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Trisha came bursting into the room, changed now into a green suntop that complemented her shoulder-length straight blonde hair and matched her twinkling green eyes. She wore white shorts and plimsolls with her top and was obviously just on her way out. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she grinned. ‘Fancy a game of tennis, Hazel?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Hazel replied uncertainly, at the moment her mind too full of the recent revelations about Celia.
‘Oh well,’ Trisha sat down in the chair opposite them. ‘I’ll go another time.’
Now Hazel felt guilty. It wasn’t fair to inflict her problems on this happy family. They must have been relieved at the three-year break, she thought wryly. ‘Okay,’ she gave in. ‘Why not? I could probably use the exercise.’
The club couldn’t be called large by any standards, but it had all the usual activities, a pool, half a dozen tennis courts, a squash room, and of course, the bar.
Two or three of the tennis courts were already in use when they arrived, the youngsters already there old acquaintances who wasted no time in coming over to say hello. Some of the parents of these people worked on Rafe’s estate, although they always treated Hazel with the same casualness of their other acquaintances—for which she felt grateful.
There were a couple of male faces she didn’t recognise, but Trisha soon named them as the Logan brothers, Mark and Carl, staying in the village with the Delaneys. Both tall and fair and good-looking, they could almost have passed for twins, and Hazel guessed there must only be a year or two’s difference in their ages.
‘Are you going to play tennis?’ Mark asked Trisha.
She nodded enthusiastically, hurrying through the introductions. She had had her eye on Mark Logan for the last few days now and this was the first opportunity she had had to actually speak to him. He was the most attractive-looking man she had seen around here for ages, not counting Rafe of course; no one quite measured up to Rafe Savage, and she supposed no one ever would. Most of the girls in the area were half in love with Rafe and given the least encouragement would go to him on any terms he cared to make. But no encouragement was ever forthcoming.
Carl Logan smiled at Hazel. ‘Would you like to challenge them for three sets?’
Hazel laughed. ‘I’m not sure if I’m up to three sets. I haven’t played for some time, but I’m willing to try if you are. I just hope you’re a good player,’ she added teasingly.
It appeared that he was, the two of them taking the first and third sets, although not without a lengthy battle. The four of them just about collapsed into the loungers next to the pool, sipping thirstily at the iced lime juice they had ordered.
‘Your tennis is excellent.’ Carl watched her over the rim of his tall glass, his blue eyes clear and uncomplicated. He was a refreshing change after the trauma of her other meetings today.
She grinned at him. ‘I’m a little rusty,’ she corrected him. ‘If you weren’t such a good player we would have lost, miserably.’
Mark watched them with amused eyes. ‘When the two of you have quite finished complimenting each other on that purely lucky victory,’ he said tongue in cheek, ‘I suggest we all make arrangements to go to the dance together tomorrow evening.’
‘That would be lovely,’ answered Trisha excitedly. ‘Wouldn’t it, Hazel?’
Hazel looked from one to the other of them, not really sure if she should make arrangements like that without consulting Rafe first. He hadn’t always attended these weekly dances, although when he had he had always expected her to accompany him. But that had been before his accident. Anyway, hadn’t he more or less told her to keep out of his way for the duration of her stay here?
She nodded her head. ‘Yes, lovely,’ she agreed.
It was obvious that Trisha wholeheartedly approved of the idea anyway. She could talk of little else but Mark Logan on the way back to the Marston home. The Logan brothers were certainly an attractive pair, but in a way they reminded Hazel too much of Josh and the men like him she had met during her stay in America.
Maybe Josh could have meant more to her; she didn’t know, and hadn’t had the time to find out. But she had heard the rumours about him like everyone else, it hadn’t taken Linda to tell her that Josh had let his fiancée down only two weeks before the wedding. She had already heard about that and it hadn’t endeared him to her. But when she had met him she had found him charming and very attractive.
She had been a little more sorry to leave him when she left America than any of her other male friends there, but since arriving in Cornwall she could think only of Rafe. She had the feeling that Carl Logan could become a friend if she would let him, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted that.
‘Coming in for dinner?’ Trisha invited.
Hazel shook her head regretfully. ‘I’d love to, but I suppose I’d better get back,’ she grimaced. ‘No doubt Celia would just love for me to absent myself from the dining table. Think of the trouble she could cause if I don’t turn up for dinner on my first evening home. Lord, I’d forgotten all about these intrigues! It’s just as if I’d never been away.’
‘Well, I for one am glad you’re back,’ Trisha squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Hazel didn’t hurry back to Savage House, knowing that her welcome there would be no more enthusiastic than the one she had received earlier, from either member of the Savage family! Aunt Sylvia was right, she should tell Rafe that Celia hadn’t written to her, but somehow that would only be admitting his sister’s hatred of her, and at the moment she wasn’t even sure she was prepared to accept the extent of that herself, let alone convince Rafe it was so.
‘You’re back, then,’ was Celia’s curt greeting as she sneeringly watched Hazel take the stairs two at a time on her way up to her room. ‘Rafe isn’t to be disturbed at the moment,’ she added curtly.
‘I’ve already seen him,’ Hazel told her softly.
She knew Celia was surprised by this information by the widening of her mercenary blue eyes. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Not very pleasant to look at any more, is he, Hazel?’ she taunted.
Hazel shrugged, Rafe’s appearance had been a shock when she had first seen him again, but shocks were quickly overcome and familiarity soon took their place. In a couple of days she would have forgotten he had ever looked any other way. And in just over a week’s time she would have left here for good.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ she replied carelessly.
‘Perhaps you have,’ Celia sneered. ‘But not on someone who means as much to you as Rafe does.’
Hazel flushed, looking sharply at the other woman. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded tautly.
Celia gave her a pitying smile. ‘Rafe and I often laughed together over the fact that you imagined yourself in love with him before you left here three years ago. It was quite amusing to watch your constant playing for his attention.’
‘You’re lying!’ Hazel’s face was bright red. ‘Rafe isn’t like that. And I’m certainly not in love with him!’
‘Perhaps not now, not now he looks like something out of a horror film, but you were once. How fickle you are, Hazel! A few scars and you’re no longer interested.’
‘If Rafe finds me such an embarrassment why did he ask me to come back here?’ Hazel demanded defiantly.
Celia gave a satisfied smile. ‘He didn’t,’ she answered smugly. ‘I sent that telegram asking you to come home.’
‘You did?’ Hazel’s look was scathing. ‘Slightly late, weren’t you?’
She watched as Celia coloured uncomfortably. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked coldly.
‘Only that Rafe expected you to send for me a year ago when his accident happened—in fact, he believes you to have done so. Now why should he think that, Celia? Could it possibly be because you told him you’d written to me when in fact you hadn’t? Could that be the answer?’ Hazel mused.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ hissed the older woman. ‘Rafe didn’t need you then and he doesn’t need you now. You’re only here so that he can finally rid himself of the responsibility of the headstrong clinging child you’ve been in his life. After your birthday you won’t be welcome here at all.’
‘I already know that,’ Hazel returned softly. ‘But you didn’t need to bring me back to England to tell me that, a letter would have sufficed. America suited me very well, I could have done without this upheaval.’
‘That wouldn’t have done at all. You see, I know you, Hazel, you wouldn’t have believed it unless Rafe told you so himself. I gather he did tell you?’
‘Yes,’ came her reluctant reply.
Celia smiled cattily. ‘Then I hope you take his advice. You’ve been an intrusion in our lives far too long now, and the sooner you remove yourself the better.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hazel told her angrily. ‘I don’t intend staying anywhere where I’m not wanted.’
‘Then why have you stayed in our lives this long? Surely you must have realised when Rafe took you to the States that that should have been the end of it. We thought we’d finally got rid of you.’ Celia gave a harsh laugh. ‘But oh no, you had other ideas about that. Every month you wrote to Rafe, short letters, but just enough to make sure he didn’t forget you. Why was that, Hazel? Haven’t you had enough out of us the last eleven years without coming back for more?’
‘You’re a bitch, Celia, nothing but a bitch!’ Tears gathered in Hazel’s huge brown eyes. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair quite soon.’ Oh, this woman hated her much more than she had ever realised! ‘Perhaps Rafe will let James take me back to the airport tomorrow. I no more have any wish to stay here when I’m so unwanted than you have to have me here.’
‘Rafe will insist you stay until after your birthday, so don’t make it any more difficult for us than it is already. Rafe can do without your having tantrums and demanding to leave. Just stay out of his way.’
‘I intend to!’
‘For God’s sake, you two!’ Without either of them realising it Rafe had opened the door to his study and was now glaring furiously at the pair of them, his face almost satanic with its deep scarring. Hazel looked at him guiltily. How much of their heated conversation had he heard? ‘Do you realise your voices are carrying all through the house! If you have to squabble and bitch at each other like a couple of children at least keep your voices down!’
Celia moved to her brother’s side; petite and beautiful, she smiled up at him. ‘We weren’t arguing, Rafe, merely talking loudly because Hazel is halfway up the stairs.’
His deep blue eyes raked mercilessly over both of them, a certain harshness to his face. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Celia,’ he snapped abruptly. ‘Hazel’s only been back a few hours and already you’re at each other’s throats.’ He looked at Hazel and pushed his study door open further. ‘Come in here, I want to talk to you.’
‘Now?’
‘Right now.’ His tone brooked no argument.
Hazel trudged wearily down the stairs, Celia’s look of intense pleasure not escaping her notice as she passed the other woman. The study was just as she remembered it; wood-panelled walls, a huge mahogany desk, a couple of worn leather armchairs, scatter rugs on the polished floor, and well-worn books piled on the shelves along one wall, evidence of Rafe’s continual usage of them. She sat down in the chair facing the desk, her long shapely legs smooth and golden.
Rafe sat opposite her, the shirt he wore fitting tautly across his flat muscular stomach and wide powerful shoulders. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, the continuation of those disfiguring scars clearly visible. The jagged scar edge showed up whitely against his naturally dark skin and although Hazel longed to know the full extent of his injuries she knew he would not welcome her interest; his firm uncompromising mouth was evidence of that.
She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. ‘Well?’
His snapping eyes flashed her a warning. ‘Don’t take that attitude with me!’
‘Why not?’ she answered defiantly. ‘Is it only the prerogative of the Savages to be rude? If so, I apologise.’
Rafe sighed. ‘No, you don’t, we both know that. And must I remind you that you’re a Savage?’
‘Oh no, I’m not!’ she denied vehemently. ‘I’m a Stanford.’
‘Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.’
She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Fiery, huh?’
‘Exactly,’ he drawled with a grin.
In that moment he was the old Rafe, never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. ‘Oh, Rafe, I’ve missed you!’
His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. ‘You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.’
She shook her head. ‘You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.’
‘And you wrote often, I know.’ He sat back. ‘Did you enjoy America?’
‘Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.’
‘And boy-friends? Anyone upset by your return here?’
She thought momentarily of Josh, and then dismissed him. He had probably already replaced her, he certainly wasn’t the constant type, and they had only been dating a few weeks. ‘No one,’ she replied clearly. ‘Now that I’m back here I may as well see if I can get a job in London. I can’t see any point in going back to America, Jonathan has already employed my replacement.’
‘Then why not get a job locally? You could continue to live here then.’
Her eyes were wide. ‘You—you told me to leave,’ she said breathlessly.
‘So? When did you ever do what I told you?’
Hazel gave a rueful grin. ‘Most of the time. I found it easier to do so.’
‘So you’re going to leave here?’ he persisted.
‘I thought that was what you wanted.’ She looked puzzled. ‘You said so earlier.’
‘I know that, but perhaps I was being a little hasty. You have as much right here as anyone. It was your home for eight years. Besides, I could do with your help,’ Rafe added ruefully.
‘You could?’
‘I could. I’ve never liked all the paperwork running this estate entails. You could stay here and deal with that.’
‘But Celia said——’ Hazel broke off. What she had been about to say sounded too much like telling tales. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Rafe shook his head. ‘The two of you have never got on. I could never understand it.’
Neither had Hazel until a few hours ago when Sylvia Marston had explained Celia’s reasoning. ‘Just a clash of characters. It happens. It isn’t important.’
He frowned. ‘It is if your shouting can be heard all over the house,’ his voice hardened.
‘Look, Rafe,’ said Hazel, ‘if you want me to go to London I will, but I’m not staying here on sufferance. I have some of that Savage pride you possess in abundance.’
‘I’ve noticed.’ His mouth twisted with humour. ‘Stay until after your birthday anyway. And think over what I’ve suggested.’
‘I will.’
‘Perhaps Celia could arrange a small dinner party for you here tomorrow evening,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A sort of welcome home party, just a few close friends. I’ll suggest it to her.’
‘Oh, not tomorrow,’ Hazel said hurriedly. ‘I—I already have arrangements made for tomorrow,’ she admitted with guilt, although why she should feel that way she had no idea.
Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show surprise. ‘You’ve been to the club this afternoon?’
She nodded. ‘With Trisha. We had a game of tennis.’
‘So you’re going to the dance tomorrow evening?’
‘Yes. We—um—we met Mark and Carl and they invited us to join them for the evening. It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she finished lamely.
Rafe ran his fingertips absently down the livid scar edge on the side of his face. ‘You don’t have to explain your movements to me.’ He rose to his feet, leaner than she remembered but just as powerful. ‘The dinner party can be arranged for another night. Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll shower and change for dinner.’
Hazel accepted his words for the dismissal they were, going up to her room. Dinner had always been a formal affair in the Savage household and she wanted to dress with more than her usual care for her first night at home with Rafe and Celia. Celia had found fault with enough to do with her for one day without giving her cause to criticise her choice of clothing too.
The dress she chose was an emerald green chiffon and floated down to her ankles in a cloud, adding a honey-gold colour to her blonde hair and giving luminous depth to her golden-brown eyes.
‘I see your taste in clothing has improved,’ Celia remarked bitchily as she came into the lounge for a sherry before dinner. ‘You seemed to live in denims the last time you were here.’
‘Not for dinner,’ Hazel replied vaguely, unable to take her eyes off Rafe as he stood watching them with enigmatic eyes. He looked so attractive, dressed very formally in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, that it made her heart beat faster just to look at him.
‘The velvet pants you wore were almost as bad. So masculine,’ Celia wrinkled her nose delicately.
