Duelling Fire. Anne Mather

I see.’ His expression hardened. ‘You mean am I the stable hand?’ He finished the whisky in his glass. ‘Without wanting to disappoint you, no. That is not my primary function.’

      Sara cradled her glass between her palms. The obvious rejoinder to this was beyond her ability, so instead she said, rather weakly: ‘Does Miss Ferrars have many horses?’

      ‘One or two,’ he replied after a moment, moving away from the bookshelves to fix himself another drink. ‘Five, to be precise. Why? Do you like horses? Do you ride?’

      ‘I have—ridden, yes.’ Sara was tentative. ‘Mostly abroad. Nothing very startling, I’m afraid.’

      ‘But you do like it? Riding, I mean?’

      Sara shrugged. ‘Quite.’ She was reluctant. ‘Why? Does Harriet?’

      ‘Harriet?’ Jude put the stopper back into the whisky decanter and surveyed her mockingly. ‘I doubt if Harriet’s ever swung her leg across a saddle,’ he replied rather crudely. ‘Outdoor sports are not her scene.’

      Sara pressed her lips together. So why had he asked her? she wondered impatiently. Surely he didn’t imagine she might consider riding with him. His arrogance was equal to it, and her eyes flashed fire as she met his cynical gaze.

      ‘You know Harriet very well, don’t you, Mr Jude?’ she declared with grim temerity. ‘I wonder if she realises how outspoken you are on her behalf.’

      Jude laughed then, a faintly derisive laugh that brought the hot colour to her cheeks. ‘Oh, I think she might,’ he retorted, with gentle irony, and the door behind him opened before Sara could ask him what he meant.

      Harriet’s appearance made Sara realise how conservative her own choice of dress had been. This evening, the older woman was wearing bronze tapered pants and a glittering sequinned jacket, with a wealth of chunky jewellery dispersed about her person. Her heels were higher than any Sara would dare to wear, but she moved easily, faltering only momentarily when her gaze met that of Jude.

      ‘Oh, you’re here,’ she murmured, her fingertips brushing almost absently over his sleeve. Then she caught sight of Sara and withdrew her hand. ‘My dear, how lovely you look! Doesn’t she, Jude?’ She turned to the man with a strange expression, almost daring him to contradict her. ‘Don’t you think Sara looks delightful?’

      ‘I think the word is irresistible,’ remarked Jude obscurely, and Sara wished she could combat his mocking insolence. But Harriet took no offence at his ironic tone, and accepted the drink he proffered her with contemplative abstraction.

      ‘It seems a shame to waste it all on a family dinner,’ she remarked, tucking her arm through Sara’s. ‘But tomorrow evening I’ve arranged a little party, so we can look forward to that.’

      ‘Oh, really …’ Sara moved her shoulders in some embarrassment. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Aunt—I mean, Harriet.’ She flushed again at the careless error. ‘I didn’t come here to—to be entertained. I just want to earn my keep in any way I can.’

      ‘You will,’ remarked Jude drily, swallowing the rest of his drink in an impatient gulp, and setting the glass down on the tray. ‘Well, I must be going, ladies. Forgive my abrupt departure, Sara, but it may reassure you not to have to eat dinner with the hired help!’

      Sara was embarrassed, but fortunately Harriet’s reaction overrode her involuntary denial. ‘Jude, you’re not going out tonight!’ It was a cry of frustration, made the more so by Harriet’s relinquishing Sara’s arm to grasp that of the man.

      ‘I’m afraid so.’ Jude was firm, and he removed Harriet’s clinging fingers from his sleeve with cool deliberation.

      Harriet sucked in her breath. ‘You’re taking the girl out?’ she exclaimed angrily, and Jude inclined his head as he combed back an unruly swathe of dark hair with impatient fingers.

      ‘Why not? She enjoys my company,’ he confirmed, evidently immune to her disapproval, and Sara, briefly meeting the hardness of those curiously light eyes, wished herself far from this room and its discomfiting revelations.

      ‘Does she?’ Harriet’s response was contemptuous, but with a great effort of will she managed to control the impulse to say any more. With her fingers locked tightly together, she gave him silent permission to leave them, and Jude cast Sara a mocking glance as he let himself indolently out of the room.

      Alone, the two women exchanged awkward smiles. Sara was embarrassed at having witnessed such a scene, and Harriet seemed absorbed with her thoughts, and less than willing to share them. If only she knew Harriet well enough to offer some advice, Sara thought indignantly, her earlier sense of repugnance giving way to compassion. If what she suspected was true, and Harriet did nurture some affection for the young man, she ought to be warned of his insolence and his disloyalty, for whatever else could one call his overbearing arrogance?

      ‘Harriet—–’

      ‘Sara—–’

      They both started to speak, and then broke off together in the same way. Sara, half glad that she had not been allowed to finish what she had started, insisted that Harriet have her say, and the older woman patted her arm before putting down her glass.

      ‘I just wanted to say you mustn’t take my arguments with Jude seriously,’ she said. ‘He and I—well, we’ve known one another a long time, and sometimes—sometimes, I’m afraid, I allow familiarity to get the better of me.’

      Sara was taken aback. ‘Honestly, Harriet, you don’t have to explain yourself to me—–’

      ‘Oh, but I do.’ Harriet was quite recovered from her upset now. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think that Jude and I don’t—understand one another.’

      ‘Really, Harriet—–’

      ‘Jude’s a little wild sometimes, that’s all,’ the older woman carried on, almost as if Sara hadn’t spoken. ‘He likes to show his independence. That’s natural. We all like to show our independence sometimes, don’t we?’

      Sara shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

      ‘Oh, but it is.’ Harriet hesitated for a moment, and then, as if having second thoughts, poured herself another drink. ‘After all, you’re going to be living here—for a while at least—and so is Jude. I don’t want you to—well, take sides.’

      The qualification of Harriet’s comment did not register right then. What did was the information that Jude actually lived here, in the house. But where? And how? And to what purpose?

      A tap at the door brought Sara round with a start, but it was only Janet come to tell her mistress that dinner was served.

      ‘Yon young devil’s gone out then, has he?’ she demanded, her sharp beady eyes searching the room. ‘Rob thought he heard the car five minutes since.’

      ‘Yes.’ Harriet finished her second Scotch and soda and returned her glass to the tray. ‘There’ll be just the two of us, Janet, so please, let’s hear no more about it.’

      Dinner was served in an attractively furnished room, with half panelled walls and a beamed ceiling. The rectangular table and heavy chairs matched their surroundings, as did the long serving cabinets and gleaming candelabra.

      During the meal, Sara made a conscious effort not to think about Jude, or of his relationship with the woman she had always regarded as her aunt. After all, her position had not significantly changed. She had come here to be Harriet’s companion, and the fact that there was someone else living in the house should make no difference. She sighed, as she helped herself to spiced chicken, creamy in its rich white sauce. Why should she feel so surprised anyway? Harriet was still a very attractive woman. It was natural that she should enjoy a man’s company. But what really disturbed Sara, if she was totally honest, was the identity of the man involved, and the fact that he must be at least fifteen years