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Petra was frozen, transfixed to the spot. She heard Jared's voice again, quieter this time, a soft laugh, then there was silence. Realising that she was staring blank-eyed at one glossy leaf of the ivy that covered her cottage wall, and terrified suddenly that they might think she was eavesdropping, she snatched up the cat basket and went on down her path. Inside, she dumped her case, then opened the lid of Sam's wicker prison. The big cat leapt out with an indignant yowl.
'All right, baby, we're home now. I've to get you some food.'
But she spoke mechanically and when she went to open the tin of cat food her hand was shaking. It was only then that she registered that not just her fingers but her whole body was trembling uncontrollable. Very carefully she tipped the meat into Sam's dish and set it down on the floor but as she slowly straightened up a spasm of nausea shot through her so that she had to press the back of her hand hard against her mouth to quell it.
What on earth was the matter with her? She asked herself angrily. After all, she knew - had known for years - that Jared was a highly sexed male animal, so in that case she shouldn't be in the least bit surprised, should she?
And anyways, what was it to her if he chose to entertain a different young woman in his bed every night of the year? If she hadn't stoop up to him the other evening on his doorstep, hadn't torn herself away from his drugging kisses, she would surely have been the next in a very long line. In fact, maybe it was only because he'd drawn a blank with her that he'd summoned this one.
And she, of course, had come running.
— all the way across the Atlantic...
The phone, crashing into her thoughts, was a welcome relief, but even so for a moment she barely recognised the voice.
'Simon?' her grip tightened on the receiver. 'Why are you ringing? You haven't had an accident, have you?'
'No - no, I'm fine. But look, Pet ...' he cleared his throat, and some instinct told her what was coming
'... I'm afraid I'll be seeing the New Years in up here.'
'Your mother's ill again,' she said dully.
'Yes, I'm afraid so. She's been much better since Christmas, but this morning she woke up with one of her heads.'
Oh, yes, which one was that? Petra asked silently, then trust the unworthy thought from her.
'So now I've had to send for the doctor. Darling—are you still there?'
'Yes—yes, Simon, I'm here' Somehow she pulled herself together 'But that means I shan't see you before you go up to Shropshire for the new term.'
'That's right. I'm hoping to leave here on the third.' He hesitated. 'I am sorry, my sweet. But you're coming up to the school in February for a week, and I promise I'll make it up to yon then.'
'Yes, of course. Bye, Simon. I hope your mother's better soon. Oh—and happy New Year.'
She replaced the receiver but then stood for a few seconds, her hand still resting limply on it, staring at nothing, until finally she dragged herself out of her reverie. The room was still decorated for Christmas—although she'd been going away, she had brought in holly and evergreens and set up her Swedish angel chimes, but somehow it all looked dead and unwelcoming now, and even the little tree in the corner seemed almost a sick joke this morning. She'd tear all the decorations down right this minute. But no—even as she went to scoop all the cards off the mantelshelf, she stopped. Simon wasn't coming, but she and Sam would still have a cosy evening and help the New War in together. Of course, she'd have in blot out all thoughts of how Jared would be seeing it in, but surely that wouldn't be any problem. All she had to do was bring down the steel shutters over that segment of her mind . .
. Her lips tightened momentarily, but then, after switching on the tree lights, the lit the red candles on the chimes and stood smiling faintly down at them until the tiny gilt angels began revolving with a soft tinkling sound.
All at once, though, she shivered. In her outdoor clothes she hadn't registered it—now she realised just how cold the house was. And yet, surely she'd set the central heating to come on?
But in the kitchen the boiler was silent, and, when she clicked the time switch forward, nothing happened.
Of all the days! It hadn't been right since that power cut, and the engineer she'd called in just before she went up to Liskeard had muttered something about its 'seizing up' and the folly on buying second-hand gas boilers.
Ah, well, happy New Year to you too, Petra, my girl, she thought wryly. This really was going to be one for the record books. But at least she could light the log fire in the sitting-room and spend the evening roasting herself in front of that—or maybe she'd just get through the day somehow, fill a hot-water bottle and take herself off to bed for an early night. Perhaps that was the best thing, anyway. She felt utterly drained, the grey miasma of fatigue which had been seeping into every part of her brain as she'd driven the last few miles from Gran's dragging now at each bone-weary limb.
She heard the sound of a car door closing, then footsteps on Jared's path, Desperately she willed herself not to go near the window, then found her feet taking her, of their own volition, across the tiled floor. Jared's grey Aston Martin was parked beside his gate. Why was it, she asked herself inconsequentially, that, while other people were HAPPY to drive perfectly respectable cars, Jared Tremayne had to hire a sleek grey shark masquerading as a car?
The two of them came into her line of vision, he in his cream sheepskin, white cords and a navy Breton fisherman's cap, she in a casual fuchsia-red suit and white sweater. The dark hair, Which had tumbled on her shoulders as if someone had been running loving fingers through it, was swept up now in a smooth chignon. She'd been right, Petra thought: she was much of an age with this woman—but trailed a galaxy behind her in chic sophistication. A perfect mate for Jared As he opened the passenger door he smiled down at his companion, and for a moment the two dark heads were very close together. Quite unable to drag herself away, Petra clutched on to the cold rim of the sink until her knuckles were white, and a violent feeling almost of hatred took possession of her, then ebbed, leaving her weak and ashamed.
She stayed motionless until the car was out of sight, then turned back into the room. Her glance fell on the pine dresser and she saw that her collection of old copper jelly moulds had all taken on a greenish patina of verdigris. Impetuously she swept them up, dumped them on the pine table, and began polishing them feverishly.
When at last they were gleaming as they had never gleamed before she put them back. As she did so Gran's two antique warming pans hanging on the wall caught her eye. She unhooked the nearer one and began rubbing its patterned surface as though it were a darkly saturnine face that she was trying to scrub into oblivion.
She was just finishing the second one when she heard the Aston Martin screech to a halt outside. Her hands stilled for a moment before she returned the pan to its place. Deliberately keeping her back to the window, she was carefully checking that it was hanging level, when there was a perfunctory knock at the door.
Her heart gave a sudden lurch and she swung round, just as Jared stepped inside.
