Shadow Of Desire. Sara Craven

after an old house in a backwater.’

      ‘I like housework,’ she protested. ‘And I don’t have the heavy cleaning to do. Mrs Petty does that.’

      ‘That’s hardly the point. You hardly fit the conventional image of a housekeeper.’ He gave the wall where the casserole had landed a long look. ‘An Olympic discus thrower, maybe.’

      ‘Haven’t you heard about the high level of unemployment?’ she tried to speak lightly. ‘You take what you can get and are thankful these days.’

      ‘And this was the best you could get?’ His glance was quizzical.

      ‘We needed somewhere to live,’ she said simply. ‘My father was heavily in debt when he died. Everything had to go, including our home. It isn’t easy finding a place when there’s a child involved.’

      ‘The young brother. How old is he?’

      ‘Eleven. And my great-aunt’s in her seventies. She would have—she offered to go into a home, but she’d have hated it. And they wanted to put Tim in care.’ She felt herself begin to shake at the old remembered nightmare. ‘I had to find an answer, and this seemed to be it.’

      ‘And have you no other family—no one who would have helped?’

      ‘I have an older sister,’ she admitted, realising with a shock that she had not given Barbie a thought until that moment. ‘She’s an actress. She’s appearing in a new play in the West End.’

      ‘Oh? Which one?’

      Ginny wrinkled her nose in an effort to remember. ‘I think it’s called A Bird in the Hand.’

      ‘Oh, that one.’ His tone was neutral; Ginny couldn’t figure whether he spoke in praise or blame. ‘What’s your sister’s name? What’s yours, come to that? I don’t think Mrs Lanyon mentioned it.’

      ‘I don’t suppose she did,’ Ginny said wearily. ‘I’m Ginevra Clayton. My sister’s stage name is Barbie Nicholas—it was our mother’s maiden name,’ she added.

      ‘Yours would make a good stage name too.’

      ‘If I had any ambitions in that direction—and the talent to go with it, which I haven’t.’

      ‘No? Then in which direction do your ambitions lie, Miss Ginevra Clayton? I assume you don’t mean to spend your days as a junior Mrs Danvers. Marriage, I suppose, when the right man comes along.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she said, also trying for a neutral tone, but she failed because involuntarily an image of Toby filled her mind, and the colour flared in her cheeks.

      There was a pause, then he said very drily, ‘The more I hear, the more convinced I am that I should send you packing. Couldn’t this sister of yours put you up until you find somewhere?’

      ‘No.’ Her eyes sought his in dismay, but there was nothing for her comfort in his dark face. There was a remoteness about him, and even a suppressed anger suddenly.

      She said in a subdued tone, ‘I’d better be going. Aunt Mary will be wondering where I am. Shall—shall I finish making your bed before I go?’

      ‘I think I can manage to add tie quilt unaided,’ he said flatly.

      ‘Very well.’ Ginny lifted her chin. ‘I’ll be over in the morning to see to the fires. Whatever you ultimately decide about me I—I shall continue to carry out the duties I’m being paid for until I leave.’

      ‘Bravo,’ he approved sardonically. ‘I doubt if even the actress sister could have delivered that little speech without a rehearsal. Perhaps you should reconsider where your talents lie, Ginevra.’

      It was a shock to hear her name on his lips. Under the circumstances it seemed an unbearable intimacy, and she stiffened. She had never felt so torn. Half of her mind wanted to hang on grimly to what security she had, no matter what the cost. The other half longed to damn him to hell and vanish into the night, never to return. But it was hateful to know that her immediate future depended on his whim.

      She forced her lips to move in the semblance of a smile.

      ‘Goodnight, Mr Hendrick.’

      ‘Goodnight,’ he returned almost absently.

      Aunt Mary was waiting in the kitchen, her thin face anxious when Ginny returned.

      ‘My dear child, wherever have you been? Your supper will be ruined. Timothy and I finished long ago.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ginny assured her almost mechanically. ‘I—I’ve been meeting my employer—the new tenant.’

      Aunt Mary frowned a little. ‘What are you talking about, my dear? Toby is the tenant.’

      ‘Apparently not,’ Ginny said ruefully. ‘He’s just a cousin who’s been allowed to use the place while Mr Hendrick has been abroad.’

      ‘I see. How strange that Toby didn’t see fit to acquaint you of the fact.’

      ‘I expect he thought it wasn’t important.’ Ginny began on her supper reluctantly. Her appetite seemed to have completely deserted her.

      Aunt Mary said, ‘Hmm,’ rather sceptically, and busied herself making a fresh pot of tea which she carried over to the table.

      ‘And what’s the new tenant like?’ she asked, pouring the tea.

      ‘He’s an arrogant, unpleasant, unfeeling swine!’

      ‘Ginevra!’ her aunt gasped.

      ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Mary.’ Ginny sounded totally unrepentant. ‘But you did ask me.’

      ‘I gather the gentleman has been unfortunate to arouse your displeasure, and rather early in the acquaintance.’

      ‘Whatever he is, he’s no gentleman.’ Ginny’s eyes smouldered as she remembered the embarrassment of their encounter in the bedroom. ‘He didn’t believe I was the housekeeper, and when I did convince him, he was damned rude about it.’ She gave a long, shaky sigh. ‘Oh, Aunt Mary, I’m afraid I’ve made such a mess of it all. I—I’m afraid we may have to leave here.’ And quite suddenly and unexpectedly she laid down her fork and burst into tears.

      It was rather like finding that you had slipped back into childhood again. Before many minutes had passed she found rather dazedly that she was upstairs in her room, being put to bed by Aunt Mary. She was tucked in so tightly she could hardly move, a hot water bottle was placed at her feet and a handkerchief smelling of eau de cologne was put gently into her hand. Later, a glass of hot milk appeared which she drank obediently, then, worn out with worry and crying, she fell asleep.

      She awoke the following morning later than usual, and exclaimed with horror. She had given her word that she would carry out her duties over at the house, and she was going to be late. She flung on the first clothes which came to hand and raced downstairs. If she followed her usual route across the courtyard, he would see her coming, she thought, but there was another way into the main part of the house. She guessed that once the traditional green baize door had divided the servants’ wing from the family rooms, but now the door was a much more solid oaken affair, with a key and bolts on her side only. If she went that way, she might just be able to make Max Hendrick dunk that she had arrived for work at the correct time.

      She felt like a criminal as she unbolted the door and turned the key silently in the lock. Her soft-soled shoes made no noise as she crept along the passage and into the kitchen. Her heart sank a little as she looked round. The room was empty, but the range had been stoked, and there were signs that breakfast had been prepared and cleared away. She had been hoping that Max Hendrick might also have overslept. So where was he now? she wondered. Sitting in that chilly study behind the electric typewriter, wondering why his fire wasn’t lit?

      She marched along to the study and opened the door after a perfunctory knock. She had a reluctant apology already trembling on her lips,