The Escape (Survivor's Club) (37 page)

And every moment of the time she thought of Ben driving away from the inn. But which direction would he have taken? She had not asked. That thought brought a moment of foolish panic. She did not even know where he was going. And where was he now, at this moment? How was he feeling? Was he thinking of her? Or had he turned his thoughts forward to the future, eager to begin something new, relieved to be away from
here and away from her? Or, like her, was he thinking of the future and of her at the same time?

Would the pain lessen as time went on? But of course it would. And why was she even feeling pain? They had had a brief affair. They had agreed before it began that it would last just a week. She did not want him to stay. And he certainly would not want it. It was merely a leftover sexual passion she was feeling. Of course it would go away after a few days.

By the middle of the morning she could stay in the cottage no longer. She pulled on her old bonnet, called to Tramp, who was busy gnawing on an old soup bone in the kitchen, and went out. She hesitated only a moment at the garden gate before turning in the direction of the beach. There was no point in avoiding it unless she intended to do so for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, it felt painfully bleak to step through the gap between the rocks and onto the sand after removing her shoes.

She found a piece of driftwood to throw for Tramp and strolled along the top of the beach, trying to keep her eyes off the rock she had come to think of as
theirs
. She was on her way back, not far from the gap, when Ben stepped through it. She stopped, wondering for a dizzying moment if she was imagining him. And then she was filled with an unreasoning surge of hope.

“I thought you would have been long on your way by now,” she cried, hurrying toward him.

“I had breakfast with your grandfather,” he said. “He came to the inn.”

She stopped abruptly while Tramp came tearing up without his driftwood and panted and wagged his tail in front of Ben.

“Why?” she asked.

“He has offered me employment,” he said.

“What?”

“As manager of all his enterprises,” he said. “As someone to oversee them as he withdraws gradually into retirement.”

She gazed at him as anger balled inside her.

“You do not like the sound of it.” He half smiled.

“It is an
insult
,” she said. “You are a gentleman, a baronet. You have property and fortune. He is a—a
coal miner.”

“An owner,” he said. “There is a difference.”

“He cannot be serious,” she said. “Did you tell him how insulted you were? Did you give him the set-down of his life? It is time
somebody
did.”

“I did not feel insulted.”

“And why
you
?” she asked. “Does he believe that by offering you employment he will be currying favor with me?”

She glared. He half smiled.

And a thought struck her.

“Why have you not set out on your journey?” she asked him. “Why did you come?”

“To say goodbye,” he said. “I had been delayed anyway and thought another hour would make no great difference. Goodbye, Samantha. Try not to think too hardly of him.”

She watched him turn and make his way back through the gap and move in the direction of the cottage. Tramp started to go after him and then turned to stare at her, his tail waving, waiting for her to come too.

To say goodbye
.

I had been delayed anyway and thought another hour would make no great difference
.

She went hurrying after him and caught up with him just above the rock where she had left her shoes.

“You came to tell me, did you not?” she said. “You have accepted his offer.”

“I have not,” he said. “I will be leaving as planned within the hour.”

“Oh, Ben,” she said, setting a hand on his arm. “Come to the house and sit down. Mrs. Price will bring us some tea. You came to ask me what I thought, then. You would not accept without my approval. Am I right?”

“I
will
not accept without your approval,” he said. “And you do not approve. That is the end of the matter.”

“No, it is not,” she said with a sigh as they reached the garden gate and she held it open for him. “I was insulted for you. But you were not insulted. You must tell me why not. And you must tell me why on earth you would consider taking employment with the owner of a coal mine.”

“Coal mines,” he said. “And ironworks.”

They went into the house, and Samantha went back to the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Price while he went on his way to the sitting room. It was only as she joined him there that it struck her fully
—he was still here
. She had thought never to see him again, but here he was seated in his usual chair, his canes propped beside it.

“Your grandfather claims to be a good judge of character,” he told her. “He believes I have the abilities and experience and qualities of character he has been looking for in an overseer. Apart from all the knowledge and experience I would have to acquire, being in charge of everything would have certain similarities to being a military officer.”

“All you ever wanted to do in life,” she said softly.

“And,” he said, “it is something I could do despite my disability.”

“Yes,” she said.

“I would not be here to trouble you,” he said. “I would have to live and work in Swansea and the Rhondda Valley.
I need never come here again. If I accept the offer, I will be leaving immediately, just as I planned anyway.”

“Then why,” she asked him, “did you need my approval?”

“I would be working for your grandfather,” he said, “from whom you may choose to remain estranged. And … Samantha, you are his heir. If he were to die suddenly, I might be working for
you
until a replacement could be found.”

She sat back in her chair and gripped the arms. Her grandfather’s
heir
? But she would think of that later.

“Oh, Ben,” she said, “this is something you really want to do, is it not? And now I can see why. It was blind of me not to realize it immediately. It is just the sort of thing for which you have been searching.”

“I’ll not do it,” he said, “if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“Why
did
he offer you this?” she asked, frowning. “Was it just on this instinct he says he has to judge character? Or does it have something to do with me?”

He looked steadily back at her for a few silent moments. “He wants me to do it on a trial basis for a few months,” he said, “so that we can both decide if I am the right man for the job. He wants me to come to Cartref close to Christmas to discuss it and to draw up a contract if we both wish for it.”

She might see him again, then?

“Before setting the month,” he said, “he asked when your husband had died last year.”

She thought a moment. “My year of mourning will be over by then.”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Price came in with the tray, and Samantha got to her feet to cross to the window.

“He is manipulating us,” she said when the housekeeper had left.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe he is, though it is a benevolent type of manipulation. He wants me gone without delay. I daresay he is afraid of what gossip might do to you. At the same time, he believes we have feelings for each other—both of us.”

She turned her head to look back at him.

“And he genuinely believes I am the right man for the job,” he said.

“
Do
we have feelings for each other?” she asked.

“I cannot answer for you,” he said. “But yes, I have feelings.”

She waited, but he did not say what those feelings were.

“By Christmas,” she said, “everything will have changed—for you and for me.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But nothing would work now, would it?”

Christmas was an eternity in the future. But not as long as his going away altogether and never coming back.

“You must accept the employment, Ben,” she said. “With my approval and blessing. I believe it will work wonderfully for you, though your family will think you have taken leave of your senses when they know. Go and be happy. And we will let Christmas take care of itself, shall we?”

“Yes. No commitments. No obligations.”

He got to his feet, and she noticed that she had not even poured the tea.

“Ben.” She hurried toward him, and he cast aside his canes in order to wrap his arms about her. “Oh, Ben. Be happy.”

“And you,” he said, his breath warm against her ear, his arms like iron bands around her.

They did not kiss.

And then he took up his canes again and made his way to the door.

“Shall I come out to the barn to see you on your way?” she asked.

“No.” He did not turn to look at her, but he smoothed a hand over Tramp’s head. “Take care of her, you great wretch of a hound.”

Tramp stood with his nose against the door after Ben had closed it on the other side, his tail wagging.

Samantha spread both hands over her face and drew a deep breath.

I have feelings
.

She had not even said that much to him in reply.

P
erhaps the most surprising and significant thing about the next few months, Ben thought later as he looked back on them, was that he commissioned a wheeled chair to be made for himself, one with which he could propel himself about. He used it a great deal and wondered why he had not done it years ago. He had been too stubborn, of course, to give up his dream of walking unassisted again. And he could not really fault himself for that dream. Without it he probably would not have walked at all ever again. But he was very much more mobile in his chair. In fact, it set him free.

He no longer thought of himself as crippled. He could ride, he could move about freely with his chair, he could and did walk, and he could swim. He tried to do it every day when there was the sea or a lake close by.

He enjoyed those months immensely despite all the hard work that was involved—or perhaps because of it. He started from a position of total ignorance and ended up knowing as much about the working of the mines and ironworks as anyone, his employer included. And his work was indeed the next best thing to being back with his regiment. He had always liked people. And he had always had a gift for getting them to like him, even those who were subordinate to him and subject to his command. He might well have been resented in his new role. He was English, he was of the privileged classes, he was half crippled, he was lamentably ignorant and inexperienced.
And perhaps he
was
resented at the beginning. Wisely, he did not worry about whether he was popular or not. He did not set about being liked. And perhaps that was the secret of his success. For respect, liking, and loyalty came gradually as he earned them.

Mr. Bevan spent a good deal of time with him. Ben liked him and learned from him. Ben had ideas of his own too, mainly about transportation and shipping, for which Bevan hired outside companies at great expense. But he kept those ideas to himself at this early stage of his career. This was the time to listen and learn.

He did not write to any of his family or friends for several months. He did not want to hear or be influenced by their opinions on what he was doing. They were bound to be negative. And he did not want to confide in anyone until he was more certain about his long-term future. There was the whole question of Samantha too. He did not want to tell anyone about her until there was something to tell—if there ever was anything. He had told her he had feelings for her. She had not said she returned those feelings. And he had not been specific about his own.

He heard very little about her during those months. He made it a point never to ask Bevan about her, and sometimes he thought the man deliberately refrained from mentioning her himself. There were only a few stray snippets of information, tantalizing in their very brevity. She had had a pianoforte delivered to the cottage, Bevan mentioned on one occasion. How did he know? Had he seen the instrument? Or had someone told him about it? She had attended an assembly at the village inn in celebration of the harvest, but she had worn lavender to indicate mourning and had refused to dance. But had Bevan seen her there? Or had he been told?

Ben did not even know if she had a relationship with
her grandfather. He did not know if time had erased him from her mind, or if she was glad he was gone. As for him, he had fallen in love during those brief weeks he had spent with her, and he remained in love, as he never had with any woman before.

Finally, in early November, Ben wrote three letters—to Calvin, to Beatrice, and to George at Penderris Hall. Calvin wrote back immediately and with a warmth Ben found surprising and rather touching. He and Julia had been frantic with worry, Calvin had written. Beatrice had informed them that he had gone traveling in Scotland, but as time had gone on and no one heard from him, they had been sick with apprehension, for they would not know where to begin looking for him if he never returned, and Scotland was a large country. Yet all the time he had been in Wales. He gave no opinion of what Ben had been doing with his time. His letter was filled with obvious relief over his brother’s safety and brief details of the harvest at Kenelston and other estate matters.