Dark inheritance (17 page)

"Sowwy," Teddy said quickly. Then, as if dismissing
Barbara's companion, he turned his attention back to her. "Can I play near you?"

"Of course you can, darling. Sit back on your chair and draw me a picture. I've got some paper in my handbag and I'm sure this nice man can lend you a pencil."

Dominic looked through his pockets reluctantly and
finally found a small stub which he gave to the little boy,
who settled down quietly and began to draw with industrious concentration on the back of the envelope Barbara had found. She watched the fair, down-bent head, then looked at Dominic. His good humour of a moment ago seemed to have vanished and in its place was an expression of surliness.

"You frightened him," she said quietly.

"The little beggar shouldn't be up here on his own."

"But his mother's not well. You can't blame her for wanting him to get the sunshine."

"Then she should sec there's someone to look after him." He lit a cigarette. "Can't understand women— have children and leave them to be a bother to other people."

"What an unfair thing to say! Mrs. Polerick's been very ill. Her husband sent her on this cruise hoping

would get her fit again, and as she had no one to leave the child with, she had to bring him along."

"Then it's a pity she can't control him properly."

"You can't keep a child cooped up all the time— they're like puppies. I've seen him quite a bit and he's very good considering there's no one of his age on board for him to play with."

"Well, he's taken a fancy to you all right," Dominic said grudgingly.

"That's because I take notice of him. Children don't like being ignored."

"You're fond of children, aren't you?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"Not particularly. In fact, when I marry it'll be on the understanding that there are no children."

"I see." ·

Suddenly he took her hand and gripped it fiercely. "Barbara, look at me." She lifted her eyes and gazed deeply into his, filled with quick compassion at what she saw there. "I've never discussed the question of children with you before, but I meant every word I've just said. Do you understand what it means?"

Without her realizing it their humorous banter had become a conversation of the utmost importance which might have repercussions on her whole future. Whenever Barbara had thought of marriage she had always taken it fur granted that she would have a family and give it all the love and understanding of which she was capable. But her feeling for Dominic was still too new for her to have given much thought to the future with him, and her love had been given too spontaneously for her to have
weighed the consequences. But she realized now that she
must unconsciously have visualized him as a father to her children, and that when she had confessed her love for him she had automatically envisaged their life together and its natural outcome. That he should now shatter her dream seemed incredible.

"I've always looked on marriage as incomplete without children, Dominic," she said quietly. "After all, that's one of the principle reasons for it, although you're probably right when you say that more often it's the woman and not the man who wants a family. Oh, I know many marriages founded on love arc childless and that one can never be sure of having children, but to deliberately make up one's mind never to have any seems—well, a pity."

The man's face tightened. "I realize it would be asking a great deal of any woman. Too much, perhaps."

She reached out blindly and caught his hand. "But I still haven't said what I want to say. If I'm groping for words it's because I'm trying to tell you what you want to know as honestly as I can." There was a pause and the stillness was broken only by the heavy breathing of the little boy intent on his drawing. Then Barbara raised her head and looked fully at Dominic. "How could I set the man I love against the claims of an unborn child or turn away from happiness for the sake of a baby who may never be? After all—" she forced a smile, "although you don't seem to think so, Dominic, women are not all cast in the same mould."

"Oh, my darling!" The lines of strain faded from his dark face and he leant forward and quickly touched her lips with his own. "You're so wise, and I love you so much!"

"Be careful," she warned solemnly, "one day you may regret saying I'm wise!"

"I'se weady," Teddy said plaintively. "I'se been weady for ages and ages and you're not looking."

Dominic stood up. "I'll leave you to your drawing lesson," he said abruptly, and strode down the deck to lean over the railings at a distance from them.

Barbara set the little boy quickly on his feet. "Run and show your drawing to Mummy, dear. She may be wondering where you are."

She watched the little figure obediently disappear and then walked over to the man and gently curled her hand in his.

He held it tightly but continued to stare out at the sea. "Go on, tell me what a swine I am."

"Dominic, don't! You're only hurting yourself unnecessarily. And you're hurting me too."

He looked at her. "Am I?"

"Of course. Do you think I'm made of stone? I love you, and if you hurt yourself you automatically hurt me."

Glancing quickly around, he pulled her back so that
they were hidden from sight behind a pile of deck chairs,
and took her into his arms. "Forgive me, my darling. Sometimes I don't know what I say. It's unthinkable that I should ever hurt you." He buried his face in her hair and his voice was low. "And yet sometimes I don't sec how I can avoid it. Perhaps it would have been better
if
" He stopped short and pressed his mouth passionately on hers, only drawing back to whisper words of love.

They remained together hidden from prying eyes and the next hour passed so quickly that they were startled to hear the lunch gong.

Walking into the dining-room some ten minutes later she was surprised to sec Mark sitting at their table, with Dominic opposite him looking none too pleased, and the younger man greeted his aunt with a display of gallantry that made his cousin scowl, turning his attention on Barbara when they were all seated.

"You're blossoming out under the sun; it suits you." He flashed a provocative glance at his cousin. "Don't you think so, Dominic?"

"Yes," Dominic said shortly,

Mark studied Barbara appraisingly. "You don't look a bit like the girl I met at Crags' Height a few months ago. Being away from it has improved you. Doesn't surprise me, mind you—I can't imagine anyone blossoming there. Devil of a place for someone young. I'd never go there at all if I could avoid it."

"Then perhaps you'll manage to keep away in future," Dominic flashed.

'That depends on you, old boy," Mark returned amiably.

"On the contrary, it rests entirely with you."

Again Barbara felt the old antagonism flare up between them. "Don't let's talk about Crags' Height while we're lunching in the Mediterranean," she said quickly.

They were in the middle of dessert when the waiter came over to Dominic and handed him a telegram. "This has just arrived for you, six."

"Thank you." Dominic took it and slit the envelope. "Blast!" he ejaculated.

They looked at him in questioning silence until his aunt asked timidly: "What is it, Dominic? Not bad news, I hope."

"It is, I'm afraid. Nothing to worry about, only rather annoying for me." He glanced at Barbara. "I've got to fly back immediately."

She was conscious of sinking disappointment. "Oh, Dominic, why? What's happened?"

"Dai Lloyd, my manager, has been rushed to hospital for an operation. He was entering some of our herd for the Hereford Cattle Show, so I'll have to get back and take over where he's left off." He crumpled the telegram decisively. "The next thing to decide on is the arrangements for you and Aunt Ellie. Fm not very keen on leaving you alone, but I'll ask the Captain to keep an eye on you both."

Barbara was about to protest that this was unnecessary, when Mark broke in. "You needn't bother to do that. If it's O.K. with you, I'll take your place and escort the ladies home. My holiday's nearly over anyway and it'd make a pleasant change to go back by sea."

"I think it's a very good idea," Aunt Ellie broke the silence that followed. "Your cabin will be empty anyway, Dominic, so you may as well let Mark get the benefit of the sea air. It'll do him such a lot of good."

"My cousin has already been treating himself to ex
pensive sea air for some time, Aunt. However, I suppose I may as well agree." He got to his feet. "I'll go and arrange things. Barbara, I'd like to speak to you for
moment.

She rose and followed him out of the dining-room, and he said nothing until they reached his cabin. But as soon as he had shut the door he took her in his arms.

"Bad luck, darling, but I can't let Dai down. You do understand, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Dominic. You wouldn't be you if you didn't go."

"Pity my loneliness at Crags' Height, won't you?" he said ruefully.

""Never mind, it won't be long before we're back.
Think how much worse it would have been if this had
happened on the outward journey."

"Yes, we wouldn't have had time to fall in love." He
leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck. "Incidentally, don't make too much of a confidant of Mark. He's not to be trusted."

In the process of folding a shirt, she sat back'on her heels and looked up at him seriously. "Are you joking?"

"No, I'm not." It was emphatic. "I appreciate you'll have to see a good deal of him, but give him as wide a berth as you can."

"It's a pity you feel so strongly about him, Dominic. After all, you grew up together."

"Maybe that's why." He put his hands on her
shoulders. "Look, darling, I know you think the best of
everybody, but take my word for it."

"All right, my love." She got up and crept within the circle of his arms.

All too soon the packing was done and Barbara went up on deck with him. The sun shone as brightly as ever and the sea was just as blue, but she knew that when Dominic left the boat he would be taking some of the brightness with him and that the sights he left her to
see alone would be a little less colourful and a little less
interesting.

"I can't kiss you," he said huskily. "Look after yourself, my darling, and remember you're in charge of Aunt Ellie. Don't let Mark give you any orders."

"Don't worry about us, dearest, we'll be all right. But don't try and make up for your absence by working to-j hard when you get back."

"It'll help me to forget you're so many miles away if I do. The next week is going to drag interminably." He gripped her hands tightly and then let them go. "Goodbye, Barbara darling."

Quickly he walked down the ship's ladder and she watched as he climbed into the tender moored to the small platform. Noisily the engine started to chum and the little boat moved away from the side.

She stood looking after it until it was out of sight, straining her eyes to catch Dominic's last wave. Then with a sigh she turned away and went down to the dining-room.

As the boat made its way slowly towards Gibraltar Barbara enjoyed Mark's companionship, for he was gay and amusing, humorous without Dominic's caustic wit, informative without the older man's scholarship and flirtatious without his cousin's ability to arouse serious response. She avoided any reference to Dominic and whenever Mark mentioned him adroitly changed the subject, for she found it difficult to talk about him without displaying some of the emotion she felt, and rather than betray herself decided it was wiser not to mention him at all.

It was two days after Dominic's departure before Aunt Ellie mentioned his name again. She was sitting with
Barbara in the shade of one of the ship's funnels
watching Mark as he played a strenuous game of squash.

'T wonder how Dominic's getting on at Crags' Height," she began, "I daresay he misses the sunshine and the warmth. Of course it's lovely at Crags' Height in the spring when the hills get green again and the trees start blossoming, but it's still too early for that yet. You'll like it there when the-spring does come, Barbara —it's a different place from what it is in the winter."

"The sun seems to transform everything," Barbara agreed. "I thought Crags' Height impressive even in the depths of winter—in the summer it must be absolutely beautiful."

"I've never heard it described as beautiful," the old woman said diminutively. "I think beauty always has certain warmth about it, a softness that you'll never find at Crags' Height. In fact I often think Dominic'd be
much happier if he spent less time there. But he seems
obsessed with the place. When he lived in London he was a different person."