Man of the Trees (8 page)

‘And don’t try to get out while I go round to the other side,’ he warned. ‘We shall only repeat the process, but this time it’ll be the worse for you.’

Ruth put out her hand to the car door with that very intention, but before she could find out how this particular door handle worked, he was in the driving seat, his fingers on the ignition key.

She turned her full fury on him. ‘I suppose you think you’re clever!’ she stormed. ‘Getting the better of someone less physically strong than you are yourself.’

‘It should
not
have been necessary,’ he answered in a
totally
unrepentant voice. ‘It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been so stupid.’

‘Will you stop calling me stupid!’ she almost shouted.

‘Yes—when you stop behaving that way.’ He glanced down at her skirt. ‘That thing must be wet through. Pull it from under you. And don’t worry,’ he added scornfully, ‘I won’t look at what you’ve got on underneath. There’s a rug in the back anyway.’

His outrageous statements left her speechless for a moment. ‘Do you speak to every woman like this?’ she demanded.

‘Only those who ask for it,’ he answered. “Now get that wet skirt from under you, unless, of course, you want to catch pneumonia.’

She fumed and would have refused to do as he said, but she was becoming more and more aware of the wetness of her skirt and sitting on it was most uncomfortable. With one eye on him in case his attention should leave the road, she hitched up the wet garment.

He glanced at her efforts. ‘It would probably be as well if you took it off altogether.’

He stopped the car and Ruth held her breath, wondering what on earth this extraordinary man was going to do next. But all he did was reach out for a rug on the back seat and drop it in her lap. ‘There, cover yourself with that while you’re disrobing, if you’re so modest.’

‘Thanks very much, I’m sure,’ she retorted as the car moved forward again.

She unfolded the rug, and as best she could covered herself with it while she hitched around and took off her wet skirt. She thought to herself, wryly, that it was a good thing she was wearing a skirt and not a dress. But on second thoughts this man seemed entirely uninterested in her as a woman. What would it take, she wondered fiendishly, to make him aware of her? She would dearly like to try and rouse him, then tell him to go to that place of reputedly burning inferno.

He drew up outside her house, and she wondered what was going to happen next. She soon found out.

‘Give me your key—and your bag and that wet skirt,’ he commanded.

‘I can manage perfectly well, thanks,’ she told him defiantly. She wasn’t taking orders from any man, least of all this one.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll need both hands to keep that rug round you while you run to the front door.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t mind me seeing what you’re trying to hide.’

She fumed as she dropped her key into his hand and handed him her evening bag. He picked up her wet skirt and her coat.

‘Give me a few minutes to open the door,’ he told her, ‘then you can run straight in.’

Ruth said a grudging ‘thank you’, but doubted whether he heard her. She gathered the rug around her waist and waited until she saw the front door open then ran up the path.

Rather to her consternation, he slammed the door after her with the obvious intention of remaining in the house rather than just saying goodnight and leaving her.

‘Go upstairs and get the rest of your things off and dry your hair a little,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and make you a drink.’ Clutching the rug around her waist, she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her short. ‘Go on—do as you’re told for once in your life.’

She stormed upstairs. Who did he think he was, ordering her about in this way? She would tell him she was not one of his forest workers or his office staff. But on the landing she paused and called down to him.

‘Well, make a drink for yourself at the same time, of course.’

‘Thanks, I will,’ he called back.

It was the least she could do, she thought, as she peeled off her sweater. In any case, he had probably intended making one for himself whether she had asked him or not. This man was capable of anything.

She towelled her hair and was tempted, in a mischievous fashion, to wear the white bathrobe she had been wearing that Sunday morning when he had come to see over the house, but thought better of it. It might be tempting providence, and as yet, Ross Hamilton was still something of an unknown quantity, though she felt she
was
rapidly getting to know him. Besides, he might think she was throwing herself at him. Better wear something discreet, she decided, and wore a housecoat which buttoned all the way down to her ankles.

He called up to her that the drinks were ready, and after giving her hair a swift brushing she went downstairs. When she entered the living room her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the way he had made himself at home. He had set the fire burning and was seated comfortably in an armchair, but what really startled her was the fact that he had not only taken off his jacket, but his tie—looking for all the world as though he did not intend leaving. He eyed her up and down before rising in a leisurely fashion from his chair.

‘All right now, are you?’ he asked in a curiously vibrant voice.

‘Yes—yes, thank you.’

‘Good. Where do you usually sit?’

Two steaming beakers of hot liquid stood on a tray on the low table. One was of hot chocolate, the other looked like black coffee.

‘I—sit on the hearthrug as often as not,’ she told him uncertainly. He was rapidly throwing her off balance, and she did not like it one bit. She felt so unsure of herself, so unsure of him, so vulnerable.

He threw down some cushions for her. ‘There you are, then. And lean against this,’ he added, bringing the other chair forward for her.

Ruth had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was a sense of intimate cosiness which she longed for but did not trust. Resolutely, she turned her attention to the two drinks as he subsided into his chair.

‘I presume yours is the black coffee?’ she asked as the aroma reached her nostrils.

‘That’s right.’

‘How did you know I’d want the chocolate?’

‘Simple. It was there on the shelf and the tin was half empty, so I concluded that it was your usual bedtime drink.’

She thought he was too clever by half, and gathered her defences around her. She was beginning to feel weepy for some stupid reason and wished he would go. He had no right to make himself at home in this fashion without being invited.

Then she remembered that, in reality, this was where he should be living. She ought, by now, have found herself somewhere else to live. She began to feel the interloper. Ross looked so at home she was tempted to ask him if he’d like his slippers.

‘I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find a house yet,’ she offered.

He looked at her blankly for a moment. ‘A house?’ he echoed.

‘Yes. I’m sure you’re wanting to move in here.’

At this, one side of his mouth quirked into an amused smile. ‘Seems a pity to turn you out, and I must say it’s a darned sight more homely than my present place, excellent though it is.’

She couldn’t quite follow his reasoning. ‘The trouble is,’ she went on, ‘I need a room for my work, and most places seem either too small or too big.’

He gave her a speculative look across the length of the hearth rug. ‘Why bother to move out at all? I haven’t any furniture yet, and these chairs seem comfortable enough. There’s room enough for the two of us.’

She looked at him in puzzled amazement. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘You and me—sharing this place. I could come as your lodger, or vice-versa. I could do with a housekeeper, or—’

She put down her beaker with a bang. ‘Or what?’ she demanded with cold anger.

‘Or—marriage?’ he queried, a speculative look in his eyes and a smile of amusement on his face.

Ruth took a deep breath. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’

‘No?’

With measured deliberation Ross put his beaker down on the table. Not liking the look on his face, Ruth got to her feet swiftly. But he, too, was on his feet in an instant and before she could even guess at his intention had suddenly snatched her to him. She drew a startled breath before his lips were full on hers, long and hard. She struggled against him, but his arms came about her like iron bands and she could not escape. She then ceased struggling and waited for him to let her go. But he didn’t. His lips became more possessive. She had never been kissed like this before, even by Gareth. Her heart began to beat erratically, she felt as though she were floating on air and had a strong desire to put her arms around his neck and return his kiss. With an effort she restrained herself, then suddenly she brought up her fists and pushed against him with all her might. The suddenness gave her the advantage and he released her.

She glared at him. Did he think she was so cheap? ‘Get out of here!’ she ground out ferociously. ‘Get out of here before I telephone the police and have you thrown out!’

He gave her a long look, his dark brows arched and, by now, that all-too-familiar half-smile of amusement on his face.

‘Think they’d believe you—even suppose I’d let you get within yards of the phone? And suppose you did? They’d come and find you here in your dressing gown, me fully dressed. What conclusion do you think they’d come to?’

She looked around in a kind of desperation for something to hit him with. The only thing she could see was the poker. She picked it up, and he burst out laughing. She raised it and took a step towards him, but quick as lightning he grasped her wrist and snatched it from her. Near to tears with anger and frustration, Ruth rubbed her wrist, painful where he had grasped it. Still holding the poker, he gave her a push towards the door.

‘Go to bed, little girl, you’re safe from me for tonight, at least. Go on,’ he urged, as she hesitated. ‘I’ll put out the lights for you down here—and slam the front door after me.’

She took another swift look at him, then hitched up her dressing gown and ran up the stairs. Inside her room she shut the door and stood with her back to it, wishing she had a key to the lock. If he came up after her, she would scream at the top of her voice. But even as the thought entered her head, she knew perfectly well that the house was virtually isolated.

Mercifully, she heard the front door slam. Was it a trick? Had he really gone? After a second or so, she opened the door cautiously and stepped out on to the landing. The hall was in darkness. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine revving up, and there was a roar as Ross drove off. With a half smile, she put out the landing light and went back into her room, recalling how she had picked up the poker to him. Slowly, she took off her dressing gown and slipped into bed. Going over the events of the evening, she closed her eyes to sleep, anger, amusement and indignation vying with each other. Then a tremor went through her as she felt his lips once more on hers. She turned over on to her side impatiently. The cheek of the man! The next time she saw him she would simply ignore him.

But ignoring Ross Hamilton was easier said than done. Almost before Ruth was awake the following morning he rang her up.

‘How do you feel this morning?’ he asked. ‘Not feeling any after-effects of your soaking?’

She couldn’t answer for a moment. She gripped the receiver tightly, aware of the rich, deep quality of his voice.

‘Not awake yet, I suppose,’ he said.

Now she could see his face with that smile of amusement curving one corner of his mouth.

‘Of course I’m awake,’ she snapped.

‘Now, now,’ he admonished. ‘That’s no way to talk to me after I’ve rung up to see if you’ve caught double pneumonia.’

‘I’m quite all right—thank you,’ she answered evenly.

‘Good,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’ve given instructions to the garage about your car, and—’

She sat bolt upright. ‘You’ve done
what
?’

‘They’re sending someone out to look at it. If they can fix it on the spot, they’ll deliver it to you, and perhaps you wouldn’t mind running the mechanic back to the garage. If they can’t fix it and have to take it in, they’ll let you have one of their hire cars.’

For a few seconds she was speechless. The nerve, the colossal nerve of the man! What business was it of his to take charge of her affairs? They were not even friends. She was about to voice her thoughts in no uncertain manner, then suddenly changed her mind. Highhanded or not, she supposed it was good of him to have taken the trouble, and she had not been brought up to be rude and unappreciative. She opened her mouth to thank him when he spoke again.

‘Are you there—or have you nodded off?’

She counted ten and took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’m here, Mr. Hamilton. I heard what you said,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm as possible. ‘It’s very kind of you to interest yourself in my affairs, and I’m duly grateful, but do you mind telling me to which garage you gave these instructions on my behalf?’