Savage Courtship

It obviously hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be in love with Richard, might be a misty-eyed romantic whose dreams he had just callously trampled into the mire. No,

he thought only in clinical terms of lust and appeasing an appetite. No wonder he had never married. He probably wouldn’t recognise love if it hit him in the face.

And, to show that his opinions about her personal life were totally irrelevant, she was ruthlessly good-mannered to him for the rest of the week, which sadly had the opposite effect to that which she had intended. Instead of losing interest under the avalanche of politeness he seemed to delight in testing the limits of her patience, tossing personal comments into seemingly innocent conversations like miniature grenades that threatened to blow apart her armoured reserve.

By Friday Vanessa was clinging on to her composure by the skin of her teeth and it was with unutterable relief and a sneaking sense of victory that she watched him depart for Auckland. For the most part she had successfully held out against his flagrant manipulations. But her resistance had taken its toll. In a week he had cranked up her stress level higher than it had been for years and she welcomed the chance for a respite, however brief, in order to rebuild her shaky defences. Perhaps by the time he came back he would have forgotten his game, or be bored by it, and things could return to a semblance of normality.

When Richard rang soon after the BMW had cruised out of the gates and asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him that evening, Vanessa accepted with alacrity.

A nice, soothing night in Richard’s undemanding company was just the antidote she needed to a severe overdose of Savage teasing. Since they had decided to eat at a fashionably late hour Vanessa took her time getting ready, pampering herself as she hadn’t done in a long time, even painting her nails.

As she got dressed in her newest gown—a black crêpe de Chine streaming out to mid-calf from the fitted, halter-necked bodice—she determined to devote herself to showing Richard that she was now ready to progress from friendly hugs and kisses to something more meaningful.

She ran a brush through her loose hair and then raked it back from her forehead and ears with her fingers and gave it a quick spritz with a firm-hold hairspray to stop the loose strands from annoying her while she was eating. Of course, they probably would anyway, but a woman needed one frivolity in her life and with Vanessa it was her hair.

She surveyed herself in the age-spotted mirror on the wall of her room and nodded as she spun around, pleased with the way the thin crêpe de Chine of the skirt flowed around her legs. It looked just the way the photo did in the Vogue pattern book. The stiffened bodice, fastened from waist to collarbone by thirty tiny covered buttons hooked through satin loops and detailed with top stitching, had caused her a lot of trouble when she was making it, but the end result had been worth all her cursing and unpicking. Her bared shoulders were a little unseasonal but she knew the restaurant that Richard was taking her to was small and warm so she merely wrapped herself in a three-quarter-length black mohair cardigan-coat for the car trip.

‘Looks rather spooky in the moonlight, doesn’t it?’ said Richard as they drove away from the inn.

Vanessa looked back at the ragged outline of gables and chimneys, the slate roof gleaming darkly in the light of a richly overripe moon. Crouched in a small valley just off the main Thames coastal-road, with the foothills of the Coromandel Range rising steeply in the background and no other visible signs of the thriving community which existed just over the hill, the inn did look rather Gothic. The main design of the inn was a long stone T-shape, with the kitchen and service areas jutting out at the back, but the uncompromising sternness of the stone shape was softened by the addition of ornate wooden-covered verandas which ran the length and breadth of both storeys, supported on huge pillars of heart kauri milled from the native forests, for which the area was justly famous. The carriage light at the front door which she had left burning only seemed to emphasise the completeness of the shadowy building’s isolation.

‘That reminds me, has Savage tracked down his ghost yet?’

Vanessa gave him a sharp look. ‘How did you hear about that?’

He grinned. ‘Word gets around.’

Vanessa gave an inward groan. She might have known that Bill Jessop wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. She wondered whether Richard suspected the source of the hoax, but his handsome features were harmlessly amused as he concentrated on negotiating the narrow, winding road.

‘He’s been into the newspaper office, Melissa says, going through hundred-year-old files. She said he took away photocopies of reports about Meg’s murder.’

‘Oh?’ Vanessa was distracted from her immediate worry by the realisation that Richard had seen Melissa Riley recently. Had it been a date or just a casual meeting? Since she had insisted she wasn’t ready for exclusivity the idea of him seeing other woman had never bothered Vanessa before. To her dismay it didn’t really bother her now, either. Surely she ought to feel jealous of the man she intended...

Intended what? That was the problem—she still didn’t really know what her intentions towards him were. Richard’s intentions towards her she could guess; from the gallantly cautious way he was treating her they were of the most honourable kind. He would be happily willing to take her to bed but she had no doubts that ultimately it was marriage that he wanted from her. He was in his mid-thirties and ready to settle down. Unlike someone else she could name. The trouble was that she had a hard time imagining herself in bed with Richard while she was having much difficulty imagining herself out of bed where Benedict Savage was concerned!

The small cottage restaurant was filled to capacity. It had a good reputation for excellent food at reasonable prices and was highly popular with local residents who wanted to dress up and eat somewhere a bit more special than the pub or one of the fast-food restaurants that commonly sprang up at normally sparsely populated, seasonal holiday destinations like the Coromandel.

When Richard accepted the wine-list he looked over at her and grinned. ‘Champagne, my dear?’

Vanessa’s determination shivered. ‘What about red tonight? I think I’m going to have the venison,’ she said, pretending not to understand the reference.

‘Right. But only one bottle this time, OK?’

Vanessa gave him a mock-glare as the waitress drifted away. ‘Now she’s going to think I’m a lush.’

‘I wouldn’t blame her. You do look rather lush this evening.’ His eyes dipped to the neckline of her dress which she had left unbuttoned as far as the swell of her breasts to give a more casual look. It also revealed more cleavage than usual and, given the way the light boning of the bodice lifted her breasts, she couldn’t blame Richard for taking it as an invitation to look. That was what she had intended, wasn’t it?

‘Why, thank you, kind sir,’ she said flippantly, feeling that she ought to blush at the intensity of his gaze but unable to summon the required rush of excited blood. ‘You look rather gorgeous yourself.’

To her amusement he produced the flush that had eluded her, visibly moved by her teasing flattery. She felt a surge of tenderness for him. Dear Richard; she couldn’t think of one good reason why she shouldn’t fall madly in love with him.

To that end she flirted gently with him through the leisurely meal and was waiting for her dessert, sipping the last of the smooth Australian red wine he had ordered, when she suddenly choked.

‘Van, are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ She coughed, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear them of tears. The vision on the other side of the room blurred, then steadied again. It was a delusion; it had to be! Then the man speaking persuasively to the hostess turned full-face to the room. It was Benedict Savage—supposedly safely ensconced at a posh banquet in Auckland—sinfully overdressed in a white dinner-jacket and black tie. Oh, God! Furtively Vanessa looked around. The waitress had removed the lavishly large menus when she had taken their order and there wasn’t even so much as a pot-plant to hide behind.

‘Van, what’s the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’