Man of the Trees (9 page)

‘Why, the one you always go to with your car repairs. I enquired. All right?’

He had won again. ‘I see. Thank you,’ was all she could say.

She replaced the receiver and looked at her bedside clock. She had slept later than usual, but it was still only eight-thirty. Whatever time did the man get up in the mornings? Pity his poor secretary.

She drew back her bedroom curtains and saw that it was pouring with rain. It must have rained all night. Obviously, this was a day for working indoors. An hour later, she realised the rain had ceased, but she had plenty of work to be getting on with, notably on the pictures of the forestry workers.

It was somewhere mid-morning when she heard a car draw up and the next moment the vestibule door at the back of the house was opened and Gareth’s voice floated up to her.

‘Ruth—Ruth, where are you? Are you all right?’

Without lifting her brush from the canvas she called out: ‘Up here, Gareth!’

She heard the sound of his footsteps up the ladder and then his head appeared in the aperture. She glanced up briefly, then went on with her work.

‘Called for a coffee? If so, be an angel and go down and make it. I must finish this bit.’

But he appeared to be in some state of agitation. ‘Ruth,’ he began, the rest of him appearing, ‘what on earth happened last night? I’ve just seen a motor mechanic working on your car. He says you had a breakdown last night and—’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And that Hamilton rang them up and gave them their instructions—’

‘He did,’ she said meaningfully.

‘But—but why? Why should he—’

Ruth stepped back and surveyed her work critically. ‘Be a dear and go down and put the kettle on. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes, then I’ll tell you all about it.’

But not quite all, she added to herself, colouring a little as she thought of Ross Hamilton’s kiss and the way she had almost responded. As for his suggestion that they should share the house and his mention of marriage—Gareth wouldn’t see the funny side of that at all. Come to think of it, she didn’t think it was funny, either. If indeed it was a joke, it was one she did not appreciate, she told herself.

But when she went downstairs and entered the living room for the first time that morning she received a mental vision of Ross Hamilton sitting there in the chair looking for all the world as though he lived there. She stood stock still for a moment, then as if to remove the image, went to the chair and gave the cushion in it a vigorous shake and slammed it down again.

‘Hey, what’s with you?’ Gareth’s voice came as he entered the room just in time to see her onslaught. ‘What’s the poor cushion done to deserve such treatment?’

She forced a laugh. ‘I flattened it somewhat last night, and this is the first time I’ve been in here this morning.’

‘Yes, what happened last night? You should have let me call and take you to the dance and bring you back.’

Instead of sitting in her favourite place on the hearthrug, she flopped into the chair Ross Hamilton had occupied last night, and immediately wished she hadn’t. She could almost feel him still sitting there. She had the ridiculous feeling of sitting on his knee. For a split second she savoured the idea, then got up abruptly and sat on the rug. Gareth was eyeing her oddly, waiting for her answer to his question.

‘Oh, it was just one of those things,’ she told him raggedly. ‘It can happen any time. The car just broke down and I started to walk home. Unfortunately, it was raining. Then Ross Hamilton happened to come along and he gave me a lift.’

‘Damn him!’

Ruth glanced at him in surprise. ‘You’d have rather I walked all the way home?’

‘Of course not. You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that. But it would have to be
him,
wouldn’t it?’

‘Well, if it’s any comfort to you,
I’d
rather it had been anyone else, too.’

Gareth dropped down beside her. ‘Ruth, promise me—the next time there’s a dance or anything like that, you’ll let me call and take you and bring you back,’ he said earnestly.

‘Gareth, you worry too much,’ she said evasively. ‘Anyway I don’t suppose I shall be in this house much longer. I simply must find somewhere else soon.’

Recalling Ross Hamilton’s suggestion last night that they might share the house—
or,
she felt her cheeks colour, and to cover up she picked up her coffee. He had only been joking, of course. Trying her out, possibly.

‘The truth is,’ Gareth said, giving her a keen look, ‘you don’t really want to leave this house, do you?’

She did not answer for a moment Put plainly and in such simple terms she knew that Gareth was right.

She sighed and shook her head. ‘All the same, I’ve tried—on and off to find a suitable place.’

‘Hamilton hasn’t been harassing you, has he?’

‘No-o—’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. He’s been seen with Linda Appleton again.’

‘Oh? But she wasn’t at the dance last night,’ Ruth reminded him.

‘Only because she was away from home viewing some property with her father.’

She gave him a surprised look. ‘How do you know that? You didn’t say anything about it last night.’

Gareth took a gulp of his coffee before answering. ‘I—er—came across her this morning. She told me.’

Ruth frowned. ‘This morning? But—’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Good heavens, I’ve only just realised. It’s Sunday!’

He laughed. ‘You mean you’ve only just realised it? I wondered why you were working. Of course, I know you have been known to, but—’

She put her hand to her head. ‘I’m all at sea. It must be the result of last night’s soaking. But—but that means someone at the garage had to turn out. Really, it’s too bad. The car could have stayed where it is until Monday morning. I locked it up.’

‘A bit high-handed of Hamilton, anyway, to take it upon himself to get in touch with them. If that man isn’t careful he’ll trip himself up.’

‘What exactly do you mean?’ asked Ruth, sensing he meant something more than just the business of her car.

He affected a shrug. ‘Well, as I mentioned to you before, he doesn’t seem to me to be the paragon of all the virtues he was reputed to be.’

‘Why, has something else happened?’

Gareth grunted. ‘Only thriving conifers felled to make room for weakling ash, that’s all.’

Ruth gave a puzzled frown. ‘But—but that’s incredible! Weren’t the ones for felling marked as usual?’

‘They were.’

‘And who—’

‘Our wonderful new Head, Ross Hamilton. He went round himself, took one of the men with him.’

‘But surely the men who did the felling could see—I mean, didn’t they query it?’

‘What? Query something done by the great boss himself? You must be joking.’

Somehow, Ruth was reluctant to believe that Ross Hamilton would make such a mistake. Not simply because he was a trained Forester, but she found herself not wanting to think badly of him, after all. She couldn’t think why.

‘Perhaps the man he took with him marked some by mistake,’ she offered.

Gareth’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, come on, Ruth. Why should you, of all people, be making excuses for him? He’s falling down on the job, that’s what it amounts to, and I’m sorry, but I can’t conjure up any sympathy for him. If he gets moved on again or down-graded, I shan’t shed any tears, I can tell you. I’d only be too glad to see the back of him.’ He eyed Ruth keenly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t worry me either one way or the other. It just seems odd, that’s all.’

Gareth darted her a quick glance. ‘I’m not making it all up, you know. Ask Hugh, ask any of them—’

‘I didn’t say you
were
making it up,’ answered Ruth. ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’

‘Glad to. Anyway, I really called to ask you to come out to lunch with me.’

But Ruth shook her head. ‘I’d—rather not, if you don’t mind, Gareth.’ She stood up. ‘Now that I’ve decided to make it a working day, I’d rather carry on.’

‘But you’ve got to eat!’ he protested.

‘I know. I’ll get something when I’m hungry. I usually do,’ she returned absently.

She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her painting. She was vaguely disturbed by some of the things Gareth had said and she wanted to examine them and sort herself out.

‘Sorry, Gareth. I’ll see you probably one day next week,’ she murmured, giving him a hint to go.

With ill-concealed bad grace he left, and Ruth went back to her studio. She picked up her brush and continued with the picture, trying to think what it was exactly that she was disturbed about. The trouble on the Beat, of course. Gates left open, gaps in fences undiscovered, vaporising oils used for post-emergence spraying and now, the wrong trees marked for felling. It didn’t make sense. It was certainly not good Forestry. But apart from the obvious, there was something wrong somewhere. It was almost as though—She thrust the thought from her mind, or tried to, but it persisted. It was almost as though someone was deliberately making trouble for Ross Hamilton, someone who wanted him out of the way. And the person who would be most pleased to see him go was—Gareth.

But Gareth wouldn’t, surely? Much as he had wanted the job of Head Forester, surely he wouldn’t stoop to such means? It worried her, too, that the whole business looked bad for Ross. She caught herself up. For Ross? That was the first time she had thought of him by his first name only.

She frowned. There was another thing deep in the recess of her mind. It had something to do with the fact that he had been seeing Linda Appleton again. But why should that bother her? For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even like the man, and his suggestion that he and herself might share the house had simply been his idea of a joke. So had his mention of marriage.

She flung down her brush. It was useless; she couldn’t paint any more today. She dropped her brush into turpentine and thrust her palette into its airtight box. It seemed to have stopped raining. She would go out for a walk.

But as she reached the landing the telephone rang, and she lifted the receiver to find that it was Ross Hamilton himself.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘I
have
a message for you,’ he said. ‘From the garage.’

‘Oh yes?’ she answered coolly, feeling her familiar gall rising at his interference in her affairs.

‘Yes. They can’t do your car until tomorrow.’

‘That’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Not even with your friend Gareth?’ came the swift reply in that half-amused, half-sarcastic voice.

‘If it’s any of your business—no.’

‘What
are
you doing?’ he asked curiously.

Why she did not simply slam down the receiver she did not know. ‘If you must know, I’ve been working. That is, until now.’

‘Working? On a Sunday? Don’t you know it’s supposed to be a day of rest?’

Ruth took a deep breath, then expelled it swiftly. She had better not tell him she had forgotten the fact until half way through the morning. It would give him one more thing to crow about.

‘I often work on Sundays,’ she told him.

‘Have you had any lunch?’ was his next question.

She put her hand on her stomach, suddenly realising she was hungry. She had forgotten to eat, too, and had just been going to go out for a walk.

‘No, I haven’t,’ she told him in an exasperated tone, wishing he would ring off, or that she could bring herself to do so.

‘Right. I’ll come round and take you out somewhere,’ he said. ‘Be with you in a couple of minutes.’

‘But—’

The next moment she put her hand to her ear as the harsh ping of his ringing off penetrated her eardrum.

With an angry sigh, she replaced her own. He really was the limit! Was this the way he behaved with all women—and perhaps the reason for his reputation? But why on earth did he keep homing in on her wavelength, and why want to take her out to lunch when she had shown him quite plainly that she did not like him? She was sure he did not like her, either. What was he up to? There must be some reason why—

She broke off her thoughts temporarily as she glanced down at what she was wearing—her oldest pair of jeans and one of her jazzy sweaters. She supposed she had better change if she was going out to lunch. But he needn’t think she was going to dress up for him, she said to herself as she opened the door of her wardrobe. Another pair of slacks and a different sweater would suffice. In the end she chose a pair of pale green slacks and topped it with a white polo-necked sweater, ignoring a taunting voice within herself which said she was only wearing white because he had once said the colour suited her. Actually, she had had half a mind to just go for her walk and be out when he came.

She brushed her hair and went back to her train of thought. Why had he rung her with the message from the garage? They could have rung her themselves. And why ask her out to lunch when they did nothing but fight every time they met? Was he the kind of man who liked to pursue women whom he imagined were playing hard to get? Was conquest what it was all about? Or—she frowned—was it anything to do with what Gareth had just told her—the trouble on the Pinewood Beat? Did he suspect Gareth and was hoping to get some information out of her? She simply refused to believe that Ross Hamilton was anything but a good Forester, otherwise he would never have been appointed in the first place. And whatever else she might think of him, she was sure that inefficiency was not one of his faults. He would be more likely to err the other way.

She heard the slam of a car door, and a glance through her window showed her it was Ross. She grinned and ran down stairs. Whatever his motives for asking her out—or rather
telling
her he intended to take her out—she would be more than a match for him. She went to open the front door, only to find that he had gone round to the kitchen door and let himself in.

‘Ah, you’re ready,’ he said in an approving voice, looking her up and down. ‘And very nice, too.’

‘I can do without the compliments, thank you,’ she told him in a casual voice, picking up a hooded anorak in case it rained again.

He gave her an amused glance. ‘So you don’t like compliments? You surprise me. Most women do.’

‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ she answered belligerently.

He folded his arms and eyed her speculatively. ‘I wonder. Why, I don’t know, but you seem to go out of your way to be—’ He broke off tantalisingly.

‘To be what?’ she challenged.

‘Prickly, awkward, snooty, belligerent—’

‘Then why do you want to take me out to lunch—if I’m all you say I am? Would you like me to name all your particular faults, too?’

He grinned. ‘Let’s do it over lunch. Or perhaps we could agree to a—temporary truce. I was thinking—would you care to take a trip over to the Isle of Wight? We can either take the car across or just find our way around on foot. What do you say?’

‘All right. What about swimming costumes just in case—’

‘I haven’t any.’

‘That’s all right. You can borrow some of my father’s. I’ll pop upstairs and get them—and something for myself.’

She ran back upstairs and in less than a few minutes she had collected a pair of her father’s swimming trunks, a bikini for herself and a couple of towels, putting all into a brightly coloured duffel bag. Feeling unaccountably lighthearted, she skipped down the stairs again, glad that the sun was shining. She even managed a smile at the man waiting for her in the kitchen.

‘Hm, that’s better,’ he commented, then added: ‘You look quite pretty when you smile.’

She gave him a barbed look, her only defence against a sense of disappointment.

‘And when I don’t?’ she demanded.

His lips curved in an amused smile. ‘Come on, let’s go. You said you didn’t like compliments.’

Wondering what on earth he meant by that, Ruth allowed him to lock the door and pocket the key as though he owned the place. Which, strictly speaking, he did, in a way, her conscience told her. But his back-handed compliment still rankled.

‘I do wish you wouldn’t be so condescending,’ she told him as he put the car into gear and moved off.

‘In what way was I condescending?’ he asked with a faint lifting of his dark brows.

‘You know perfectly well. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.’

His lips twitched as though he were trying not to smile, and this infuriated her. At a traffic light he turned to look at her, his eyes flicking over her face.

‘We agreed on a truce—remember?’

‘Well then, don’t make provocative remarks,’ she told him.

‘Or pay you compliments?’

She rounded on him. ‘Oh, really! You are
the
most—infuriating man I’ve ever met!’

He made no reply but this, but calmly went on driving a though she hadn’t spoken, and she wanted to hit him, to make him angry, even to make him shout at her.

She forced herself to calm down. She must be mad. Why should she, why should anyone want to do verbal battle all the time? It was ridiculous. She tried in vain to puzzle it out and so stopped trying.

As she sat in silence Ross gave her a swift, enquiring glance. ‘All right now, are you?’

‘Certainly I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’ she almost snapped.

‘O.K., O.K., sorry I asked,’ he said smoothly.

He seemed determined to goad he
r
while keeping calm himself. Well, two can play that game, she determined, and waited her chance to say something guaranteed to prick his air of puffed up condescension and amusement. ‘Where are we going for lunch?’ she asked brightly.

He couldn’t resist another snipe. ‘Ah, that’s better. There’s a place in Brockenhurst.’

‘There are quite a few,’ she informed him, taking an odd delight in doing so.

‘I’m aware of that,’ he answered. ‘What I meant was, there’s one particular place—the best, I’m told.’

‘Balmer Lawn?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, it’s certainly the most expensive. And is that where we’re going?’

‘Naturally.’

Naturally. Only the best was good enough for this man. Ruth had only been in a couple of times and its hushed atmosphere scared her half to death.

But Ross Hamilton ushered her through its portals as to the manner born. They sat in the opulent lounge and sipped an aperitif and studied the leather-bound menu brought to them by a properly aloof waiter. A little conscience-stricken that she was here to lunch with Ross Hamilton after declining to go with Gareth, Ruth was not really sorry he had chosen this particular hotel. Their prices were way above what Gareth could have afforded on his salary, so that she was hardly likely to run into him.

The lunch was out of this world. The service was excellent, the food delicious. Having only herself to cook for, Ruth had been very inclined to live on snacks. She realised that she had barely eaten a decent meal since her father died, the only exceptions being the few times she had had a meal at the home of Jill and Hugh.

She swallowed the last mouthful of delicious dessert and sipped the remains of the cool white wine, smiling across the table at her companion.

‘That was a wonderful meal. Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Hamilton.’

A glimmering of a smile relaxed his usually dour features. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. But couldn’t you bring yourself to call me Ross? Er—just to show your gratitude?’ he added.

‘Ross. Thank you.’

Saying his name gave her a peculiar feeling—one of panic, almost. She didn’t know why. She felt safer being at odds with him, somehow. She didn’t want to soften towards him. She was beginning to understand his having a reputation with women. He had some strange magnetism and she fought against being drawn towards him.

‘Shall we have our coffee in the lounge?’ he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
‘I
t’s more comfortable there.’

‘Yes, of course.’

She left off fingering the stem of her wine glass and pushed back her chair.

‘What—part of the Island do you want to visit?’ she asked him as she poured the coffee a few minutes later.

‘I’m in your hands,’ he announced. ‘I’ve never been there before. I imagine you have—living so near.’

Ruth couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t asked Linda to take him, and indeed why he hadn’t asked Linda out to lunch. Was she playing some fast and loose game between Gareth and Ross? Gareth said she had been away. Perhaps Ross didn’t know she was back.

Ruth came out of her thoughts. ‘There’s a place not far from Yarmouth, that’s where the ferry goes. It’s called Alum Bay. The cliffs and sands are all different colours. In fact, there are said to be twenty. Green, grey, red, varying shades of sand going to white and yellow—’

‘Sounds fantastic. And can you get there without a car?’

‘Oh, yes, there are frequent buses. There are connections from Yarmouth to all the major places such as Cowes, Newport, Shanklin and Sandown.’

They drove the short distance to Lymington, where Ross parked the car, and made their way to the harbour.

Ross sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Ah! Lovely sea air. There’s nothing like it.’

She glanced at his face, the rugged lines relaxed, his eyes gazing out at the sea. She knew a sudden sense of happiness; she wanted to laugh, to take his hand, to be close to him. It was nonsense. She tried to suppress her feelings, but they grew until she felt possessed. She couldn’t understand it. She was afraid of it.

Unaware of the tumult within her, Ross gazed out across the sparkling,
sun kissed
water where the distant coast of the Isle of Wight showed through a golden haze. Hundreds of boats danced on the surface nearby where they were standing, gulls wheeled overhead and all around were parents with their children, young lovers, middle-aged couples—people of all ages intent on a Sunday trip across the water.

Ross turned to Ruth and smiled, his eyes crinkling with pleasure for the first time since she had known him. Diving in at the deep end, Ruth smiled back at him. His smile broadened and he put his arm across her shoulders for all the world as though they, too, were lovers.

She took a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes in a moment of ridiculous happiness, savouring his nearness, the feel of his strong arm. Why she should be making such a thing of it, she didn’t know, but there was something about this man. He was the kind one either loved or hated, but surely one. that few women would be indifferent to.

A sudden sharp toot from the ferry’s horn startled everyone a few minutes after they had all boarded, and the vessel moved slowly out through the narrow sea-lane. Ross had found a place at the rail near the bow, and he stood, still with his arms about her as they moved ever nearer to the Island. Out at sea proper there was a cool breeze, and Ruth was glad of her anorak. Even Ross buttoned up his tweed jacket over his cream-coloured polo-necked sweater. But as they drew nearer to the shelter of the Island’s harbour, the wind moderated again, and they stepped ashore in pleasant sunshine.

Close by the harbour they caught a bus for Alum Bay, climbing to the top deck so that they could see everything. It was only a ten-minute ride, but very enjoyable. Sunshine and shadows chased each other across the meadows and the fields of green com, and along the winding switchback of a road they past through tiny villages, the gardens bright with spring flowers. Ruth had never felt so at peace, so contented. She would never have dreamed she could feel this way in the company of Ross Hamilton.