Dragon's Lair (12 page)

least. All the memories she had evoked over the past few days had

done was to revive an ache in her heart that she thought had been

stilled for ever. 'And I'm here on business—strictly business.'

'Ah yes,' he said meditatively. 'These mythical papers from your

uncle.'

'They're far from mythical!' She looked up indignantly. 'I can fetch

them if you wish and then ...'

'No, no.' Impatiently he waved her back into her seat. 'I'm not that

interested. You can give me the gist of them, surely?'

It was an unpromising start, Davina thought ruefully. She said

slowly, 'Well, apart from anything else, Uncle Philip still has an

option on your next book. The American market is clamouring for

it, and he'd like to know when he can expect to see the manuscript.'

He said softly, 'Did he send you here to ask that? I would have

thought an approach to my agent would have been more

appropriate.'

Again she did not meet his eyes. 'Alec seemed to have no more idea

of what you were doing than anyone else.'

He shrugged. 'Then that's obviously the answer. I'm not doing

anything. Your uncle will just have to wave his option goodbye and

tell the Americans there isn't going to be another book. Right?'

Davina got to her feet. 'It's far from right! You're a writer, Gethyn,

and a good one. You can't just abandon a talent like that.'

'Watch me,' he said laconically.

'No!' She faced him her eyes blazing. 'You've created a public for

yourself—a public that's waiting eagerly for more of your work.

You can't just—betray them. It isn't ethical.'

'What an impassioned plea.' His voice was cold. 'Is your concern

really with my readers or with Hanson Greer whose profits might

show a decline without my continued services?'

'That's a foul thing to say,' she said jerkily. 'If that's what you

believe, then break your contract. Offer your book somewhere else.

Uncle Philip won't stop you.'

'I don't think he'd thank you for that suggestion. Philip Greer's a

businessman, not a dewy-eyed philanthropist. Oh, don't get me

wrong.' He lifted a silencing hand as she began an instinctive

protest. 'I like your uncle. Of all the members of your family I've

met, he's given me the least trouble,' he added cynically. 'But you'll

never convince me he's going to quietly watch me change horses in

midstream without lifting a finger to stop me. Anyway,' he gave a

brief sigh, 'the question is purely academic. There is no book.'

She stared at him, her brows drawn together perplexedly. 'But there

was,' she began. 'You were writing one in the flat—just

before—you went to America.' She had been going to say 'just

before you left me' and wondered uneasily if he was aware of her

hasty substitution of words.

'What a memory,' he said admiringly. 'I'm afraid that particular piece

of work died on me, and so did the spirit that moved it.'

She said haltingly, 'But perhaps if you looked at it again —it might

have possibilities. That does work sometimes, you know—to give

something a breathing space.'

'Is that a fact?' he mocked. 'Thus speaks the daughter of a

publishing house. I always did wonder what you had in your veins

instead of blood, Davina. It must have been printer's ink.'

The cruelty in his voice made her shrink inwardly. She forced

herself to look at him, to lift her chin. She said deliberately, 'But

what else did you expect, Gethyn? I did warn you that I was here

on business.'

'Then I'm afraid your journey has been unnecessary,' he said, and

his tone sounded bored. 'My writing career is over. I have other

interests now.'

'So I've heard.' She dropped back wearily on to her chair. 'A

woollen mill.'

'You sound disapproving. Yet the weaving of cloth is an older craft

than the weaving of words, and probably far more respectable.' He

came away from the doorway and walked across to the table, taking

the chair opposite to her. 'Besides, locally, we need the industry,

even on this small scale.'

'You said my uncle wasn't a philanthropist. It isn't exactly the role

I'd envisaged for you either,' she said coolly, and he grinned.

'Philanthropy doesn't enter into it, girl. Other mills make a profit, so

why shouldn't mine? They have a strong tourist appeal too.'

'And you really think you'll be satisfied with that?' she asked almost

contemptuously. 'Selling tweed and tapestry to holidaymakers in

this backwater?'

His brows rose. 'I'm sorry you have such a low opinion of it. I spent

a holiday here myself once when I was a kid. Compared to the

back-to-back houses and the slagheaps, it seemed like paradise on

earth, and I knew then it was the environment I wanted for my own

children.'

'Even with snakes on the mountainside,' she said with a wintry

smile.

'Every paradise has its serpent. That's inevitable,' he said curtly.

Davina was silent. His casual reference to the possibility of children

had discomfited her. It showed very clearly that he was looking

ahead, beyond their broken marriage. She felt pain lash at her. How

could he speak so casually when he knew that she had suffered all

the heartbreak of an early miscarriage? That if things had been

different and the baby had lived, it would have been walking by

now—saying the first words which make those early years of the

first-born so uniquely precious to its parents. She felt tears scalding

behind her lids and dammed them back with a sheer effort of will.

Gethyn might have been able to dismiss the conception and loss of

their child from his mind, but she could not, and she swore to

herself that she would never let him see the hurt he had dealt her.

She said tonelessly, 'I have something else to tell you. Apparently

your last American tour was such an incredible success, they would

like you to undertake another.'

For a moment he stared at her, then he began to laugh.
'Duw,

Davina. You never give up, do you? What are you going to tell me

now—that I have a duty to the television networks and the luncheon

clubs?'

She raised her eyebrows. 'You can't pretend you didn't enjoy the

last one.' She hoped the bitterness underlying her words would

escape him.

'Why should I pretend?' he shrugged. 'Being feted and lionised on

that scale is like balm to the spirit, and I was feeling pretty raw

when I arrived in New York—for reasons I'm sure you'd rather we

didn't go into.'

'In spite of that, it didn't take you long to find consolation,' she

flashed, and wished passionately that the words were unsaid.

'Beware, Davina,' he said mockingly. 'A comment like that might

make a more conceited man think you'd been jealous, and we both

know that isn't true—don't we, lovely?' His voice had dropped

almost to a whisper.

She moistened her lips desperately. 'You're being quite ridiculous.

I—I think I'll go to bed now.' She pushed her chair back scraping it

across the floor and stood up. 'I'll be leaving first thing in the

morning,'

'Will you indeed?' He smiled faintly. 'Without even giving me time

to consider your—interesting proposition? What would your uncle

say?'

She paused, her attention arrested, in some bewilderment. 'Are you

telling me that you—might be interested after all?'

'In the tour—yes.' He rocked back on his chair, his face enigmatic.

'The money would be useful for what I want to do here. Times are

hard, you know. You could give me a couple of days to think it

over, couldn't you? I'm sure your uncle would spare you for that.'

She bit her lip. In the circumstances, she knew Uncle Philip would

encourage her to stay for as long as was necessary, and Gethyn

knew it too. Besides, if she stayed, she might even be able to

achieve her primary purpose for coming here and discuss the

divorce with him.

'Or maybe you're not the businesswoman you think,' his taunting

voice went on. 'I'm sure your uncle wouldn't run out on a deal

simply because the going got rough.' His voice roughened. 'But

that's always been your way, hasn't it,
cariad?
You lack staying

power.'

'You say that—you dare to say that?' Her temper was rising

recklessly. 'It was you that ran out on me, remember?'

'I've forgotten nothing.' He was on his feet too. 'It's all filed

away—every look, every gesture, every movement.' His eyes went

over her suddenly and she gasped. She might have been naked

under his blazing glance. 'Every inch too.' He laughed savagely as

he saw her face. 'Don't look so terrified, Davina. That's one thing

two years of nothing but memories can do for you—it renders you

immune. Now get along to bed—my bed—and sleep well. You can,

for I won't be around to disturb your chaste slumbers.'

She stared at him, speechless with rage, her breasts rising and

falling under the impetus of her emotions, then she spun on her heel

and almost ran to the door. She wrenched at the handle, obsessed

with the idea that in spite of what he said, he was going to come

after her—try to stop her, but only his voice followed her.

'I advise you to stick around, Davina, in spite of everything. Who

knows? You might get everything you came here for. You're not the

only one who wants to be free— or did I forget to mention I'm

planning to get married again?'

For a moment she was motionless, rooted to the spot. Then, forcing

her suddenly nerveless limbs to action, she very quietly opened the

door and walked out into the darkened hall. Moving like an

automaton, she found her way upstairs to the empty bedroom and

went in.

There was a key in the lock, old and stiff, but her fingers forced it

to turn and when it was done, she leaned against the panels of the

door as if the effort had exhausted her, closing her eyes wearily.

But this is what you wanted, a small insistent voice inside her

reminded her. That is what you came all this way to hear. He's

going to let you have your divorce.

So there was no reason—none at all—why she should suddenly feel

so desolate.

The first thing she noticed when she awoke in the morning was that

everything looked grey. But as she lifted herself up on her elbow,

pushing her hair back from her face, she realised that this was no

reflection of her emotional state, but simply that the weather had

changed during the night and it was raining. The second thing that

occurred to her was that someone was knocking with a certain

amount of impatience on her bedroom door and rattling the handle.

'Oh.' Davina threw back the covers and slid her feet to the floor.

'Just a minute,' she called. 'I'm coming!'

She unlocked the door. Rhiannon was standing on the threshold,

holding a cup of tea. She looked furious.

'What kind of daft game d'you call that—locking your door?' she

demanded, thrusting the cup at Davina so that some of the tea

spilled into the saucer. 'Those ways may do in London, but we have

no call to lock our doors round here. We aren't thieves.'

Davina met her angry look coolly. 'I never intended to suggest any

such thing,' she said. 'Force of habit, I suppose.'

Before weariness had overcome her the previous night, she had lain

awake for nearly an hour, Gethyn's parting words beating in her

brain. She had been forced to the conclusion that in spite of what

Huw Morgan might think, Rhiannon's feelings for Gethyn were not

one-sided in the least. He had said he intended to marry again, and

if there was another woman in his life besides his young cousin,

surely local gossip would have picked up the fact by now. So all the

indications were that he meant to marry Rhiannon, and it was

essential that she conceal all traces of her confused and emotional

state in Rhiannon's presence, and especially the motives that had

driven her to lock her door the previous night.

For a long time she had listened for the sound of Gethyn coming up

to bed, but she had heard nothing. Finally it occurred to her that she

had no idea where Rhiannon's room was. If that was Gethyn's

destination, and it was on the other side of the house, then it was no

wonder she had not heard him, she thought. Certainly Rhiannon did

not look as if she had slept very much—there were shadows under

her eyes—but neither did she have the supposedly blissful look of a