Fragments of conversations on loss and margin, shares depreciating, came back to me, coordinated with Rafe's continuous interest in news items and stock-market pages. And I correlated a few other facts-like this comfortable house, Mrs. Garrison, three men in the stables, new horse trailers, and such. $7,578.98 was a lot of money. "Did you lose that much on stocks in this recession?" Rafe regarded me with mild surprise. "Oh, the seven thousand? That's that electronic company Paddy Skerrit's touting. There's a piece here about a copyright-infringement action they've launched against a rival company that got the government contract they were hoping for. The stock's down now, and it may drop further."
"Can you afford to lose that much money?" "Dear heart, I haven't 'lost' it yet. The company's sound. I've generally had good luck in the electronics field. Bought into Xerox when it first went public"-and there was a twinkle in his eyes-"despite what I was told. Why?" He looked at me squarely, a sort of waiting look.
"Well, it's just that… well, there's that insurance money, and the rest of the funds, if you were at all worried…"
"God bless you, Nialla darling," and he gathered me into his arms, pressing his face into my hair, even then remembering to be careful of my neck.
I've heard of "heart swelling," and mine certainly did then.
"Dear heart, you simply haven't got a clue, have you?" Something amused him; laughter rippled in his voice as he rocked me back and forth in his arms.
"A clue about what?" I didn't want him laughing right then. I wanted him as serious as I felt.
He held me a little from him so he could look down into my eyes. His were dancing with devilment.
"Maybe it's just as well you don't know."
"Know what? I guess ten thousand dollars doesn't seem like a lot to you…"
He realized what he'd done and hugged me tightly again. "It is a lot of money, Nialla, but I really don't need it. That's a paper loss and doesn't particularly affect my income."
"Income?"
"God love us, it is an innocent." He sighed and explained succinctly that, due to the perspicacity and ruthlessness of several ancestors, he had a large private income which, due to some equally perspicacious investing of his own, he had increased. "Money tends to beget money, Nialla, and I'm in the bracket where an occasional loss saves me taxes." He looked deep into my eyes again, the slight upturning smile of his lips engagingly boyish. "I do really appreciate your offer, dear heart, but I'd rather you"-and he kissed me lightly-"had money of your own."
"You're rich, then, aren't you?" (Gawd, that sounded like an accusation, didn't it?) "In spite of what you said about the acres being mortgaged?"
He frowned in surprise. "When did I say that?"
"Wednesday. Or did you mean"-I broke off and then realized I'd better continue-"a moral mortgage?"
"A moral mortgage?" He seemed startled. "Because Wendy Madison lives in the house next door? Yes." And a shadow of the awful expression I so hated crossed his face. "She has the right to live in that place until her death, but the property is mine. Grandfather Herrington stipulated it was to go to the first male issue of his three daughters." He looked beyond me to that desperate distance in his life which had been so bleak and miserable, and brutally lonely. "I wasn't exactly what Grandfather or Mother had in mind as Lord of the Mansion, so she's welcome to it."
"It isn't a mortgage she holds over you, Rafe, it's blackmail. Did you ever think of it in those terms?"
He looked at me suddenly, his hands sliding around me. "Not until this morning, dear heart. I guess that's what albatrosses are-blackmail by conscience."
Then he began kissing me, starting out with a sort of an apologetic pressure of lips on mine. But the gentleness quickly gave way to a mutual inflammation.
"Nialla?" His soft query was right in my ear as his hands began to caress my body urgently. I'd got mine under his shirt, caressing the warm smooth hide of him. He felt so good. But when I tried to disentangle us so we could go upstairs, he held me tightly. "We can't be seen. The couch is high-backed." He chuckled as he unbuttoned my shirt and released my breasts from the bra. "Mrs. Garrison?"
"Gone! I wanted you to myself for the rest of the day. Got any more objections?" He said it, half-teasing, half-irritated. Was I being coy?
I pulled him to me, slipping my hands inside his pants, inside the cotton briefs, all the time straining my breast against the exciting rough texture of his shirt. He turned rough suddenly, rousing me so deftly that my need of him was not a whit less than his. Rafe was unbuckling his belt when the sound of banging on the front door penetrated our absorption.
The language Rafe used as he hastily buckled his belt and yanked his shirt down appalled me, but I felt exactly the same way.
"I'll get rid of whoever it is," Rafe vowed as he pounded across the floor. Had he kept his shoes on all that time on the couch?
I made an effort to cover myself, just in case. And I glanced at the back of the couch to be sure I wasn't visible, but I couldn't even see the front door, so I relaxed, praying that the caller could be summarily dismissed and we could take up where we'd been so rudely interrupted.
"Dennis, if…"
"Mr. Clery, the west meadow's on fire!"
"Christ!" Rafe's single explosive curse was followed by an incoherent stream of invective.
"Jerry's called the fire department and gone on ahead with Albert."
"Where in hell were the dogs?" Rafe demanded, as he seemed to be wrecking a piece of furniture.
"They were loose, Mr. Clery, but in this heat, it could be spontaneous.".
"Spontaneous, my…" I heard the unmistakable sound of a revolver chamber turning fast. "Okay, okay. Jerry bring shovels?"
"And brooms and wet blankets."
"Good. Nialla, just in case, don't you dare leave this house. I don't know how he could have got in, but don't you leave this house. Check all the doors and the windows. I'll throw the night latch on this. You go up to our room, stay by the phone. No one can get up those stairs without them creaking. First creak that doesn't call you in my voice, you pick up that phone and dial 999."
He was out of the house and then shaking the door handle. It was well and truly locked.
I was trembling, but not from lust anymore. I got my clothing reassembled, suddenly cold in the air-conditioned atmosphere. I checked the front door myself, and every window on the first floor, the back and side doors, and shoved chairs under the handles as an added precaution. I'd heard that worked.
Then I went upstairs and did those windows, peering out and not seeing much because of the trees that surrounded the house. There were black clouds far off to the west. It could rain.
By the time I got back to our room, I was exceedingly unhappy about this new development. I wished I'd gone with Rafe. Anything was preferable to sitting here, waiting, like a tied kid. The west meadow afire? The grass was dry and sere. But…
I touched my bruised throat. Galvano was not supposed to be after me now. He was supposed to be phoning Wendy Madison and extorting from her for a change. And all the guards were up at the big house, protecting her.
I dialed 999 said asked for the police station.
"This is Mrs. Rafael Clery." (Gawd, I sounded like the cat's pajamas with that erratic break in my voice.) "Our west meadow is on fire." (That sounded even worse.)
"Then call the fire department, lady."
"I did, but the fire could have been deliberately set, and I'm alone in the house. You see, I was assaulted yesterday at… at…" (I couldn't very well say Charlie's place, could I?)