Mrs. Barnes was busy washing vegetables.

"I made some fresh lemonade this morning," the housekeeper said. "It's in the fridge. Help yourselves. And, Miss Andersen, would you mind putting some in that big glass jug, with some ice, and taking it out to the visitors, please? They'll be glad of a cold drink, I expect."

Ivory prepared the jug, added tinkling ice and put it on a tray with three tall glasses. "Coming, Janey?"

The child shook her head, so Ivory went alone to the poolside where Corin sat beneath the sunshade wearing a pair of blue trunks. He was a little overweight, and his skin glowed pink in patches. On the edge of the pool his sister sat dabbling her feet in the water and watching as Matthew swam with effortless power, drops of water sparkling from his brown arms. So he had let himself be persuaded, Ivory thought darkly.

"Miss Andersen, you're a mind reader," Corin said with a grin as she set the tray on the white table. "How did you know I was dying of thirst?"