A Bad Enemy (20 page)

Lisle bit her lip. She said in a low voice, 'I love him. But I'm not going to marry him. It was madness ever to think that I would, and I'm going to convince my grandfather somehow.'

'And what about Jake?' Mrs Allard gave her a straight look. 'How will you convince him?'

Lisle flushed, 'I don't see a great deal of problem. He can't have enjoyed having his hand forced in this way. And I'm the last woman in the world that he'd ever have chosen for himself.'

Mrs Allard sighed. 'He must have treated you very badly.'

'It was just—wrong from the start. It never had a chance.'

'And you're not prepared to give it one?'

'I'm not the only person involved.' Lisle glanced up at the threatening sky. 'I think it's going to rain. Shall we return to the house and have that tea?'

'Yes, that would be very nice.' Mrs Allard didn't look particularly happy, and the smile she gave Lisle was a little bleak.

On the way back to the house, Lisle was careful to keep the conversation to general topics. Mrs Allard's forthrightness had flustered her because it was so entirely unexpected. They would probably never meet again, she thought, and this was a matter of regret to her, because it now seemed possible that in other circumstances they could have become friends.

As they turned the corner which led to the front of the house, Mrs Peterson came rushing to meet them, her usual placidity in rags, her face white and her eyes filled with tears.

'Miss Lisle—oh, Miss Lisle! The telephone—it's the hospital! Oh, Miss Lisle, dear…'

Lisle sprinted for the open front door. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounding as she stumbled into the library and snatched up the receiver.

The voice at the other end was kind but rather remote. It said that Murray had suffered a sudden, severe collapse and that although resuscitation techniques had been used, attempts to revive him had not teen successful. This was deeply regretted.

She stared numbly down at the surface of the desk, her finger tracing a pattern on the tooling of the leather. It seemed incredibly important that she should do this, that she should follow every whirl and convolution to its beginning, because otherwise some disaster might befall…Some disaster.

She made some reply to the remote voice and fumbled to replace the receiver on its rest. It was taken from her hand, and Mrs Allard's arm came round her warm and supporting.

She said gently, 'My poor child—come and sit down. Your housekeeper is bringing some tea.'

Lisle felt freezing cold. She said, 'I don't seem to be able to stop shaking,' in a voice which hardly resembled hers at all.

She found she was in the drawing room on the sofa, staring into the fire. The tea had been brought in by a quietly weeping Mrs Peterson and Jake's mother was busying herself with the cups.

Lisle said, half to herself, 'But he was better. He was getting well. He was coming home very soon.'

Mrs Allard gave her a sympathetic look. 'I'm afraid it happens like that sometimes, dear. I'm sure they did all they could.'

'Yes.' Lisle paused, then said huskily, 'I—I have to be glad in a way. Those—machines. He hated them so. He wouldn't have wanted…'

'No,' Mrs Allard's hand closed comfortingly over hers, 'I'm sure he wouldn't. Now, is there anything I can do for you? Your brother will have to be told, of course.'

'Yes, but I'd better do that.' Lisle put down her cup. 'In fact, I'd better do it now.'

'And then I'll telephone Jake,' his mother said. Her eyes met Lisle's. 'He has a right to know too, you know.'

'Yes—yes, of course. I'd be very grateful,' Lisle stammered.

She went into the library and closed the door behind her as she tried to collect her thoughts. There was little point in trying to find Gerard at Harlow Bannerman, she realised. He wouldn't be going near the place until his swollen face had subsided. If he wasn't at the dentist, he would probably be at his flat.

The phone rang and rang, but there was no reply. She would have to try again later, she thought with a sigh. She wished Gerard had been there. She needed to talk to him, to share her bewilderment and the first painful beginnings of grief. He would understand. He had loved Murray too, although not as much as she had. Gerard would comfort her, she told herself with a kind of frantic emphasis.

Her mouth trembled, and she caught at the edge of the desk, allowing the hard wood to bite into her hands. She was fooling herself. All Gerard's sympathy would be reserved for himself, just as it always had been. He had been thinking of the effect of Murray's death on Harlow Bannerman, and in consequence, to himself.

It was Jake she needed to shelter her while he took charge of everything. It was Jake, and only Jake that she wanted, but he was lost to her forever now. Murray's death had released them both from all obligation to each other.

They were free at last, and the thought left her desolate and shaking, because for all her brave words and good intentions that wasn't what she wanted at all. She had spoken to Mrs Allard about crazy dreams, and she wanted them to go on because reality could only be cold and bleak and lonely by contrast. The life she had planned, living quietly in this house, seemed unthinkable—unbearable suddenly.

She folded her arms, round her body, shuddering. Utter loneliness or marriage to a man who despised her—that was her choice, and she cringed from either alternative.

She was roused from her unhappy reverie by the unexpected sound of a car on the drive outside. For a moment, she thought it might be Gerard come to lick his wounds in the peace and safety of the Priory, and braced herself as she went out into the hall. To hear that Murray was dead was one thing. To have to acknowledge it verbally as she broke the news to her brother was something else again. She stood, watching the front door, waiting for it to open, as she summoned her strength and her courage.

The door opened and Jake strode in, impatiently shaking the raindrops from his hair and shoulders.

He saw her at once, his brows flying together questioningly as he assimilated her white face and swimming eyes.

'What the hell's happened?' he demanded roughly. 'Has something—someone upset you? I suppose that's my mother's car outside. I had a message to say she was coming down here, and she'd left before I could stop her…'

She said, 'It's Murray.'

His head went back sharply, and he stared at her for a long moment, expelling his breath on a deep sigh.

He said softly and wearily, 'I was afraid of this all along.' His tone became brisker. 'You'd better go and sit down before you collapse. I'm here now, I'll see to everything. You don't have to worry any more.'

Lisle could almost have laughed at that. Her teeth bit painfully into her lower lip. 'Thank you. You're being very—kind. And so has your mother. She was on the point of calling you—asking you to come here.'

'I'm sure she was.' The corner of his mouth twisted. 'Because you certainly wouldn't have done so, would you, Lisle?'

She looked at him, her green eyes stricken and he made an impatient gesture. 'I'm sorry. This is hardly an appropriate time to touch on our personal difficulties…'

'On the contrary,' said Lisle, her glance sliding away to the floor. 'In a way it's the perfect opportunity to— to assure you that this—this engagement need not proceed any further. In fact, I'd like it to stop here and now.'

Jake was silent, the grey eyes narrowed and incredulous as he surveyed her. He said, 'You don't know what you're saying.'

'Oh, but I do,' she said huskily. 'We made an agreement for Murray's sake, and that alone. His— passing renders it null and void.' She tugged at the big diamond, coaxing it from her finger, and held it out to him.

He made no move to take it. He said quietly, 'I don't think this is a time for hasty decisions. You're overwrought and you need time to think.'

'I've had a lot of time to think. I've done little else since the night we met,' said Lisle. She wanted very much to sink down on to the hall floor and weep, but she dared not display any sign of weakness. She had to make him believe her. 'You can't pretend that you want this—this sterile bargain we made to continue now that the reason for it no longer exists.'

For a moment she thought she saw him wince, but when he spoke his voice was so impassive, she realised it must have been some trick of the fading light.

'No, I won't pretend that, Lisle, but had it occurred to you that the fulfilment of Murray's wishes may not be so easy to avoid. He was more determined than perhaps you think.'

'But I am equally determined.' She put the ring down on the table outside the drawing room door. 'Your— your mother's in there. I'll ask Mrs Peterson to bring fresh tea, and then I'm going to my room for a while. I'd like to be alone.'

For a moment she thought he was going to move forward, take her in his arms, and her whole body tensed as if warding off a blow. By the grim hardening of his mouth, she knew he had registered her instinctive reaction.

But all he said with cool civility was, 'Just as you wish.'

I wish, Lisle thought as she turned away to go in search of Mrs Peterson, I wish that you loved me, and that I could cry all this out in your arms. I wish that you were my lover so that I could wake next to you tomorrow, and know that I would never be lonely again.

She returned to the hall on her way back from the kitchen quarters. It was empty, but she could hear the murmur of voices from behind the closed drawing room door.

Her ring had vanished from the table, and as she went slowly upstairs, it occurred to her how bare her hand looked without it.

As bare and empty as the days, weeks and months which stretched ahead of her now—without Jake.

The funeral was over at last. The house had been crammed with people all wishing to pay their last respects, but they were leaving now, and Lisle was thankful that the end of this particular ordeal was in sight.

It was a raw day, and Gerard had advised her to remain by the fire while he saw the last remaining guests off the premises. When he returned, she supposed they would adjourn to the library for the reading of the will, although strictly that was a formality as she already knew its contents.

And after that, she would have to try and make some plans.

It had been impossible over the last days to give any thought to the future. There had been all the legalities and. rituals of death to conform with, although Jake had been a tower of strength where these were concerned. There had been telephone calls to make and answer and letters of condolence to reply to, and in a way she had been grateful for the calls on her time and attention that these activities made, because they prevented her thinking…

She was bitterly ashamed because she couldn't be sure how many of the tears she had wept were for Murray, and how many for herself, for her loneliness and uncertainty. She couldn't even grieve unselfishly for the grandfather she had loved, she thought wretchedly.

Jake had not said a word more on the subject of their broken engagement, and she had to be grateful for this, but then, if she was honest, he had said very little at all of a personal nature to her. He had been kind and considerate, but aloof, the grey eyes shuttered and enigmatic when he looked at her.