Rafferty's Legacy (6 page)

The auction room offices were only across the road, and within a few minutes she had reached them and begun the tea preparations.

It was as well she had decided not to actually make the tea until their arrival, for it was almost an hour before they put in an appearance. Something must have held them up, she thought. No doubt Michael would tell her later. She had an awful lot to learn about auctioneering, but at least she liked the work, and considered herself very lucky to have not only an interesting job, but nice employers.

While she waited for them to come, Teresa typed a letter for Michael, confirming a hotel reservation for the following week's auction at a township further up north. As he had explained to Teresa, they sometimes obliged their clients by keeping a weather-eye out for certain breeds, and when they knew they were up for sale would make the necessary purchase for them.

As her fingers slid expertly over the keys, she felt once again that sense of wonder she had felt on finding she could still type.

Michael's explanation of this, to her, wondrous happening was, 'It's probably the same as learning to ride a bike, they say you never forget! '

But to Teresa it meant much more than just a wonderful discovery—it meant that she would eventually get her memory back, as indeed the doc-

for had assured her she would—in time, that was. Only Teresa was impatient to fill in that blank space of what went before. She wanted to remember her mother and brother, and still felt a sense of guilt that she couldn't.

She had told her uncle her feelings on this, and he would always repeat the doctor's words, that she would have to be patient and not push things. He had also said that it was probably nature's way of protecting her. She had suffered a great shock on the loss of her family, and also ... Here he had broken off sharply, and Teresa had a feeling that he had deliberately changed his mind about what he had been about to tell her, but concluded later that he had decided not to let her dwell on that sad time in her life. He had gone on to say how neglectful he had been in not keeping in closer touch with her mother. As a fund of information on their way of life he was useless, he had told her sadly.

Glancing out of the window, Teresa saw Mr Oates and Michael approaching, and hastened to switch on the kettle.

She was on the point of handing Mr Oates his tea when he turned his attention from the window and said, 'Teresa, I fancy one of Mrs Pott's fancy pastries. I expect you'd like one, too. Be a dear and pop across there, will you? Oh, and go the back way just in case some of those steers get loose—they'll be loading about now.' He grinned at her. 'It's been known to happen, you know.'

This was the first time such a request had been made, but even so it was a little near lunch time. Still, she did not mention that, and was very grateful

for the warning about the steers; she would be terrified if such a thing happened!

When she returned to the office a little while later, having had to queue for the pastries, which judging by the length of the queue must be very good, she forgot about Mr Oates' warning and automatically made her way to the front entrance of the offices. Before her fingers met the door handle the door swung open, and Teresa found herself face to face with the tall fair man she had seen at the auction.

'Teresa !
' he said sharply. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

Teresa stared at him—how did he know her name? Before she could answer him Mr Oates' voice spoke close behind the man. 'Come along in, girl. Did you have to wait until they baked them?'

She grinned at this, and with a half-curious look at the stranger still standing there watching her, she slipped past him and into the office, leaving Mr Oates with him.

She would have liked time to ponder on this strange happening, and the fact that the man had known her name. Her brow furrowed. Had she met him somewhere? in which case, he must think her awfully rude.

Her musings were cut short by a request from Mr Oates of, 'Come into my office, Teresa. I want to have a word with you.'

She glanced quickly at Michael—had she done anything wrong? she wondered. Michael's quick reassuring grin assured her that all was well, and she followed Mr Oates into his office.

'Er ... sit down, girl,' he said awkwardly as he closed the door behind her.

Teresa sat down slowly, sensing he was embarrassed about something, but what it was she had no idea.

'That man you met when you came in just now,' he said, then cleared his throat, proving to Teresa that he was embarrassed. 'That was Carl Elton,' he said slowly, and waited a second or so before he continued, giving Teresa the distinct impression that he rather expected the name to mean something to her.

Her lovely green eyes met his in silent query. 'Mr Elton,' she repeated steadily, then shook her head bewilderedly. The name meant nothing to her. She looked back at Mr Oates; it was clear that she ought to have known who the man was.

She sighed softly. Poor man, and she hadn't even answered when he spoke to her I It might help, she thought sadly, if she wore a card on her lapel stating that she had lost her memory, that way no one would be offended.

Giving Mr Oates a wry smile, she said gently, 'It's pretty obvious I ought to have known who he was. I do hope you apologised to him, Mr Oates, for my apparent rudeness.'

'I did,' he said carefully, 'explain how things were. You oughtn't to get any trouble in that direction from now on.'

Teresa did not like this answer, for it left a few unexplained, not to mention intriguing, questions in the air. Had she in fact had any trouble with this man? She conjured him up again in her mind's eye.

He was certainly not a man one could overlook in a crowd. He had that certain something about him. Authoritative, that was the word she wanted. He looked wealthy and could, she imagined, afford to indulge in any whim that took his fancy.

A thought then struck her. Had she been one of Carl Elton's 'whims'? She shook her head. She simply couldn't see how, for according to her uncle she had only been in the country a few weeks before the accident happened.

It was all very puzzling, and her brow furrowed as she attempted to pierce beyond that thick curtain that had so effectively screened her past.

'I shouldn't worry about it,' Mr Oates said hastily. 'What I wanted to tell you was that it would be better if you kept out of his way.'

Teresa's brows rose at this bald statement. There was no need to ask the question, it was in her eyes.

'Er—you're a very pretty girl, Teresa,' he said lamely, 'and Carl Elton and your uncle have never got on—never have, and never will.' At her indignant glance, he carried on hastily, 'Now you're a sensible girl, and there's no sense in starting things up again that are better left. I want you to promise me to make yourself scarce each time he comes here, and on no account be alone with him. If Michael and I aren't around when he calls, dodge out the back way—and if he phones, just hand the call over to either me or Michael.'

An extremely bewildered Teresa left his office a short while later to resume her work, but she found it impossible to keep her mind on the job. By all appearances, this Carl Elton had somehow made

contact with her; not only that, but must have shown signs of more than a passing interest in her, so much so that her uncle must have been worried about it.

It was also obvious that the man had a reputation as a lady-killer—which was odd, she mused. He didn't look the type, too haughty for one thing. Perhaps he led a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence? On this thought she grinned, and remembering Mr Oates' instructions to keep out of his way, her smile grew wider. Really, they were being rather over-protective, weren't they? As if she couldn't handle the situation. She'd met wolves before now, hadn't she?

Suddenly her brow furrowed. Now how did she know that?