Carole Mortimer - Yesterday's Scars

‘How it happened doesn’t matter any more. None of the reasons come out in your favour. I just hope that once you’re twenty-one and can claim your inheritance you will kindly remove yourself from my sight.’ He gave her one last scathing look before walking away with long easy strides, the navy sweat-shirt clinging to his back in the heat of the day.

Hazel stared after him with tear-filled eyes. She wanted to stop him, tell him it wasn’t her fault, that Celia hadn’t sent her any letter. But it was no good, he would never believe her. It would be Celia’s word against hers, and Celia had a head start, three years to be exact.

Her feet took her automatically to the people she always ran to when troubled—the Marstons. Trisha’s family had always accepted her into their midst without enquiring what upset it was that had caused her to escape this time. Only two people could so upset her, Celia was one and Rafe the other, and it was best not to question too deeply; the enmity in the Savage household not a matter for general discussion.

Sylvia Marston looked up from the magazine she had been perusing, her face lighting up with pleasure as she saw the identity of her visitor. As a child Hazel had spent so much time here that it had been almost like having a second daughter, and at times she had wished she had a son Hazel could marry to make that possible. But she and Max had only been allowed the one child, leaving them love enough for an orphaned ten-year-old girl.

She stood up now, moving forward to hug this golden-haired child, for that surely was what she still was, even though she had lived alone the last three years. ‘Hazel!’ Sylvia studied her intently. Still the same trusting brown eyes that could glow with laughter or darken with pain, usually the latter in her last few months before leaving England for America. ‘Trisha said you were back, but that you were at the school talking to Rafe.’

Hazel shrugged. ‘I was. He’s gone back to the house. At least, I presume that’s where he’s gone.’

‘I see.’

Hazel smiled wanly. ‘You always did, didn’t you? Oh, Aunt Sylvia, it’s started again already!’ She slumped down on to the sofa.

Sylvia sat down beside her, placing a consoling arm about her shoulders. ‘Give it time, child, give Rafe time.’

Hazel’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Time is something I don’t have too much of where Rafe is concerned. He’s given me a week to get out of his life once and for all,’ she explained at Sylvia’s questioning look.

‘He’s what!’ Sylvia was astounded. There had always been a certain tension between Rafe and his ward, the occasional argument over trivial matters—but never open conflict. That seemed to be left to the female member of the Savage family. Poor Celia, hating a girl who could have been a good friend if allowed to be. She shook her head. ‘I’m sure you must have misunderstood him. Rafe’s your guardian, he can’t just dismiss you out of his life.’

‘He already has. And his guardianship ends in a week’s time. He said I could stay until then.’

‘But why ask you to leave at all? I don’t understand this.’ Sylvia looked sharply at Hazel. ‘Does Celia have anything to do with it? Has she been up to her tricks again?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Hazel went on to explain Celia’s omission concerning Rafe’s accident.

Sylvia rose angrily to her feet. ‘That woman is a monster! She deserves a good hiding for the trouble she causes. How could she do such a thing!’

‘I keep asking myself the same question, and the answer isn’t pleasant. She hates me, Aunt Sylvia. She really hates me!’

Sylvia smiled gently. ‘It isn’t you personally she hates, Hazel, anyone would have done at the time. You arrived here at a time when Celia wanted and demanded that all male attention should belong to her. At sixteen she felt herself to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and she wanted everyone else to think so too, including Rafe. But he had all his spare time wrapped up in you, attention she felt she deserved.’

‘But Rafe is her brother !’

‘Even more reason for him to cosset and spoil her, for him to realise his cygnet has grown into a swan. But at the time, and rightly so, he believed you needed that extra-gentle care, the extra love he had to give. And so it was you and not Celia who received the attention of Rafe Savage. She longed to show everyone how her big strong fearless brother loved her, how he thought her beautiful. But you arrived, a little waiflike creature with eyes too big for your face and an awful lot of love you wanted to give someone. Celia felt very excluded, rejected even, and she’s gone on disliking you for it all these years.’

‘I didn’t realise … I never asked for Rafe’s care, you know.’

Sylvia laughed softly. ‘You didn’t need to. He only had to look at you to know you needed a lot of undemanding love. And he gave it to you.’

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.