Christa swallowed hard in shocked silence. His simple words, devoid of rhetoric and theatrical fervour, had touched her deeply.
Perhaps because of the loss of her own parents, she was sharply aware of all that he was not saying.
Tears blurred her eyes; she wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him that she understood.
‘Perhaps because of his death financial and professional success have never held much appeal for me. And the thing was that after his death we discovered some shares he had bought several years earlier. He had always enjoyed “gambling” in a very small way on the stock market. A takeover resulted in those shares increasing dramatically in value.
‘So dramatically, in fact, that my father would never have needed to worry about money again.
‘The money I used to buy this estate came from those shares. It seemed a fitting way to use it.’
Christa swallowed again. He seemed so genuine, so…everything she had always wanted a man…her man to be.
And yet, at the same time, he was engaged in a business which she knew from experience attracted men who were adept at deceit, men who were little more than an upmarket, polished version of confidence tricksters.
Her instincts, her femininity, wanted her to reach out towards him, to believe in him, but her knowledge, her experience, warned her not to do so.
Which one of them was right?
Why not keep an open mind? her heart whispered recklessly. Why not allow him to prove himself to you one way or the other? After all, isn’t that what you’re here for? Isn’t it only fair to have an open mind, to suspend your prejudice against his type? To…to what? To allow herself to fall in love with him and risk being hurt…destroyed as her friend had been?
No. No…there was no way she was going to fall into that trap, however plausible, however genuine, however desirable he might seem.
No way at all.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHRISTA struggled sleepily to sit up in bed. What time was it? Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at her watch. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so deeply—or for so long. A circumstance which, no doubt, Daniel would state was one of the recuperative effects he claimed for his remote habitat.
Christa had other ideas and she wondered, a little darkly, just what exactly had been in that bedtime mug of cocoa he had insisted on making for her. Cocoa! She had stopped drinking that when she left home to go to university.
The house felt quiet and still…and empty…
Frowning, she swung her feet out of bed, reaching for her robe. Last night, Daniel had said that they would spend the morning going over the details of her course.
‘Obviously it will vary in some ways from those we normally run.’
‘Obviously,’ Christa had agreed drily. ‘After all, the people you usually deal with are already converts, aren’t they?’
‘Not exactly,’ Daniel had contradicted her, adding firmly, ‘And besides, they aren’t here to be converted but to be helped to recognise the signs of stress and to learn how to deal with them and how to integrate well with the rest of the human race and their colleagues in particular.’
‘Have you ever thought of taking up the diplomatic services as a career?’ Christa had muttered sardonically under her breath, but not quietly enough, it seemed, because he had given her a disconcertingly level look and told her,
‘Not really; I don’t have the patience for it, or the subtlety.’
Christa had been tempted to argue with him, but was deterred by the huge yawn that had unexpectedly and embarrassingly overtaken her.
‘You’re tired,’ Daniel had commented, getting up from his chair, adding wryly, ‘Or perhaps I’m boring you.’
Did he really intend her to answer that question? Christa wondered grimly. He must surely already know that ‘boring’ was the last thing that any sane member of her sex was likely to find him.
Where was he now? Somehow, without knowing how she knew it, she sensed that he wasn’t in the house.
She padded over to the window, pulling back the curtains and blinking in the unexpected shock of the brightness of the morning light. The sky was a sharp, clear blue, the sunlight pale and very bright.
As she blinked in its glare she wasn’t sure, at first, if the white dazzle she could see capping the range of mountains that surrounded them was caused by the sunlight or if in fact it was actually snow.
She blinked again, clearing her vision, her jaw dropping slightly as she recognised that it was indeed snow. Uncomfortably she remembered her scornful words to Daniel the previous day.
Snow in October?
‘Wales is another country,’ he had warned her, and now, abruptly, this mountainous, semi-barren region did seem very alien and even slightly intimidating. She had heard on the news, had read of climbers being lost in snowdrifts and blizzards in the Scottish and Welsh mountains at times of the year when the mere idea of snow in other parts of the country seemed laughable.
In a city environment, in the more heavily populated areas of the country, it was easy to forget that these mountains existed.
‘I promise you that by the time you leave here you will see yourself and everyone, everything around you, in a different light,’ Daniel had promised her, quietly, last night.
‘How?’ she had challenged him scathingly.
‘Wait and see,’ he had told her.
She shivered slightly, as though she could actually feel the icy chill of those snow-clad peaks, even though she was actually standing in the centrally heated protection of a warm bedroom.
Was it possible that the process of change had begun already in her reaction to the sight of the mountains, her awareness of her own unexpected awe of them…?
Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself fiercely. All right, so it had been a shock to see those snow-covered peaks, but what a ridiculous idea to feel that her position had somehow been undermined, her stance threatened.
Daniel was hardly personally responsible for the snow, was he?
When she left Wales, it wouldn’t be with her views changed, but rather with them reinforced. When she returned home it would be to confirm what she already believed. Daniel might appear genuine and sincere in his beliefs, he might even actually believe in them himself, but he wouldn’t be able to convince her. While his ‘converts’ faithfully played out the roles he had taught them, others, shrewder, less easily persuadable, would take advantage of them to advance their own interests; that was a fact of human nature.
But if Daniel was right, if people could learn to focus themselves, to draw their sense of self-worth from a far less materialistic and competitive source, then…
Impossible, she told herself quickly—other than in an ideal world peopled by ideal human beings.
She tensed as a sound outside caught her attention, frowning as she strained to listen. It sounded as though someone was working out there. Daniel? Working at what? Wasn’t she supposed to be his work?
If this was his way of trying to convert her—simply ignoring her—then…Or was he perhaps having second thoughts? Perhaps he had begun to recognise that she was no easy pushover…Had he even begun to give up?
Quickly selecting clean clothes, she hurried into the bathroom. If she could get him to admit that he had been wrong then she could leave here, go back to her real life, now, before…
Before what? Before she started to forget why she was here and began to focus instead, not on reality, but on fantasy, to close her eyes and allow herself to be seduced by her body’s female response to Daniel’s subtly potent maleness?
Ridiculous! As though she of all people would be stupid enough to do any such thing.
Downstairs the kitchen was empty—and scrupulously neat and tidy; there was a note on the table addressed to her. She read it quickly, trying to quell the sudden quickened pace of her heartbeat as she studied Daniel’s firm handwriting.
‘Looked in on you at seven, but decided to let you go on sleeping.
Help yourself to breakfast.’
* * *
He had looked in on her.