HIGH TIDE AT MIDNIGHT (21 page)

in his dark hair, holding him to her with a new, all-encompassing

possessiveness. The only barrier between them now was the clothes they

stood up in and even these seemed unimportant as her slim body moved

against his, her small breasts arched against the hard muscularity of his chest

in a silent invitation more potent than any words.

His hands went up, wrenching her arms from around his neck, then

descended to her shoulders, pushing her away, holding her literally at arms'

length while he studied her face with eyes suddenly cold and unsmiling. She

knew how she must look—her eyes blurred with the passion she could not

control, her parted lips reddened and swollen. And in that moment she could

have died of shame.

'No,' he said sardonically. 'Hardly indifferent, my Lady Morwenna. And this

is one insult I have no intention of apologising for, now or ever.'

He let her go so abruptly that she almost staggered and strode away towards

the house without a backward glance.

One shaking hand crept up and covered her mouth as she watched him go.

She stood very still for a long time because she was afraid that if she tried to

move she would fall down. Her pulses pounding and there was a throbbing

ache deep inside her unsatisfied body.

When at last she was capable of movement, she turned like an automaton

and continued along the path to the cliffs. The wind from the sea stung at her

face and she lifted her head to it with a kind of gratitude. A voice within her

seemed to be crying out in disbelief at what had just transpired, but her

senses and quivering nerve endings told her that it had all been only too true.

She tried to tell herself that she only had herself to blame for the incident.

She had provoked him to anger, and had brought the results of that

provocation down upon herself.

'It means nothing,' she whispered. 'He was just punishing me, that's all.'

But she had known that from the moment he had taken her in his arms, so

how could she defend or excuse that shattering, trembling response to that

calculated insult of a kiss? Why hadn't her pride come to her rescue? Why

hadn't she been able to conceal from him the emotions that declared her his

on any terms he chose to dictate? And she could have no illusions as to what

those terms would be. She shivered, and automatically drew her coat further

round her body, although her coldness was more mental than physical. Her

body had betrayed her utterly, she thought numbly, and God alone knew

what he had seen in her eyes when he had scanned her face with that cold,

derisive glance.

The sound of the sea was loud in her ears and almost without being aware of

what she was doing, she found her way down the steep stone steps that led to

Spanish Cove, her fingers gripping the rickety wooden handrail to steady

herself. The steps were slippery from the frost and normally she would not

have attempted such a precarious descent, but for some inexplicable reason

she knew that the beach was where she wanted to be.

The tide was well out today and she walked down over the broad band of

shingle to the water's edge. She stood watching the water as it creamed and

eddied only inches from her booted feet. It looked placid enough, but it was

brown and cold and it hissed and gurgled over the stones and pebbles as if it

was issuing a sibilant warning.

Morwenna turned and looked back up the shelving beach. In spite of the

intervening years—the family picnics, the shouts of playing children

searching for crabs and limpets among the rock pools—there was a brooding

air about the place that spoke of unforgotten tragedy and violence. Othei?

ships had been wrecked here beside the Spanish galleon, she thought, and

there had been other deaths under these overhanging cliffs besides those of

Morwenna and her lover. She shivered again and dug her hands deep into

her pockets, her fingers closing round a familiar shape. She'd forgotten her

sketch pad. She took it out and stood for a moment, irresolutely flicking over

the pages, looking at some of her most recent work. So much had happened

in the intervening period since she had made these sketches, she thought,

including her own transition from girlhood to womanhood. She looked at the

familiar scenes from home that her pencil had captured and felt as if she was

seeing them with a stranger's eyes. They no longer seemed to have meaning

or relevance.

Almost unwillingly, her fingers closed round the pencil in her other pocket.

She needed something, she thought, something to keep for the rest of her life

as a permanent reminder of this strange tormented morning. She crouched

down out of the way of the wind in the shadow of a rock and began to draw

with quick jerky movements. The lines began to form on the page as if her

fingers were moving beyond the control of her brain. There was a rock—a

boulder eroded into crags and pinnacles by centuries of fierce tides, and

clinging to this rock was the figure of a girl, half woman, half mermaid, her

hair flying behind her on some wild wind. Her shoulders hunched

desperately, Morwenna Trevennon stared her last defiance at the storming

sea, and as she looked at it, she realised with a sudden chill that the face she

had drawn was her own.

It was one of the best pieces of work she had ever done, and how had she

been capable of it when she was physically and emotionally drained? She

snapped the book shut and thrust it back into her pocket. This was one piece

of self-revelation that she would never dare show anyone.

Inez was waiting for her when she eventually returned to the house.

'So there you are,' she greeted her rather reproachfully. 'Mr Nick's been

getting 'isself in a right old stew wondering where you were to.'

'I went for a walk and took longer over it than I intended.' Morwenna

shrugged off her coat.

'Well, it's given you a bit of colour, I'll say that.' Inez studied her for a

moment with embarrassing shrewdness. 'Breakfast's ready now, and Zack

will be up for your bits of traps when you've finished. I'm real glad Mr Nick

has opened that old room at last. Wicked waste it was, all shut up like that

with no one but me to see it.'

'It's a beautiful room,' Morwenna agreed quietly. 'But it's much too large for

me. I'd rather remain in my old one.'

'Never.' Inez looked at her with open scepticism. 'Why, it don't compare with

t'other one. You take it, my lover, and think yourself lucky. Besides,' she

added with rather ponderous roguishness, 'mebbe it won't seem that big for

too long. Mebbe there'll be someone to share it with you before you're much

older.' She nodded and moved off towards the kitchen, leaving Morwenna to

gaze after her. It occurred to her that she and Dominic must have been in full

view of the house while they were kissing, and the thought brought the hot

blood racing into her face. It would be unbearable if Inez in her innocence

started dropping broad hints that she had designs on Dominic. She would

have to do something to convince her that this was not the case, and quickly.

It took a lot of courage to push open the dining room door and walk in, but

Mark, to her relief, was the only member of the family present.

'Oh, hello,' he said rather awkwardly. 'How are you this morning?'

She slid into a seat. 'Average,' she remarked lightly. 'And you?'

He shook his head. 'Completely out of my depth. Just what was the purpose

of all that last night?'

Morwenna shrugged. 'You'd better ask Nick,' she replied shortly. 'It was his

idea, not mine.'

Mark grinned faintly. 'I can accept that. You looked as shattered as the rest

of us, or even more so.' He shook his head. 'But I felt sorry for Barbie. If

Nick had slapped her across the face, she couldn't have been more shocked.

Karen had to drive her home—she simply wasn't capable of handling the car

herself. I really thought she was going to cry at one point, and I've never ever

seen her shed a tear in all the years I've known her.' He sighed. 'I'm afraid

Nick is going to regret that piece of hastiness.'

Morwenna bit her lip. 'Not nearly as much as I do,' she said half to herself.

'Well, no one blames you,' said Mark, trying to be consoling. 'And I've got a

piece of news to cheer you up. How would you like to go out to supper

tonight?'

'With you?' Morwenna was surprised.

'Would it be such an unheard-of thing?' he asked a little defensively.

'Yes—with me, although that's incidental.

We've been invited to St Enna. Biddy rang up last night to invite you, only

you were in your room and I didn't like to disturb you under the

circumstances. And as I took the message, she invited me as well.'

'I'm sure that wasn't the sole reason,' Morwenna said drily, and he flushed.

'Well, maybe not.' He looked down at the table, fiddling with his knife. 'If

you'd like to go, it might be as well not to mention it around the place.'

'So what do we do?' Morwenna raised her eyebrows. 'Steal out of the house

separately under cover of darkness?"

'No,' Mark said impatiently. 'I'll just say I'm taking you out to dinner.

If—people think we're going to the Towers in Port Vennor, so much the

better.'

'By people, I suppose you mean your brother.' Morwenna gave him a long

look, and after a moment he nodded. She chose her words carefully. 'It's

none of my business, I know, but perhaps if you're so—conscious of his

opinion you should let me go to St Enna on my own this evening."

Mark's lips tightened as he poured himself more coffee. 'It's not as simple as

that. I suppose Biddy must have told you that we were—seeing each other.'

'Yes, she did.'

He stirred sugar into his coffee. 'I don't know what else she told you. In

many ways I'd rather not know. She could be bitter, but then if she was she

would never let me see it. She sounded the same as ever on the phone. A

little quiet when she realised she was speaking to me, that's all.' *

'I know that you were seeing her, and Dom—and your brother put a stop to

it.' Morwenna tried to keep her voice free of censure, but she saw Mark

wince slightly.

'And you're wondering how I could have been so weak- kneed as to let him?'

He gave her a wry glance. 'I can understand that. I've often wondered

myself. It's just that all my life I seem to have been surrounded by quarrels

and bitterness. I didn't want my relationship with Biddy to start off in the

same way, so I decided to take the line of least resistance—to go along on

the surface with what - Dominic said, yet try and win him round over Biddy

over a period of time." He gave a short laugh. 'It didn't work. Even Biddy

couldn't see what I was trying, to do. I hurt her. I know I did. I went round

there to try and explain and she showed me the door.'

'But didn't you discuss it with her beforehand?'

'No,' Mark admitted. 'It all happened rather suddenly. I wasn't even aware

Dominic knew I was taking her out. But someone had told him.' He frowned.

'I don't have to guess who.'

'Karen Inglis,' Morwenna suggested.

The frown deepened. 'Right. I don't know what she said, but she poisoned

his mind against Biddy. You see, before they came to St Enna, Greg, her

brother, used to belong to an artists' commune near St Ives. I don't know the

whole story, but there was a drugs raid and a lot of them were charged with

possession and other things. The commune broke up after that. Greg's pretty

tight-lipped over the whole business, so I can't say how much he was

involved, but I've never seen any trace of pot smoking or anything else at St

Enna. And Biddy was never at the commune at all. She was still at art

college in London when all this happened. I can only think Karen got hold of

some distorted version of the facts and repeated them to Dominic. He's

pretty down on the whole drugs scene anyway, and he'd already clashed with

Greg over some planning permission for an extension at the pottery, so there

was no love lost there. And he also said with a fair amount of justice that so

far I hadn't shown a great deal of staying power in my romantic attachments,

and that my main attraction to Biddy was the fact that she was—different

from the girls I usually took out.'

He smiled ruefully. 'I was a great one for surface glamour, and that's not

Biddy. But there's warmth and a peace about her that I need. I tried to

explain this to Dominic, but he wouldn't listen. He just took it for granted

that I'd become infatuated with some kind of hippy and that because of her I

would drop out and start taking drugs or some weird thing.' He sighed. 'I can

see his point in a way. The Trevennons have always had a reputation for

wildness. As you've no doubt discovered from working with Nick, there are