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‘Okay, I can understand why you don’t want to discuss Sue’s mother—but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’ her companion continued perceptively, leaning across to take the carton of eggs Tara had removed from the fridge from her suddenly nerveless fingers. His hands were warm and hard, his fingers lean, the nails clean and well manicured. She found herself studying them in helpless fascination, strange, unnerving emotions stirred into life as she imagined those fingers against her skin, touching her… She shuddered violently and pulled away, appalled by the direction of her thoughts, shocked by their unwanted sensuality and the fear that this stranger might read it in her eyes.
‘What’s the matter?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘Sue has two parents,’ Tara retorted unwisely, breaking the eggs neatly into a bowl. A mother and a father,’ she emphasised,
‘And?’ One dark eyebrow rose interrogatively, the blue eyes narrowed; concentrating on her face, suddenly steely.
‘And…’ Heavens, why did she feel like this, so awkward and clumsy, lost for words in front of this intimidating man?
‘And she misses her father,’ Tara said huskily at last. ‘She misses him and loves him, and he must know what her mother is doing to her, but he makes no effort to intervene.’
‘Go on…’ She had captured his attention now and the blue eyes had hardened. Her courage deserted her. She swallowed, wishing she had never spoken.
‘You were saying,’ the hard voice continued, ‘Sue misses her f…’ he paused and then finished smoothly, ‘her father. You have a very revealing face, Tara, and it tells me that you don’t altogether approve of Sue’s father.’
‘She needs him,’ Tara said quietly, ‘but he’s never here. He lets her mother bully and hurt her. Oh, I don’t suppose he can help it,’ she added quickly. ‘It can’t be easy for a gentle-natured man to stand up to someone like Mrs…’ Her voice faded gently and she bit down hard on the tremulous softness of her lip, wishing she had never allowed herself to be dragged into this conversation.
‘Is that how Sue describes her father?’ Tara’s companion asked in an odd tone. ‘As weak and uncaring?’
Once more Tara’s expression betrayed her, and a vivid flush stained her skin, making it unnecessary for her to admit that she had drawn her own conclusions from Sue’s adoring remarks about the father who seemed to have so little time to spend with her.
‘Sue loves him very much,’ she murmured haltingly. ‘I’d better go back to her. Who shall I say?’ She was remembering suddenly the key he had shown her.
He smiled sardonically, replacing the empty glass and getting to his feet. ‘Sorry, I’m forgetting the formalities, aren’t I? I haven’t introduced myself. James Harvey,’ he told her briefly, watching the realisation dawning in her eyes. ‘That’s right,’ he told her softly. ‘Sue’s weak uncaring father—or rather stepfather. Didn’t it ever occur to you when you were jumping to all those rash decisions that stepfathers have to tread very warily with children who aren’t legally theirs?’
Stepfather! He was Sue’s stepfather! A mass of conflicting emotions seized her, paramount among which was a sense of sick disbelief that this man could actually be ma
rried to Sue’s mother, combined with a bitter chagrin that she had been stupid enough to voice her opinions of him to his face so blithely.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
For the first time Tara saw the harsh features relax and glimpsed behind the austerity the compassion which must have drawn Sue to him. But why had she never told her that he was her stepfather? Did she really need to ask herself that question? Tara thought wryly, remembering Sue’s vulnerability.
‘Don’t wake Sue up now,’ James Harvey continued. ‘I’m half dead from the flight and all I want right now is a few hours’ sleep. Come on.’ He paused, hanging back to allow her to precede him through the kitchen door, but as she drew level with him Tara stumbled. His right hand shot out grasping her firmly round the waist. Tara could feel the hard bite of his fingers against the soft flesh of her ribcage, and her heart started to race and jerk, her inarticulate apology lost in the darkness as James Harvey switched off the light, withdrawing the support of his hand. As she turned away his fingertips brushed accidentally against the taut curve of her breast, and Tara shuddered deeply without understanding the violence of her reaction.
He was Sue’s stepfather, for heaven’s sake, she reminded herself, hating her body’s momentary physical response to his accidental touch.
They walked upstairs together, James leaving her on the landing making his way to the suite of rooms occupied by Mrs Harvey when she was at the Manor. It was a long time before Tara fell asleep again.
In the days that followed and she got to know James better Tara gradually discovered that beneath the sensuality and cynicism which had been the two things about him which had struck her most at their first meeting did indeed lie the compassion she had expected from Sue’s description. She also learned something about herself, something she would have given much not to learn and something which kept her awake at night and unable to concentrate on her school work during the day; she was terrifyingly attracted to Sue’s stepfather. Teenage infatuations and crushes had bypassed Tara completely, so that her feelings for James came as an abrupt and frightening shock; as much for their strength as for their sensuality. She constantly caught herself daydreaming about how it would feel to be held in his arms, to be kissed by his hard male mouth, her body tortured into fierce passion by the expertise of his lovemaking. Such thoughts disturbed and alarmed her, tormenting her to the point where she felt selfconscious and tonguetied in his presence, the disturbed state of her mind betrayed by the swift colouring of her skin whenever they met. Sue, lost in the pleasure of having his sole attention, seemed unaware of her friend’s reaction, and Tara alternately longed for and yet dreaded Sue’s mother’s return.
Sue and James seldom mentioned her, and Tara suspected that the marriage was not a happy one. Why had James married Hilary? Tara often wondered. He was considerably younger than Hilary, an immensely attractive and virile man in his late twenties with a successful business which he had apparently inherited from his uncle. Her mind refused to accept that James might love Hilary. So why had he married her? Tara was not as naïve as her classmates liked to think. For one thing, she was extremely widely read and by no means ignorant of the power that wealth wielded, and yet everything within her revolted against the idea of James marrying Hilary for financial gain. It was none of her business, she reminded herself, firmly closing the door on her doubts, concentrating instead on the heady pleasure of the increasingly precious time she spent with James. That Sue was always there as well did not detract from her enjoyment. Her burgeoning love for James was her own secret and she meant to keep it that way. James treated her much as he treated Sue, although sometimes there was a look in his eyes when they rested on her that made the blood beat faster in her veins, frightening her that he might guess how she felt about him. On those occasions she was more careful than ever not to betray herself.
One afternoon when the two girls had cycled back to Sue’s house together after school, Tara found herself alone with James when Sue was taking a transatlantic call from her mother. Tara’s own mother was beginning to complain about the amount of time Tara was spending with Sue, reminding Tara that she had important A levels coming up and adding bitingly that it was a fine thing indeed when a man married a woman close on ten years his senior and that she had no need to guess the reason why.
Her mother seemed to have taken an intense dislike to James. Tara had noticed it on the first occasion that James had run her home—the morning after his arrival it had been, and when she saw his lean frame uncurling itself from the interior of the Porsche car, Tara’s mother’s mouth had turned down angrily, her eyes hard and watchful.
‘How’s the studying coming along?’ James asked casually reaching for the knot in his tie and loosening it tiredly. It was June and the whole month had been unusually warm. Tara’s skin had been turned creamy gold by the sun, a tiny smattering of freckles marching across the bridge of her nose.
‘Fine,’ she responded unenthusiastically, absurdly conscious of the lean column of James’s throat where his unbuttoned shirt revealed the warm flesh. Her breath seemed to be oddly constricted in her throat, tiny frissons of awareness shivering over her skin bringing out tiny goosebumps on her arms.
James frowned, warm brown fingers curling round her upper arm as he asked frowningly, ‘Cold?’
With his fingers circling her skin, the warm male scent of him tantalising her nostrils, and her eyes on a level with the darkly curling body hair exposed by the opening of his shirt, it was as much as Tara could do to shake her head.
‘So what are these?’ Tara shivered as James’s eyes rested on the small goosebumps. ‘Tara?’
James’s hands left her arm to grip her shoulder and Tara knew that he must be able to feel the way her body trembled. Uncertainty and fear mingled in the eyes she kept averted from him, her one fear that he might guess the truth.
