An All-Consuming Passion. Anne Mather

he expected, and she had been stunned to learn he had taken her remarks to heart. No doubt it was her fault, she sighed. She had initiated his declaration. But his hypocrisy had irritated her, and she had used the only means at her disposal to prick his pompous balloon.

      The headmaster, Gerald Frost, caught her just as she was leaving. ‘Oh, Miss Forsyth,’ he said, loping across the car park towards her, his cassock flapping in the breeze. ‘Could I have a word with you? It is rather important.’

      ‘Of course,’ said Holly, turning from loading her belongings into the buggy. She hoped it was nothing to do with Stephen. It would be terribly embarrassing if he had confided his feelings to someone else.

      As well as being in charge of the small school, Reverend Frost was a minister of the Methodist church. A graduate of Trinity College, Oxford, he could have enjoyed a more academic career, but twenty years ago he had come to the island for a holiday and decided to stay. A shy man, he had never married, and his spare, angular figure was a familiar sight in Charlottesville. Paul always said—rather irreverently—that he wore his ecclesiastical robes like an actor wore his costume: because they provided a character he could hide behind.

      ‘I’m so glad I caught you, Miss Forsyth,’ he said now, panting a little as he came up to her. ‘You’re not in tomorrow, are you? Isn’t it one of your free days?’

      ‘That’s right.’ Holly nodded, still somewhat apprehensive. ‘What can I do for you?’

      ‘It’s more in the nature of what I might be able to do for you,’ murmured the headmaster ruefully. ‘Stephen tells me you may be leaving.’

      ‘Oh——’ Holly’s tongue circled her upper lip. ‘Well, nothing’s been decided yet.’

      ‘No. So I understand.’ Reverend Frost took a deep breath. ‘But, if I were to speak to your father, explain what valuable work you’re doing here, he might conceivably look more favourably on your desire to stay.’

      Holly hesitated. ‘What exactly did Stephen tell you, Reverend Frost?’

      ‘Oh—only that your father is eager for you to return to London, and that you don’t want to go.’ He sighed. ‘I can understand how he feels, of course. Your father, I mean. He must miss you terribly. I know I—we—would, if you were to leave.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Holly gave him a grateful smile. His suggestion was well meant, but she doubted it would carry much weight with Andrew Forsyth. Nevertheless, it was kind of him to make her feel wanted. It was not a sensation she had often experienced in her short life.

      Looking into the minister’s concerned face, she reflected on the irony that this man was probably only a couple of years older than Morgan Kane. Yet, she never thought of Reverend Frost as an equal. In all honesty, she seldom thought of him as a man at all. Not that he was at all effeminate, but simply because his sex was usually obscured by the character he had created for himself.

      ‘Well, anyway,’ he added now, ‘if there is anything I can do, you have only to ask me.’ A trace of colour entered his face, accentuating the freckles that arched across the bridge of his nose. ‘I—we’re all very fond of you, my dear. In a comparatively short space of time, you’ve become an integral part of our community.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT was almost four o’clock by the time Holly got back to the house. Calling for the oil at the chandlery had taken longer than she had anticipated, Mr Parrish insisting she couldn’t leave without taking a glass of his home-made maubi. Although it was supposed to be non-alcoholic, the cocktail, derived from boiling tree bark, nutmeg and cinnamon, and adding it to a mixture of seagrape juice, ginger and cloves, was very potent, and Holly felt decidedly heady as she drove into the stable yard.

      Still, it was not an unpleasant feeling, she reflected, lugging her heavy bag to the back door. In spite of her bravado, she had not been looking forward to facing Morgan Kane on her return. Now, however, she felt agreeably anaesthetised, and if her father’s satellite was waiting for her, breathing fire, then she was suitably fortified against his wrath.

      But to her surprise, and annoyance, Morgan was not there. ‘He found that old sailing dinghy in the boat-house,’ Lucinda informed her, not without a trace of smugness, lifting scones off the griddle on to a wire tray. ‘Soon as he knew you wouldn’t be back until this afternoon, he rigged up the sail and took himself off across the bay. I gave him a packed lunch, of course. So’s he wouldn’t get hungry.’

      ‘How kind.’ Holly’s sarcasm was palpable. ‘Who told him where the boat-house was?’

      ‘No one did.’ Lucinda shrugged. ‘It’s big enough to see. ain’t it? And what with that hole rotting in the side, that padlock your Daddy put on it ain’t much use.’ She paused. ‘Surely you don’t mind, Holly. I can tell you, Mr Kane ain’t the kind of man to sit around all day waiting for no woman.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Holly’s lower lip jutted truculently. ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear you’ve changed your mind about him. My father would be proud of you. It’s exactly what he wanted.’

      Lucinda straightened from the table, her dark eyes flashing indignantly. ‘You’ve got no call to talk to me like that,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I’m not saying I like the man, and goodness knows, I don’t want him whisking you off to London, you know that. But I did warn you it wasn’t wise to antagonise him. He looked pretty tight-lipped when I told him where you’d gone.’

      ‘Did he?’ Holly’s impatience with the housekeeper evaporated, and with a rueful gesture she put her arm around Lucinda’s neck and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being totally unreasonable. But whenever my father takes a hand in my life, it’s a disaster!’

      ‘You can hardly blame your father for you jumping to the wrong conclusions,’ pointed out Lucinda mildly, but she returned the girl’s embrace and gently stroked her cheek. ‘Now—I suggest you go and take a shower and tidy yourself up before Mr Kane gets back. Maybe if you take a bit of trouble with yourself, he’ll overlook the fact that you’ve deliberately avoided him all day.’

      Holly agreed, albeit for different motives and, after dumping her bag in her father’s study, she went up to her room. She usually dawdled on the way, surveying her surroundings with loving eyes, but not today. For the first time, she was struck by the shabbiness of the paintwork, by the scars that marred the once-unblemished carvings, and by the worn patches in curtains which were probably older than she was. It was not an easy thing to admit, but she realised she was seeing the house with Morgan Kane’s eyes. She despised herself for doing so, but she could no longer ignore the evidence before her. His intrusion had brought her back to the twentieth century as she used to know it; to thoughts of renovation and interior decoration; to a dissatisfaction with the house’s neglect, and a latent desire to restore it to its former glory.

      Not that she could ever have changed things on her own. The money her father sent her, and which she lavished so recklessly on the horses, would hardly have made an impression on the extensive repairs that were required. To restore even part of the house would have taken more than her yearly allowance, and she had long since learned not to ask her father for help. But that didn’t help her now, when acceptance was giving way to frustration. Damn Morgan Kane, she thought. Damn him for coming here, and making her aware of the neglect. She had been contented enough until he made his entrance.