Anne Mather - Edge Of Temptation

‘You don’t care about anyone but yourself!’

This was another favourite accusation of hers. It wasn’t true. He did care. He cared deeply for the people in the valley, the people he had known since he was a boy himself. He cared about Penwyth, and he knew that if ever his father had to move from the house, it would kill him. He cared about Tom—and Lucy, although his feelings for her had changed from the boyish infatuation she had first inspired to a kind of patient toleration. She was his wife, the mother of his son. He could admire her. He freely admitted that she was a better business person than he was. But there were times, as now, when her determination and self-interest, her ambition, appalled him, and he refused to be browbeaten into accepting a situation just to sustain her good humour.

‘If that’s what you think, I shall go and speak to Tom,’ he said now, moving towards the door, and she sprang to her feet, fists clenched in frustration.

‘Rafe!’ She was obviously fighting the desire to rant at him. ‘Rafe, listen to me. This is our chance, our opportunity; the only opportunity we’re ever likely to have. All right, so I know I’ve got no love for this place, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see it restored to what it was. Just think what we could do! That dampness in your study—the roof—–’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Rafe’s lips tightened. ‘We need the money—I’m not denying it. But … I don’t know …’

‘Rafe, Rafe …’ She sensed his weakening, and came to stand near him. ‘I know how you feel. But really, you mustn’t confuse compassion with sentiment. Do you think any of these people—these people that you consider of such account—would hesitate, given your opportunities? If they owned their own land? Do you think they wouldn’t grant mining rights? Oh, Rafe, you know they would!’

‘I don’t know,’ he persisted grimly. ‘Lucy, this isn’t your valley. These are not your people. I know that. But they’ve been good tenants—–’

‘You’re a good owner!’ she countered sharply. ‘My God, I think they must think you’re soft. Those rents haven’t been raised for—–’

‘I know, I know.’

Rafe raked back his hair with a weary hand, wishing his father was still master of the estate, in anything more than name. This shouldn’t be his decision, and God alone knew, he was no Solomon.

‘So …’ Lucy’s small fingers dug into his forearm. ‘Oh, Rafe, don’t let’s quarrel any more tonight. Let’s just talk about it, hmm? We could go out for dinner. Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ve got a dress I bought the last time I was in London. I’d be glad of the opportunity to wear it.’

‘Haven’t you forgotten Tom?’ enquired Rafe dryly, and was not surprised when Lucy’s hand was withdrawn, and her features resumed their earlier expression of irritation.

‘Thomas!’ she almost spat the word. ‘I should have known that little horror would come first on your list!’

Rafe sighed. ‘As you said a few moments ago, don’t let’s quarrel any more tonight, Lucy. In any case. I’m too tired to go out this evening. I need a bath, and a change of clothes …’

‘You don’t have to tell me that!’ Lucy wrinkled her small nose distastefully. ‘You stink of oil and tobacco, and you’re covered in dog hairs! I was ashamed, when Sir George was here—–’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ remarked Rafe flatly. ‘If you’ll excuse me now, I’ll go and speak to our son.’

‘He’s going back tomorrow!’ said Lucy shrilly.

‘I haven’t denied it, have I?’

‘Well, don’t come looking for me after you’ve let him walk all over you. I shall eat dinner in my room, and I don’t want to see you again until the morning.’

‘Point taken.’

Rafe reached for the door handle, but Lucy wasn’t quite finished.

‘By the way,’ she muttered reluctantly, ‘someone’s coming to see you in the morning—some female. I don’t know who she is. Says her name is Tempest, or something.’

‘Tempest?’ Rafe’s dark brows descended. ‘Who is she? Some friend of yours?’

‘Mine?’ Lucy sounded amused. ‘You must be joking! Her uncle lives in the valley, apparently. She said you would know who she was.’

Rafe stared at his wife broodingly for a moment. Then, recognition dawned. ‘ Catherine Tempest?’

‘I think that was what she called herself. Why? Do you know her? Who is she?’

‘Only Mervyn Powys’s niece!’ Rafe’s jaw tightened. ‘I wonder what she wants. Didn’t she say anything?’

‘Only that she wanted an appointment to see you.’ Lucy’s lips twisted mockingly. ‘Some admirer of yours, is she? One of these “people” you keep talking about?’

‘No!’ Rafe expelled his breath impatiently. ‘As a matter of fact, she was born and brought up near London. Her mother was Powys’s sister, but she left the valley twenty-five—maybe thirty years ago.’

‘Then how do you know this girl?’ demanded Lucy shortly. ‘How does she know you?’

Rafe’s expression softened slightly. ‘She used to spend her summer holidays at the farm. When I was a boy I used to spend time down there, too.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Lucy was scathing. ‘A boy-and-girl relationship.’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Rafe was tight-lipped. ‘My God, she was only a kid! Nine, ten at most.’

‘And you were?’

‘Fifteen, sixteen—I don’t know.’

Lucy looked amused. ‘Hero-worship, then.’ She shook her head. ‘No wonder Thomas is such an undisciplined little devil! I don’t suppose your father approved of you being so familiar with the tenants.’

‘My father always cared for their welfare.’

‘How feudal!’

‘It was why you married me, remember?’ retorted Rafe, stung into uncharacteristic bitterness. He had never referred to the reasons why Lucy, the daughter of a self-made millionaire, should have succumbed so eagerly to his amateurish attempts at seduction. Twenty-one, and fresh out of university, his experiences with girls had been limited to minor successes with waitresses, and office workers. Lucy Redvers, a year his senior, and already socially sophisticated, had seemed much too experienced to find him attractive. It was months before he understood, months before he realised the fact that as heir to his father, Lord Penwyth, he was infinitely more desirable in Lucy’s eyes than any wealthy businessman might have been. But by then, of course, it had been too late. They were married, and any doubts he might have had he stifled.

Now Lucy’s lips quivered, and had he not known better, he might have been disarmed by the break in her voice. ‘I married you because I loved you, Rafe,’ she declared tearfully, pulling out a handkerchief. ‘I don’t know why you say such cruel things to me. Just because I’m trying to help us both, to help all of us. You’re so bigoted. You won’t accept Daddy’s help—–’

‘His charity, you mean? No.’ Rafe was adamant, but there was a note of frustration in his tones. ‘Oh, Lucy, why do you do this? Do you never try to put yourself in my position? Why do you persistently ignore the human problem here?’

‘I have problems, too, and I’m human,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘You—you’re impossible! You know you’ll have to give in, sooner or later.’

Bitterness turned to bile in the back of Rafe’s throat. The trouble was, he knew she was speaking the truth. In spite of himself, he was going to have to grant that permission; that, or have it taken out of his hands. How much longer could Penwyth survive without an influx of capital? One year? Two, at most. And then what? Bankruptcy? Penury? An unpalatable prospect for himself, an impossible one for Lucy, and for Tom. And his father …