Page 11 of Reasons Of the Heart

He was that good? Fran found herself thinking wryly, then was horrified at herself. Ross was grinning openly at her now and she didn't know whether to believe him or not. He was so damned sexy it was easy to believe that he could flatter women into paying for the privilege of his company.

'I'm not as gullible as all that, Ross,' she said, to con­vince herself. 'You're not going to scare me off with those tactics. I don't care what kind of low-life you are, I'm not backing down. Were you ever this "honest" with Grandpa?'

'I respected the old man too much to upset him by flaunting the differences in our philosophies in his face, but I never lied to him. At least I was there for him to talk to. He was pretty stubborn and opinionated, and set in his ways, but interesting for all that. A pity you never showed any interest. Not very dutiful of you, Fran...'

Duty. How that word stung. 'I wrote—'

His sound of disgust cut her off. She wanted to shout at him to leave her alone, and yet she knew she couldn't just walk away from his accusations. Something about him compelled her to stand up to him. She had the feeling that if she let him have any kind of victory over her, no matter how small, he might glimpse how really vulner­able and uncertain she was. Her life was already in the midst of a state of flux and she didn't know if she could handle any more complications right now.

'A few letters may have salved your conscience, but what that old man needed was you. You never came much, apparently, even when Agatha was alive. Were you ashamed of them? Too good for the people who took you into their home and brought you up? God, the way Ian talked it was as though you were some sort of saint! He was so proud of you... of how well you were doing and how busy you were, even if it meant you were too damned busy to take an occasional weekend off to visit an old man.'

'He didn't want my company. He never did!' Fran defended herself fiercely. 'Maybe, towards the end, he did need it, maybe I should have come, but for what? He never talked to me and I didn't know how to talk to him. I don't even know if I liked him. He certainly never tried to like me.' When she saw the protest form in the blue eyes she went on, doggedly, 'Oh yes, he and Agatha were proud, but not of me, personally. They didn't know what kind of person I was, they never wanted to know, they just wanted a shiny image to show the world. As long as I did what I was told and didn't disgrace myself, as long as I was dutiful, they never asked for more. Do you wonder I didn't like coming back here? This was never really home to me. Home is where the heart is, and there was no heart in my relationship with my grandparents, only duty.' She laughed bitterly into his suddenly still face. So he thought he knew it all! 'They were such pillars of the community. Everyone thought they were so wonderful for taking in their illegitimate granddaughter and bringing her up, but their pride gave them no choice. They had to take me in. And I was a constant reminder of how they had failed in bringing up their own child. I suppose they decided they had been too lenient with my mother, because they obviously couldn't trust themselves to control the taint in my veins. They handed me over to strangers to bring up through my formative years. I was six when they packed me off to that school. Six! The nuns were kind, of course, but they had their vows. Their love was detached, it couldn't be squandered on individuals...

Her voice hoarsened in an echo of the lost bewilder­ment she had felt in those early years. 'It didn't take me long to realise that my grandparents were proudest of me when I wasn't there. They even encouraged me to take my holidays with schoolfriends, rather than come back home. I'd be lonely, they said.' She laughed again, but this time it was ironic. 'Maybe they were afraid I'd contaminate you, rather than the other way around.'

'They were victims of their own upbringing, too.' Ross's voice was deep and slow, and full of a com­passionate understanding that she didn't want to believe he was capable of. 'It can't have been easy when your mother was killed and they suddenly found themselves with a baby on their hands, just when they were looking forward to their retirement years. They did their best...'

'Best for whom?' Fran asked wearily. 'I could have been adopted by a couple who did want me, been able to feel part of a family instead of never being able to shake off the feeling I was here on sufferance.' She threw her head back and challenged him. 'I happen to think that they owed me more than duty, they owed me love. More than that, they owed it to me to accept my love, but shows of affection were very much discouraged. They expected the worst of me, even when I gave them the best. They never trusted me, and as a consequence I never really trusted them. I'm sorry Grandpa's dead, but I can't say I shed many tears, except for what might have been. I am what they taught me to be.' She faced him proudly, showing him that although she had explained, she wasn't apologising.

Ross shifted his uncomfortably intent gaze to the sea and the silence began to stretch. Fran felt her nerves stretch with it. She had probably sounded like a self-pitying idiot, throwing all those old resentments at him. She had never opened up like that with anyone before, not even in a temper, so why now, to him?

'If I offered to withdraw any claim to the cabin, would you move out and let me stay out my lease?'

Fran's eyes snapped to his face. It was totally without expression, as if he was carefully repressing his thoughts. He hadn't shaved this morning and the rough stubble along the hard jaw and untidy hair gave him a heightened air of masculinity. Fran was appalled at her sudden desire to trust him, to give in to his strength.

'No,' she said flatly, daring him to try and talk her into it.

'Surely we can reach some sort of compromise—'

'No!' Fran had been compromising her needs and emotions all her life. She was tired of deferring to other people, of doing what they wanted her to do. She was putting her foot down, now. 'You started this, Ross Tarrant, but I'm going to finish it. If anyone compro­mises, it'll be you. I'm staying in my cabin!'

'For God's sake, I don't want the damned thing... I never did!' he exploded at her.

Fran went rigid with disbelief. 'You're lying... you

just want me out of the way so that you can—'

'Look, Francesca—' his voice was gritty with con-

straint '—yes, your grandfather said I could have the

place when he died, and yes, I'm interested in buying.

But I had no intention of contesting any claim until you

walked in with your lady-of-the-manor act. All I knew

was that you let the old man down when he needed you, and now you were strolling in to rake up the goodies. I still don't like the idea of your selling to anyone but a local, but what the hell—' he shrugg

ed impatiently'—I'm not a local any more myself. So why don't you go back to wherever you came from and let Simpson expedite the estate for you, and just leave me in peace?'

Instead of soothing her, his curt explanation infuri­ated Fran even more. In the midst of a strenuous battle with the enemy she found herself punching air. How dared he think he could upset her like he had and then shrug off his deliberate obstruction as a misunder­standing! And he was actually putting some of the blame on her!

'You should have thought about the consequences before you started slinging threats around,' she took pleasure in telling him. 'But then you never worried overmuch about the future, did you, Ross? Only about the pleasures of the moment. Well...tough. For once you're going to have to live with the consequences: namely—me!'

She felt good as she began to scramble back over the rocks. Ross Tarrant was a symbol of the negative aspects of her life, the things she could never have, could never be. Now for the first time she felt that she was dealing with the sense of inadequacy he raised, and which she tried to hide by professing to despise everything about him, on an adult level. She wanted to hold on to this heady feeling of triumph for as long as she could.

Her confidence in having the upper hand was re­inforced by having him trail, muttering, after her. When they reached the smooth sand again she noticed from a brief flick of her head that he was still limping. The nurse in her rose up.

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