Rafferty's Legacy (5 page)

THE following Monday, Teresa started papering the sitting-room walls. She was not an expert paperhanger, but she had had some experience in the past by helping her mother and at least knew enough to avoid getting a patterned paper, and had chosen a plain, almost lime green coloured paper.

The walls had been stripped the previous day, her uncle giving a helping hand in this, but as he stated in his inimitable way, 'Sure, I'll leave the rest to you, girl. I've a feeling 'twill be quicker in the long run. Them lines have gotta be straight, and my eyes aren't as sharp as they was.'

This was just what Teresa had hoped he would say. She was impatient to get on with the job, and would not have wanted to offend her uncle if he had decided to give a helping hand, in which case it would have meant working in the evenings when the working day was over. He could not afford to take time off, for, as Teresa had gathered from something he had said, there were plenty of people waiting on the sidelines to take over the work, and the competition was tough.

Having mixed the paste, Teresa pulled the dining table into the centre of the room and cleared it ready to lay out the strips of wallpaper.

Uncle Patrick had procured a stepladder for her use, the rungs of which were decidedly shaky, and

he had warned her to avoid the third step up as it was so worn that the chances were it would not hold even her slight weight. However, it was only a small ladder, and the height to be reached not a great one. In fact a chair would have sufficed, but her uncle's chairs, like the rest of the furniture, had seen better days, and on the whole Teresa was inclined to put more faith in the ladder than in the chair!

When she had done one wall, she stood back to look at her handiwork. With her head on one side her gaze slid critically down the joins, and she had to admit she had not made a bad job of it. It wasn't perfect, of course, but she hadn't expected it to be. Not, she thought, that she would have got away with it had it been a patterned paper. Not like that other time when she and her mother ... Teresa gulped, and hastily began on the next wall. It was work she wanted, not memories; but the memories came back and all Teresa's willpower could not stem them.

As she fixed the paper to the wall she was back in her old home helping her mother do the selfsame job. She remembered Rob walking in just as they were on the last lap, and heard again his exasperated shout of, 'Not that way! It's upside down! For good
ness' sake look at the pattern !
' She remembered how they had all stood and gazed round the room, and then Rob had commented with a wide grin, `You might as well carry on. I don't know how you've done it, but you've somehow managed to get every other one upside down. It's unusual anyway,' he'd added with a chuckle.

Teresa recalled how her mother had tried to look indignant but failed, and a few seconds later the

three of them had subsided into laughter, and Rob had had to finish the job for them, faithfully carrying on with their original theme.

The tears cascaded down her cheeks, and Teresa stood on the top step of the ladder, and rested her head against the wall while her grief washed over her.

Dimly through her stricken senses came the sound of her uncle's van pulling up outside the chalet. He always came to a grinding halt rather than a smooth stop. Her tear-swollen eyes tried to focus on her wristwatch to see the time; it wasn't quite midday, and that meant, she thought with a pang of dismay, that he had decided to pop in and see how she was getting. on.

She didn't want to face him like this, for she had so far managed to keep her emotions well in hand. He wouldn't believe she had been grieving for her mother and brother, but would put her misery down to Carl and the broken engagement, and she didn't want to whip up any more hate in that direction, not now when they were so near the finish of the whole wretched affair.

The loft was directly above her, and she lifted up the heavy trapdoor and felt for the stout stick her uncle used to prop the latch up. Finding it, she pushed it into position and began hauling herself through the aperture. She could always say she was looking for something, for it served as a store for little-used items, and it would give her time to gain her composure before she faced him.

In her haste to remove herself from the vicinity she did not realise that her arm had caught the side

of the supporting stick, jerking it out of position and bringing the trapdoor crashing down on the top of her head.

All Teresa felt was a blinding pain, then total darkness.

When she opened her eyes she found it was evening. A small lamp had been placed on a table beside her bed, and her eyes travelled slowly round the unfamiliar surroundings. Her head ached, and she wished someone would come and tell her where she was.

Her wish was granted a few minutes later when the door opened and a small wiry-looking man, closely followed by a tall elderly-looking man, entered the room. The small man gave her an anxious look and walked to stand by her side. 'Well,. girl, how do you feel?'

She considered this question for a moment or so, wondering why the man had said 'girl'. It was an odd way to address someone, she thought. Touching her head gingerly, she grimaced. 'I've a headache. Am I in hospital?' she queried, staring about her.

The taller of the two men then took over, and it was obvious that he was a doctor by the sure but swift examination he gave her.

A few minutes later she watched the two men move away from the bedside and hold a low conversation which she tried to listen to, but the throbbing in her head stopped her concentration.

The doctor came back to speak to her. 'Do you remember anything?' he asked gently.

She frowned, then finding that thinking hurt, lifted her hand in a weak gesture. 'No,' she said,

then slid her gaze back to the room. 'Where am I?' she asked again, and her voice rose slightly as she demanded, 'What happened to me?'

The small man was about to answer her when the doctor stopped him by answering smoothly, 'You've had a fall. No bones broken, but I'm taking the precaution of having you taken to hospital.' He smiled down at her. 'Don't worry, you're in good hands. You've got what is called temporary amnesia. The blow on the head would account for that. Now,' he said as he opened a case he produced from the floor, and took out a small box from which he took a small white tablet, 'I want you to have this now, and forget everything else. It will help that headache of yours.'

The doctor waited until she had taken the tablet, and by the time he had made the necessary arrangements to have her taken to hospital, she was well under sedation, and did not awake again until she was in the hospital.

Three days later Teresa was allowed to go home. At least, she thought, as she gazed round the chalet's sitting-room, while her uncle made her a cup of tea, they had told her it was her home.

The small wiry man, who she had later learned was her uncle, had told her how she had come to have the accident, and her gaze lingered on the lime green wallpaper. With a sense of wonderment she told herself that she had put that up, and thought that if she gazed long enough at it her memory would return. It was a little frightening not being able to remember anything.

She had even had to be told her name, and even though the doctor and nurses had impressed upon her the fact that she was not to worry about her loss of memory, and that in all probability she would regain it, it was easier said than done.

Teresa had also learned about her mother and brother and how she had lost them shortly before joining her uncle, and she felt guilty at not being able to remember anything about them. She must have loved them, mustn't she?

She met her uncle's worried look as he carried in the tea tray, not realising how much that completely blank lost look gave her thoughts away.

'Sure, there's nothing to worry about,' he assured her gently. 'Doc says you'll be fine in no time. And you've a fine job to go to.' He frowned. 'Not that I agree with the doc on that.' He ran a hand over his chin. 'But I guess he knows best, and said it would do you good to get out and take your mind off things. He doesn't want you moping around here all on your own.'

Teresa managed a wry smile. 'He's right, of course,' she said. 'Only I'm a bit worried about what I'm supposed to do.' Her brow wrinkled. 'You say I'm a secretary—what if I can't remember how to type?' she asked, feeling a rush of panic at the thought.

He poured her out a cup of tea and handed it to her solemnly. 'Now don't you go fretting about that. Jack Oates has been put in the picture, he won't rush you. For the first week or so you won't be expected to do much but learn the job.'

In spite of her uncle's assurances that all would

be well, Teresa found herself dreading starting work, and wished she had as much confidence in herself as her uncle, and apparently Mr Oates, had, for her new boss quickly put her at her ease by telling her to take her time in learning the job.

Michael Oates, his son, was never far from her side that first week, and Teresa was extremely grateful for his help in unravelling the mysteries of the auctioneering world. 'You'll soon get used to it, Teresa,' he had said, adding with his boyish grin, `Even understand the bidding, you'll see!'

As to that last statement Teresa had her doubts, for on the Wednesday she joined Mr Oates and Michael at a cattle sale, and as she listened to the staccato tones of Mr Oates calling out the bids for each animal shown, her bewilderment increased. She would never understand what was being said, let alone understand the bidding. It appeared to be as clear as Chinese would be to her.

As each deal was concluded, Michael would enter the buyer's name in a book, and the price paid, and her bemused eyes would watch as each name was entered. She wondered how on earth Michael had managed to spot the eventual buyer, for before the man's name was given he had already written it down in the book.

Her thoughts were abundantly clear in her green eyes as she met Michael's amused brown ones, then as he grinned at her she would grin back, thinking how nice he was. Yet, she mused, she liked Michael very much indeed, and she studied him covertly under her lashes as he turned his attention to the prize bull now being offered for sale.

His dark, slightly curling hair was cut in the style of the day, but not too long. His features were clear-cut, and although he was not overly handsome, there was a look of boyishness there that would be bound to bring out the motherly instinct in every female. Teresa tried to pinpoint his age, but had to give it best. He could have been anything from twenty-five to thirty, and she wondered why he hadn't been snapped up on the marriage market.

After a few seconds' thought she was sure she had the answer; in spite of his outgoing nature, he was extremely shy where females were concerned, and she recalled an incident that had taken place a few days ago, when a rancher had come to the office to pay for some cattle he had bought, and was accompanied by his extremely pretty daughter, who had whiled away the time by making eyes at Michael during the transaction between her father and Mr Oates.

Teresa had had to smile to herself at the frankly inviting looks the girl threw his way, and could almost sense Michael's embarrassment. When they had gone, he had turned to Teresa who was pretending to be terribly busy, and remarked with a grin, 'Now there's a man-eater if I ever saw one. Women like that terrify me '

It was strange really, Teresa thought, he had never acted as though he were embarrassed or shy in her presence, in fact the reverse, she thought with an inward grin. If there was any mothering to be done—Michael was the one who was doing it I He would watch her like a hawk, and if she looked worried or confused, would hasten to reassure her.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that it took a little while for her to notice that the proceedings had come to a temporary halt. Wondering what the hold-up was, she looked across the cattle ring, aware of an indefinable air of expectancy around the buyers standing the other side of the ring, and saw a tall fair man approaching the inner rails of the ring. As her eyes followed his approach, she noted the way the other buyers automatically made a space for him beside the ring.

Seated a little behind Michael, Teresa was able to watch these proceedings without being seen herself, and had a good view of the buyers, for the idea was to get her accustomed to the various tactics adopted by the buyers during bidding—not that as yet she had much clue as to whether that large gentleman in the brown dungarees was bidding or actually blowing his nose!

It was, she thought, a subject she would have
to take up with Michael later !
Her eyes fell on the fair man again. What tactics would he adopt? she wondered, and decided to keep a close watch on him to see if she could spot his bargaining method.

That he was someone of importance, she was in no doubt. There was no casual wear here. His tan silk shirt and fawn slacks alone put him well apart from the other buyers, and she particularly noticed the way he had looked at Mr Oates, as if to say, 'Well, get on with it, man, I haven't all day! '

However, before Mr Oates started proceedings, he leaned down from his high perched stool and spoke to Teresa. 'Go and get some tea laid on, girl, we'll be finishing soon.'

Teresa obeyed without question; she was a little sorry she wouldn't be able to watch the fair man bidding, but there was always another time. As she let herself out of the side door, she heard the bidding begin.