Page 4 of A Bewitching Compulsion

'Good. I can save you the trouble. My school can provide Timothy with a very well-balanced musical education. Anything less for a boy who shows his promise would be unthinkable.'

Oh, it would, would it? Another narrow-minded musician trying to. tell her that music was the only choice for her son.

'If you would let me finish at least one of my sentences—' Clare said tartly, and there was the sound of a faintly indrawn breath, followed by a silence that seemed anything but meek. 'Thank you. As I was saying, Virginia seems to have misled you. She did not have my permission to allow Tim to take part in your Master Class, and I have no interest in placing him in your school.'

'No interest? Mrs Malcolm, you don't seem to understand—'

'No, you don't understand, Mr Deverenko.' Clare was tired and cross, or she would never have been so rude. Being a parent toughened one to standing up to outside threat, but Clare hated confrontations. She had a shy person's fear of drawing attention to herself. But in this mood, protected by the anonymity of the telephone, she overcame her shyness. 'I didn't solicit your help and I don't require it. And neither do I appreciate your speaking to the Press about my son.'

'I only—'

'I don't want to hear your excuses, Mr Deverenko. I refuse to be hounded by you or your friends in the Press.'

She could feel herself blushing furiously as she hung up the phone, cutting across his explosive protest, and the reflection in the kettle confirmed it. She pressed a cool hand against her hot cheek. Even though no one had witnessed her behaviour, she felt embarrassed. She had been very rude and probably unfair, given the fact that he had been as much a victim as she and Mrs Carmen, but she had sensed that being offensively brusque was the only way to get rid of a man like David Deverenko. Although he had been born in New Zealand, both his parents were Russian and, from all reports, he had a thoroughly Russian temper—and the pride to match. He had certainly sounded arrogant, even when he was being polite, and musicians of his stature were notoriously single-minded. She only hoped she had succeeded in thoroughly putting him off. After his New Zealand concert he was off to a series of engagements in London, so she doubted he would have the time to spare to pursue a reluctant pupil. Perhaps now he wouldn't send the tickets to his concert, either—Clare knew that it had been booked out the week that the box-office opened—thereby freeing her of the obligation to take Tim. Tim would be disappointed, but better a temporary disappointment than a prolonged, serious division of his loyalties. Clare had no intention of playing the villainess to Deverenko's hero, which would toe the role assigned to her if she allowed him any quarter.

After giving Virginia a brief, edited version of the content of the call, Clare went up to bed herself, although it was a long time before she could force herself to sleep. At times like this she missed her husband badly. His confidence in her as a woman, a wife and mother had bolstered her own. He had respected her opinions even when he'd disagreed with them, and had never tried to ride roughshod over them the way his mother was attempting to do. Lee had never been underhand, always open and direct. He had been full of fun and laughter, and even two years after his death Clare still found herself thinking, 'I must tell Lee about that one,' when she saw or heard of an amusing incident that would have appealed to his offbeat sense of humour.

Sunday lunch was something of an occasion at Virginia's. Lee had been an only child, but Virginia had two sisters and two brothers-in-law, and Sunday was considered family 'visiting day'. In honour of Clare and Tim's visit the lunch was being held at Virginia's, although it was quite a squash with the additional wives and husbands and children. To Clare's relief Tim mixed well with the other children—he was inclined to be impatient and dismissive of those of his peers who didn't share his interests, and resented social encroachments on his love of solitary pursuits. However, most of his cousins were several years older than him and had obviously been well-coached to 'make allowances'. The afternoon went so well that Tim cheerfully went off on a visit to the Auckland Museum with one of his lesser known relations.

'Kim only plays the recorder, but she's OK,' Tim allowed magnanimously as Clare hid a grin, 'for a girl, that is.'

A dozen children and their assorted toys had wreaked a small amount of havoc on Virginia's neat yard, and one of the last guests to leave helped Clare tidy up. Ray had been the closest of Lee's cousins, and a fringe member of Kraken before the band had begun making a name for itself and adopted a thoroughly professional approach. For that reason, and the fact that he rode a motorcycle and wore the leathers to match, he and Virginia didn't get on particularly well, but Clare enjoyed his friendship. In many ways he reminded her of her husband, especially in his laid-back optimism and the wickedly teasing grin he often wore.

As they worked, she told Ray about the events of the previous day and he gave her his full support.

'Aunt Virginia means well, but often they're the worst kind…give her an inch and she'll take a mile. Or should that be millimetres and kilometres? Just shrug it off with a laugh, Clare, that's the only way to deal with her… if you take her seriously, you're done for. What you need, my good woman, is a good man to stand shoulder to shoulder with. Any candidates on the horizon?'

'It's only been two years, Ray.' Lee's death, from a form of leukaemia, had been frighteningly swift, with no remissions.

'A long time to be alone.'

'I've had Tim.' Ray gave her a challenging look. 'I just haven't met anyone who's come close to making me feel… anything.'

'What about all those disgustingly rich guests who tuck themselves away in your retreat? They can't all be blind.'

'Oh, I get plenty of passes, Ray,' she laughed at him. 'I'm just being choosy.'

'Lee's a hard

act to follow; the guy'll have his work cut out. Of course, you could keep it all in the family…' He leered suggestively at her.

'For that, Ray Cowling, you can climb up that plum tree and fetch down that kite.' A makeshift newspaper and bamboo version was enmeshed in the topmost branches.

Ray followed her glance. 'The branches up there are too thin, they'd never hold my weight.' Ray was a solidly built young man, and Clare was inclined to agree. 'What we need here is a slender blonde sylph.'

'I'm hardly sylphlike,' said Clare drily, 'and I'm too old to be climbing trees.'

'Twenty-seven isn't old. Why, you're not even ripe yet… you won't hit your stride till you're thirty. Come on, I'll give you a leg-up. Hang on, let me take my jacket off first.'

Ray carefully took off his black leather pride and joy, revealing a fashionably ragged black T-shirt that showed off the bulging muscles in his arms. He struck a pose and Clare giggled.

'Promise you won't look up my dress?'

'Nope.' He panted realistically and she laughed again, looking nothing like the cool, shy person that she was when she was uncomfortable or unsure. 'Tuck it between your legs. As a dancer, you should be used to flinging yourself about in next to nothing.'

'A leotard is a great deal more circumspect than lace panties,' said Clare primly, but she tucked up her skirt as he had suggested and he hoisted her up into the spreading branches.

'Ouch!' The twigs were spiky, and as she negotiated them showers of dried leaves were shaken down on to Ray's upturned face.

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