The Hidden Years (66 page)

'You know, I never realised that my mother had actually
met Lewis McLaren before Scott and I knew one another.'

'Lewis McLaren?' Faye repeated, puzzled. 'Oh, you mean
your Scott's father?'

'She never said a word about knowing him when I brought
Scott home that weekend.'

'Perhaps she'd forgotten,' Faye suggested practically.
'After all, she meets so many people. Where did she meet him? At a
dinner somewhere?'

'No… Nothing like that,' Sage told her slowly.
'He came here to the house… It was before I was born. I'd
never realised before, but Woolonga, where the ram came from, where
young Vic went to work, actually belonged to Scott's father. Scott
never mentioned the station by its name, and in her diaries Mother
never mentioned Scott's father's name… At least not until
now.'

'Perhaps she didn't know it before she met him.' Faye was
looking puzzled, as though she couldn't understand why Sage was so
concerned about something so minor, but Sage was beginning to know her
mother very well. Just those few words, describing her surprise at
discovering Lewis McLaren with Edward, had given away so much. Lewis
McLaren had not simply been another visitor; he had been someone whom
her mother had reacted to in a very intense and intimate way.

Suddenly she was impatient to get back to the diaries. She
glanced at Faye and saw that she was back in control of herself.
Pausing for a moment, she suggested quietly to her sister-in-law, 'You
know, it might be an idea to tell Camilla what you've told me. Not
about this afternoon, but about the other… your childhood.
She's feeling very shut out at the moment… very much alone
and afraid. To know that you trust her, that you feel she's mature
enough to share that kind of pain with you will be something she'll
remember all her life. Don't shut her out, Faye. Don't make her feel
that you don't care, that you don't think her mature or value her.'

'Of course I care, but I want to protect her…
I—'

'She's not a little girl any more. She's almost a woman.
Let her into your life… Let her grow up, Faye. She's at a
very critical age.'

'I can't tell her now, not when she's so worried about
Liz.'

'You're wrong. I think you
should
tell her now. It's what she needs—something else to focus on.
It's probably what we all need right now… I'm going to ring
the hospital later, just to check that they're going ahead.'

'But Alaric said he would let us know if the operation had
to be rescheduled.'

'Yes. I know…but I just want to check. They
said there was no point in us trying to see her tomorrow. Look, I know
it sounds terrible, but would you mind if I skipped dinner tonight? I'm
almost through this present diary, and I'd like to finish it.'

'No, you go ahead. I've got a lot of catching up to do on
them, I'm afraid—I've been putting off reading them because
of David… I was afraid it might bring it all back. The
accident, his death, your father's collapse.'

'David always was his favourite,' Sage said unemotionally.
'I don't think he had the will to go on after he died.'

'No…' Faye agreed.

She watched as Sage left the room, half envying her
graceful, elegant prowl, wondering if Sage herself knew how much these
last weeks had changed her, how much she had softened, losing that hard
edge which Faye had always found so intimidating. Watching her now, for
instance, Faye had the impression that there was almost something
vulnerable about her.

She frowned, checking the impulse to ask her if there was
anything wrong.

Talk to Camilla, Sage had suggested. Confide in her.
Perhaps she should… It wouldn't be easy. She had spent so
long protecting Camilla from the past, dreading its darkness reaching
out to touch her, that the very idea of telling her about it now made
her stomach churn nervously. And yet Sage was right; a rift was
developing between them. Camilla alternated at times between sulkiness
and outright hostility. She had even started to accuse her of not
caring about her.

As she stood up, she winced a little, a tiny thrill of
awareness racing through her veins as her body reminded her of the way
she had spent the afternoon.

Even now there was no regret, no remorse, no guilt, only a
delicious sense of smug completeness. A feminine joy and secrecy, and
the firm knowledge that she had finally detached herself from the past.
She would never forget it… never try to bury it or hide from
it, but she was at long last free of its power to cripple and hurt her.

This afternoon she had responded sexually to a man as she
had thought she would never be able to respond. She was suddenly,
miraculously aware of the fact that she was a sexually functioning
woman and that she still had a large part of her life ahead of her. She
would never be promiscuous—that held no appeal for
her—but she knew now that it was possible for her to feel
sexual desire, to enjoy a physical relationship with a man. Quickly,
before she could lose her courage, she went in search of Camilla.

As anxious
as she had been to get back to the study, to the diary, once she was
there Sage experienced an unfamiliar reluctance to pick it up and start
reading. It wasn't so much that she felt that in doing so she was
invading into her mother's privacy—after all, it was at Liz's
insistence that these diaries were being read. It was
more—more… more what? Apprehension on her own
behalf? Why? What was it she was frightened of discovering? That her
mother didn't love her, had never really wanted her? She frowned as she
dismissed the lack of logic of such thoughts. How could her mother not
have wanted her, when she had deliberately brought about her conception
and birth?

Maybe the person she had turned out to be had been a
disappointment to both her parents, but originally they could not have
known that; they must have actually wanted her.

She stared down at the desk, at the diary, feeling a
shiver of tension zip along her nerves. She reached out for the diary
and then stopped, paced the room for several seconds and then, telling
herself that she was being ridiculous, she went and sat down, firmly
picking up the diary and started to read where she had left off.

Lewis McLaren was conscious
of the
tension which had come into the room with Liz, and made him look at her
rather more closely.

For such a beautiful woman she was curiously unsure of
herself, oddly vulnerable in some way, and he hadn't missed the
anxious, almost appealing look she had given Edward, but appealing for
what?

His own unexpected curiosity about her made him tense a
little.

It had been his doctor who had suggested he take this
trip, pointing out to him that he needed to distance himself a little
from what had happened… to get away.

And so he had come to England, and it had been Vic who had
suggested rather diffidently that he might like to call at Cottingdean
to see the flock there and the breeding stock.

He had known from the timbre of the other man's voice how
much he still missed his home and he had wondered why Vic had chosen to
put so many miles between himself and a place he obviously loved.

Beth hadn't been very impressed with England, nor with the
Danverses. From her comments about Liz Danvers he had expected to meet
an older, harder woman, not this hesitant, almost nervous
girl—because it seemed to him that she was little more than a
girl really.

His own curiosity about her made him wonder if perhaps
Ralph Forbes, his doctor, had been right after all. That in order to
start the healing process he had needed to get away from the station.

The trouble was that he hadn't been sure if he did want
that process to start. What was the point? The loss of his wife, his
child—they were things he would never be able to forget,
especially when…

He realised that Edward was saying something to him,
questioning him about the length of time he expected to stay in the
area. There was hostility in the older man's voice, and it made him
frown.

Initially, or so it had seemed, Edward Danvers had
welcomed him quite warmly—now suddenly everything had
changed. And everything had changed from the moment his wife had walked
into the room.

An older and obviously disabled man and a much younger and
very beautiful woman. On the surface it was easy to see why Edward
Danvers might be jealously protective of his wife, his marriage. But
the couple had been married for quite some time; they had a son, and
even Beth had not been able to fault Liz Danvers's devotion to her
husband.

Later he couldn't quite understand what had prompted him
to Say easily, 'Oh, quite some time, I think. There are several people
I want to look up around these parts, and Vic told me that this would
make a good base from which to explore the area. The pub in the village
is letting me have a room. It's clean and comfortable.' It had been his
intention only to stay overnight in the village, and to make this one
brief call here at Cottingdean to pass on to the Danverses Vic's
messages.

It was true, though, that Vic had told him that the
village would make a good base for him to look around at the
countryside, and he suspected that the landlord of the pub would be
quite willing to allow him to keep his room.

But why should he want to?

Perhaps because for the first time since Elaine and
Alistair's deaths his thoughts were actually focusing on someone other
than them.

He still wasn't sure if it was her beauty or her obvious
apprehension which had first drawn his attention to Liz Danvers; he
only knew that once he had started to study her, to wonder about her,
he was finding it impossible to drag either his gaze or his thoughts
from her.

'I was also hoping it might be possible to see something
of your flock while I'm here,' he continued, addressing himself to
Edward, even though he knew full well that it was his wife who was
responsible for the development of the flock and the breeding programme
for which his ram had been purchased.

Edward moved restlessly in his chair.

'Oh, the flock… That's Liz's province,' he told
him abruptly. 'Although I doubt if she'll have time to spare from her
precious mill to take you out to see the sheep.'

'We rent summer pastures for them,' Liz intervened
quickly. 'Land higher up than Cottingdean's. It's several miles
away…'

'There's no need for me to put either of you to any
trouble,' he told them easily. 'If you could just give me directions,
and perhaps a letter of introduction to your shepherd.'

'Yes… yes, of course,' Liz agreed. 'If you'll
excuse me, I'll go and do it now.'

Lewis was surprised to discover how great an effort of
will it took for him not to watch her leave. Edward Danvers watched
her, though, his gaze brooding and possessive.

She wasn't gone long, returning within minutes with a note
addressed to her shepherd which she handed to him and a neatly written
list of directions as to how he could find the pasture.

Edward's reference to the mill had increased his curiosity
about Liz, but he sensed that any questions would not be welcomed by
either husband or wife.

They were an odd couple, he reflected as he drove away,
and not just because of the disparity in their ages. There had been a
tension between them, a fear in Liz Danvers's eyes which contrasted
with the picture of domestic harmony and devotion which Vic had drawn
for him.

'David's getting so grown up now,' Liz commented brightly
to Edward when their visitor was gone.

She was conscious of a sick tension in the pit of her
stomach, a combination of anger and anxiety, and helpless pity for her
husband. She had seen the way he had been looking at Lewis McLaren,
knew what was coming even before Edward burst out furiously, 'What's
going on between you and McLaren, Liz? And don't lie to me, don't try
to deny it. I saw the way he was looking at you… Where did
you meet him? What's he—'

'Edward, please…' She was close to tears, as
always unnerved by his illogical rage. 'I've never met Mr McLaren
before today. You
heard
him. He's the owner of
Woolonga… He merely called out of politeness.'

'You're lying to me,' Edward told her harshly. 'I'm not a
fool, Liz. I can see what's going on. You're having an affair with him,
aren't you? You're…'

He was working himself up into a rage which she knew from
experience would lead to a violent explosion of temper. Inwardly all
she wanted to do was to open the library door and escape, but her
pride, and her com-passion for the real Edward, not this Edward who was
screaming abuse and accusations at her, an Edward who had become warped
by his suffering, made her stay.

She longed to open the door and to call out to Chivers for
help, but to do so would be to admit that she could no longer control
the situation… that she could no longer deal with Edward's
growing hostility and violence.

She had learned now to keep as much physical distance
between them as she could when Edward was in one of these moods. Moods
which were becoming increasingly common, moods which could be sparked
off by the smallest thing, although this was the first time he had
actually accused her of having an affair with a specific man.

'Edward, please,' she tried to reason, forcing herself to
keep calm. 'Please listen to me. Mr McLaren means nothing to
me… he's a stranger.'

'A stranger? Then why is he staying in the village? Why
did he come here? What was in that note you handed him—what
had you written there?'

'Edward, you
know
what was in
it—it was just a note to the shepherd explaining who Mr
McLaren is—'

'You're lying, damn you!'

She winced as he screamed the words at her and then turned
to his desk, sending the chess set standing on it flying. He had a
considerable amount of strength in his arms, and the noise of the
pieces scattering all around the room seemed violently loud.