Marrying The Enemy!. Elizabeth Power

himself as Ron, had talked her into it.

      ‘I hope you’re going to be a regular visitor here. This place could do with brightening up a bit’ The man winked at the two youths, whose boldness had disintegrated and who were both totally dumbstruck now that Alex had moved into their sphere, but a small pang of guilt assailed her. She was misleading them—all of them—she thought. Ron was basically a nice man, and how could she explain that she had no intention of staying any longer than she could help, that really she had no right—no right at all—even being here?

      ‘Your grandfather always found time to look in to see how things were doing—when he was able to get about, that was. But then when Mr York—I mean Mr Masterton—took things over—and it’s been quite a time now—he never let things slide. He’s always kept up the family tradition in keeping himself aware of what’s going on here, big as he’s become. Even though quarrying—and this quarry in particular—is just a small part of what he’s involved with nowadays, he hasn’t forgotten those who’ve been loyal to him and his uncle—and even his father before him. He still likes to keep himself involved with any problems or difficulties the men might be facing down here.’

      Which was one thing to be said for him, if nothing else! Alex conceded rather begrudgingly.

      ‘My…grandfather…’ She felt awkward even using that title to describe Page Masterton. ‘He was ill for a long time?’ She hadn’t got round to asking York just how long it had been.

      ‘Well…’ Ron pursed his lips, considering. ‘Probably about two or three months.’

      She frowned, warming her hands around the hot mug, watching the steam rise, warm and aromatic on the air. ‘But I thought you said…’

      ‘Oh, because I said about him getting about?’ Ron grimaced. ‘Sorry to confuse you. No, I meant because of his wheelchair.’

      ‘His wheelchair?’ Alex’s frown deepened. She felt utterly flummoxed. ‘Oh—oh, of course,’ she said. How could she let these people—people who surprisingly but clearly had loved and respected Page Masterton—know that she, apparent claimant to much of his estate, didn’t know that he’d been disabled, a cripple? She felt a dryness in her throat that didn’t ease even when she swallowed. There was too much she didn’t know. Too much, she was gradually realising, that she hadn’t taken enough trouble to find out.

      ‘Didn’t you find him even a little bit difficult at times?’ She smiled, hoping she’d sounded blithe.

      ‘Not at all.’ Ron’s tone denied any suggestion of it. ‘He was the best employer any man could hope to work for. With some…’ his shoulders lifted, his mouth pulling down derogatorily into even deeper lines ‘…wealth goes to their heads and they won’t talk to the likes of us. ‘Course we always knew he was in charge. There wasn’t any questioning his authority. But he was a decent bloke. And I’m pleased to say Mr York—er—Masterton—is carrying on in the same way, although he’s got double the energy and the authority. ‘Course, he’s younger. But it’s a good thing with this lot if you ask me.’

      Alex sipped the steaming coffee, her smile ruminative as she followed Ron’s gesture towards the two bashfullooking youths. It wasn’t the picture Shirley had painted of her father—or even of York.

      ‘So how long has it been exactly since Mr Mast—I mean Mr York,’ she corrected herself, ‘took over the running of things?’ Obviously it was a name used privately between the men, she realised, to distinguish between uncle and nephew. She had to find out, acquaint herself with facts she hadn’t gleaned simply from Shirley and the newspapers.

      ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

      Hearing the deep, familiar voice, she whirled around, wincing as hot coffee slopped over her hand.

      ‘That was rather careless.’

      Of course he’d noticed, and before she had realised it he was pressing a clean white handkerchief into her hand. It was slightly warm from his body heat and she knew that it would smell of his own personal scent. The scent that had lingered on her skin after he had kissed her…

      ‘Th-thanks,’ she stammered, feeling awkward, wishing he hadn’t, unable to look at him as he addressed the others.

      ‘Gary, Jason, I don’t pay you to stand around all day drinking coffee with the first nubile female that breezes in here.’ Like magic, his unquestionable authority had the two teenagers scuttling back to work. ‘Thanks for keeping her out of mischief, Ron.’ His tone held deep respect for the older man.

      When they were back in the car, however, his coat discarded on the back seat, he said scathingly, ‘Asking a lot of questions, weren’t you?’ Suspicion burned in his eyes as he pulled away with more than a fair amount of aggression, the spinning wheels kicking up dust.

      ‘Why shouldn’t I ask questions about my family if I want to?’ Alex challenged indignantly.

      He cast a sidelong glance across the car. ‘Your family?’ he sneered. ‘I don’t think there’s any way that I can be fooled into imagining that you have any right here.’ And before she could respond he said harshly, ‘And did you have to aim your questions at my employees?’

      Perhaps I shouldn’t have, she thought, studying the nails of one hand which was resting in her lap. They were filed to their usual moderate length, enhanced only by a clear, protective lacquer. Edgily, though, she said, ‘Well, I knew the sort of response I’d have got if I’d asked you.’

      He didn’t look at her as the car climbed the long road out of the quarry.

      ‘That doesn’t give you any right to go fraternising with them,’ he said. ‘Sharing their coffee-breaks, laughing and joking with them as if you were on their level. Familiarising yourself with my workforce, Alex, is, from now on, strictly taboo.’

      Alex’s nostrils flared as she watched him stop at a junction. The lush Somerset valley dropped away below them, stretching for miles, green touched with silver, from the sparkling lower fields to the thick white caps over the surrounding hills.

      ‘You hypocrite,’ she murmured under her breath.

      ‘Hypocrite?’ Now, as he pulled away, he sent a questioning glance in her direction.

      ‘Ron said what a decent guy you were. That your position hasn’t made you put yourself above them—probably because of the act you put on in trying to convince them it hasn’t,’ she couldn’t refrain from adding, although, strangely, she didn’t really believe that. Instinctively she knew that York Masterton wouldn’t ever try to be anything but the man he was. ‘Now you’re implying I shouldn’t stoop even to talking to them.’

      ‘Corrupting is the word I’d use,’ he delivered with smooth precision. ‘And I was thinking more of them—not you.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she breathed, and stared belligerently at the road. Well, what could she expect from him? she thought. He didn’t trust her. And, even if he did eventually accept her as his long-lost cousin, because of his low opinion of Shirley and the gold-digger he obviously thought she, Alex, was he’d still continue to flay her verbally at the least opportunity.

      ‘I never knew Page was in a wheelchair,’ she said tentatively.

      ‘No? Didn’t you read it somewhere?’ he muttered with scathing emphasis.

      Alex swallowed, trying not to be put off. ‘No.’

      ‘He was in it long enough,’ he rasped.

      She took a deep breath, trying again. ‘How long?’

      Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Nine—ten years.’ ‘Ten years!’ Shock made a squeak out of her voice. ‘Did—did Shirley know?’ she ventured, puzzled, after a moment.

      The striking contours of his profile hardened as he made some derisive sound through his nose. ‘I doubt very much, pretty…cousin…if the woman you claim was