Man of the Trees (11 page)

‘What—just because of the cooking? Anyway, you helped with that. Besides which, any man marrying me might find me up to my ears and eyebrows in paint—metaphorically speaking—and no sign of dinner. In fact, he might have to do the cooking for us both.’

He grinned at her. ‘Trying to put me off?’

But she felt it was a dangerous subject. At least, she was somewhat afraid of it. She began to collect up the dirty crockery, but Ross stopped her.

‘Tell you what. I’m rather partial to piano music. You go and play something—and leave the door open—and I’ll do these dishes and then make some coffee. How does that sound?’

It sounded great. Ruth was only too pleased to do as he suggested. She improvised at first, playing chords and arpeggios until her fingers found the opening notes of a plaintive little piece by Beethoven. Feeling happy and relaxed, she went on from one piece of music to another until Ross came in and leaned on the flat top of the baby grand. She glanced at him and smiled.

‘Coffee is served—madam,’ he said softly.

She finished what she was playing and stood up, feeling at peace with the world and certainly at peace with Ross Hamilton.

He had also re-kindled the log fire. Ruth urged him to smoke his pipe if he wished, and they sat in comfortable silence as they sipped their coffee. Ruth had seldom felt so happy.

Presently there came the sound of a heavy shower of rain. Ross smiled.

‘That’s what I like to hear—especially at night. It means no worry about forest fires.’

Ruth nodded understandingly. ‘Rain must be a great relief to you. You’re having enough troubles at the moment.’

Immediately she knew she had said the wrong thing.

Ross took his pipe out of his mouth and gave her a sharp, cold look.

‘What do you know about any troubles I might be having at the moment? What are they, pray?’

Ruth felt distinctly discomfited. ‘Well, I—not much, really. Gareth just happened to mention—’ She broke off, wanting time to think, feeling she shouldn’t repeat anything Gareth had said to her.

But Ross pounced on the name. ‘Ah! Gareth, eh? And what has Gareth been telling you, may I ask?’

Ruth gazed at him wide-eyed. He was completely different from the man with whom she had spent such a pleasant day. His eyes were cold, his face taut, his whole manner aggressive and domineering. He was on his feet now towering over her like some inhuman inquisitor. She felt instinctively that if she did not answer he would shake it out of her—or worse. He was not a man to be trifled with. She should have realised that.

‘He was—merely telling me about some of the difficulties the Beat is having. We—we often talk about the Beat. Don’t forget that before you came my father was Head Forester.’

‘I’m aware of that. But I am Head forester now, and I want to know what is being said about my Beat.’

But Ruth was beginning to feel angry now. She had been deceived into believing he was capable of normal, ordinary behaviour, that he was even a nice person. She, too, rose to her feet. She would not be intimidated by him.

‘All that’s being said about your Beat is about the things that are happening—and I’m sure you know all about those,’ she retorted.

‘And what do you mean by that?’ he demanded, his voice cold with anger.

‘Well, shouldn’t you know?’ she retaliated. ‘You’re the boss, aren’t you? You’re responsible for what happens on your own Beat, whether it’s gates left open, the wrong weed-killer used or the wrong trees marked and felled.’

He drew an angry breath, and Ruth quailed inwardly, though she stood her ground. She felt sure he was longing to take her by the shoulders and shake her in his anger. She gritted her teeth. If he dared to lay a finger on her—

‘You seem to know a lot about what’s going on,’ he told her with a sort of dangerous calm. ‘Perhaps you also know who is responsible for all these things. Come on, out with it!’

But she refused to let him bully her. ‘Don’t talk to me in that fashion, Mr. Ross Hamilton! As you’re no longer behaving like a guest, then I must ask you to leave.’

He took a step forward and grasped her arm. ‘So you do know, otherwise you wouldn’t avoid my question.’

She winced, really angry now. ‘You asked me who I thought was responsible. Well,
you
are. These kind of things never happened in my father’s time. They shouldn’t be happening now. But don’t expect me to tell you who’s been doing them if you haven’t, because I don’t know—and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!’ she said defiantly. ‘And let go my arm. You’re hurting me!’

He let her go, at the same time giving her a little push so that she lost her balance and fell back into her chair. She felt like some unwanted pest who had been flung away from him in disgust, and their pleasant day lay in ruins.

‘I might have known you wouldn’t,’ he said in a contemptuous tone of voice. ‘But rest assured, I shall find out, without either your help or anyone else’s. And woe betide the culprit—or culprits—when I do, that’s all.’

He strode out of the room and the next moment she heard the outer door slammed behind him.

CHAPTER SIX

For
a long time after the sound of Ross’s car had died away, Ruth sat in the chair gazing into the fire. Though she was no longer angry she was disappointed and disturbed, and somewhere deep inside her there was pain, too. How could a man change so rapidly? One minute he had seemed to be her friend—something she had never thought could happen, and never wanted to happen. But the next moment he had behaved more like an enemy. The thought brought tears to her eyes. He was a most unpredictable, disturbing man. She had never met anyone like him. What a fool she had been to mention anything at all about the Beat, and then to give him the impression that she thought he would do all those things that were wrong or neglect his work in any way. And not only that, to say that even if she knew she would not tell him...

She sighed worriedly. She had been angry with him at the time, of course. Surely he realised that? But who was trying to make trouble for Ross? She simply couldn’t believe Gareth would have anything to do with it, much as he disliked and resented him. It was all a great puzzle. She reflected again how odd life was, that one minute one could be happy and carefree, and the next, the whole world seemed to be tumbling around one.

She put out the lights and made her way to bed. Surely that was an exaggeration? Just because she had spent an enjoyable day in his company? But she had almost come to like him. She had found the whole of her being reaching out to the man. Was she falling in love with him?

She placed the swan he had bought her on the white-painted windowsill of her room and was surprised at the feeling of tenderness which filled her heart. It was ridiculous. She must put a stop to this line of thinking.

After the rain of the previous evening there followed a period of high winds and sunshine with weeks without rain. All too quickly there was a situation of drought, and as more and more visitors came to the New Forest, the danger of outbreaks of fire was in the forefront of most of the Foresters’ minds.

Ruth had redoubled her efforts to find a place either to buy or to rent without success. Houses or cottages to rent were almost non-existent, with or without a place she could use as a studio, and there were few places to buy within her price range. She began to worry about it, and once again Jill invited her to live with herself, Hugh and Gareth.

‘But—but, Jill, there’s all my furniture—’

‘Put it into store or sell it.’

Ruth shook her head, near to tears. ‘But I couldn’t put father’s piano into store, it would ruin it, and it would break my heart to sell it.’

Gareth put his arm across her shoulders. ‘Of course it would. Darling, if only you’d marry me, it would solve all your problems—and mine.’

Ruth smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Gareth, but I wish you wouldn’t exaggerate. Anyway, it would be just as difficult for you to find a suitable house.’

‘Ah, but you could pool your resources, and you could easily build a studio in the garden, if there’s no attic,’ Jill put in.

‘Jill—’ Hugh said in a warning voice, ‘let Ruth and Gareth make up their own minds. Ruth’s not the girl for a marriage of convenience, so stop putting the pressure on.’

Ruth was glad of his intervention, but her problem was no nearer being solved. Indeed, it became even more urgent when, a few days later, she met the District Officer in Lyndhurst. Inevitably, he asked how she was progressing about finding somewhere else to live.

‘Not very well, I’m afraid,’ she had to confess, and told him of all her difficulties.

He looked troubled. ‘Unfortunately, there aren’t many Forestry Commission houses left. There are certainly none on the market at present. But it’s a problem. Ross ought to be in that house. I’d certainly feel happier. I know we have the fire look-outs, but there’s many a fire been spotted in the nick of time from the Head Forester’s house—as you well know.’

Ruth nodded miserably. ‘Yes, I know.’

The D.O. patted her shoulder. ‘Well, not to worry,’ he said over-heartily. ‘I’m sure you’ll find somewhere soon.’

But it was Ross himself who presented a solution. She had not seen him for some weeks. Following their quarrel on the day they had gone to the Isle of Wight, she had kept clear of the areas of the Forest where he was likely to be. She had plenty of work in hand in her studio, anyway. She had seen him as he had driven past her in Lyndhurst, and twice he had Linda with him in his car, a sight which had utterly depressed her.

As usual, Ross crept up on her unawares—or so it seemed. She was engrossed in her work when his head suddenly appeared in the aperture. She turned so sharply, a line of green paint was slashed across the canvas where she did not want the colour. Hastily she applied a turpentine rag.

‘Have I disturbed you?’ he asked, bringing up the rest of his tall frame.

You invariably do,
she wanted to retort, but bit off the words. She kept her attention focussed on her work longer than was necessary to repair the damage, finding she was somehow disorientated at his presence.

He came to her side and took a long look at her picture. It was one of her ‘forestry workers’ series. Indeed, it was the one during the outlining of which he had threatened to remove her forcibly.

‘Very good,’ he pronounced. ‘You’ll make your name with those, I shouldn’t wonder.’

He sounded so different from the last time they had been together, she couldn’t help wondering what had happened to make him change his attitude towards her. Then he said:

‘When you can spare a few minutes I’d like to talk to you.’

She wiped her brush on a rag. ‘What about?’

‘I’ll tell you when you’re free and we can talk properly. Would you like me to come back at a more convenient time?’

It was late afternoon. She could well break off now. ‘No, no, it’s all right. Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea? I could do with one myself—painting is always thirsty work.’

‘The turps, I suppose. All right, if you’re sure—’

Ruth put away her palette and pulled off her smock. It seemed odd their being so polite to each other, and she wondered with some trepidation what it was he wanted to talk to her about. The house? She hoped fervently that he was not going to suggest marriage or sharing the house as he had last time.

While she was making the tea he strolled into the garden; pausing to look at the various plants and shrubs. The borders badly needed weeding, and she decided that when he had gone she would spend the rest of the daylight hours doing just that.

She took the tea things into the living room and arranged the chairs in front of the open patio doors. She would have taken it outdoors, but if he had something important to say—She called him and he came in.

‘Don’t you have any help in the garden?’ he asked, indicating that he, too, had noticed the weeds.

She shook her head. ‘I’ll get out there when we’ve had our talk. I—suppose it’s about the house,’ she said, plunging in at the deep end.

He took the tea she offered. ‘That’s right. I saw the D.O. this morning. He tells me you’re having some difficulty finding a place to suit you. Needless to say, with the summer season upon us, the dry weather and the increasing number of visitors, he feels I should be here.’

‘Yes, I—I know.’

‘All the same, I don’t want to turn you out.’

Ruth picked up her cup of tea with a hand that shook a little. All too fresh in her mind was the scene when he had suggested marriage. She had told him she would not marry him if he were the last man on earth, upon which he had forced her into his arms. He was not likely to ask her seriously to marry him. But what then?

‘It seems to me,’ he said evenly, ‘that the two most important things in your life are your painting and music, that is, your piano, and that the reason you can’t find a house to suit you is because you haven’t yet found a place which can make provision for either. Right?’

‘Right,’ she answered tersely.

She held her breath. What was he leading up to? If he suggested sharing the house as he had before, she would definitely refuse. Her father would have disapproved strongly. He had had the sense and wisdom to know that it was well-nigh impossible for a man and a woman to share a house and remain just friends for long. Inevitably, they would come to have a sexual relationship which might only be temporary. Her father would not have liked her to be in that situation, and Ruth did not want it either. And if he asked her to marry him? Equally, Ruth shrank from the idea of a marriage without love.

Ross pulled out his pipe. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked.

Ruth shook her head and wished he would get on with what he had come to say. The suspense was making her nervous. She poured out more cups of tea as he began filling his pipe.

‘Knowing your views on what is commonly called promiscuity these days,’ he began, ‘I won’t mention again any of the solutions I put forward—not very seriously, perhaps—that I did previously. What I’m going to suggest now is by way of a compromise. As you know, at present I have a bedroom and sitting room, and having until now lived in furnished apartments, I don’t, at present, have any furniture of my own: So I was wondering whether you would agree to a kind of swop—an arrangement which would be purely until you’ve found some place to suit you.’

Ruth frowned. ‘A swop? What on earth do you mean?’

‘Well, suppose I move in here—and use your furniture, perhaps for a consideration, and you take over my two rooms. You could still use the attic for your studio, play the piano whenever you feel like it, have your meals here, too, if you want. In fact, still regard the place as your home, simply going to the other place to sleep—er—if you insist,’ he finished with that old humorous quirk of his lips.

Ruth digested his idea. On the face of it, it seemed like the perfect solution. He would be out all day, and she could be gone before he came home. They need not see any more of each other than they did at present. She would miss the piano in the evenings, of course. She eyed him suspiciously, as his last sentence repeated itself in her mind. She would not even contemplate sleeping here if he were in the house.

‘Well, what do you say?’ he prompted, now puffing away at his pipe.

‘I—I’m not sure. On the face of it, it sounds great. But I thought you said something about getting married?’

He raised his dark brows. ‘But you turned me down, remember?’

She coloured. ‘I didn’t mean that, and you know perfectly well I didn’t. You said on the first night we met—at the Club, I mean—that you were thinking of getting married.’

‘Ah yes, so I did. And I’m still working on it. But don’t let that worry you. When I do decide to get married, I promise you’ll be the first to know.’

She supposed he couldn’t say fairer than that.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And in the meantime, I really will do my best to find somewhere.’

‘You mean you agree to my plan?’

She frowned, still rather dubious. ‘Well, we’ll see how it works out, shall we? Have you spoken to your landlady about this?’

‘Not yet,’ he told her, ‘but I don’t anticipate any difficulty.’ Ross was silent for a minute or two. ‘I’m sorry about all this. It’s not going to be very convenient for you—so much coming and going every night and morning. But I assure you, if you should ever feel too tired to make the effort and just want to slip into your own bed, you’ll be perfectly safe from me.’

Ruth knew she should have felt reassured, but instead she experienced a sense of disappointment. Not that she wanted him to ever invade her privacy by coming into her room or anything, but he had made it sound as though he found her unattractive, as though he was not in the least interested in her. She sighed impatiently. What
was
the matter with her these days?

She looked across at Ross in the other armchair and thought again how much at home he looked. She didn’t want to leave. She almost wished he
would
ask her to marry him.

Suddenly the telephone rang and she went to answer it. Her hand tightened on the receiver when she heard the voice at the other end.

‘Yes. Hold on, I’ll get him for you,’ she said. She put the receiver on the hall table and went back to the living room. ‘It’s for you,’ she told Ross. ‘It’s Linda.’

There was no doubt whatever whom he intended to marry.

When Ross returned he said he must go. ‘I’ll make all arrangements with my landlady,’ he told her, ‘and I’ll be along tomorrow evening to help you with whatever luggage you want to take, then I can introduce you to Mrs. Smith.’

Ruth looked after him, and was almost glad that her feeling of anger had returned. The conceit of the man! He had not even asked her if it was convenient for her to move out tomorrow evening. Unaccustomed to being told what to do, she fumed against him. Why did this man keep getting into her hair? He was practically taking over her life. On the face of it, he had come up with a good solution to the problem of the house, on the other hand, it could be his way of forcing her out. If only she could find the right kind of house at the right price. Then she would be free of him.

Gareth called to see her that evening, and when he heard about the plan he was furious.

‘What does he think he’s playing at? You should never have agreed to it, Ruth. Never.’

‘But—but I’ve very little option, Gareth. I’ve just got to have somewhere where I can work and store my canvasses and things. I don’t want to have to put Daddy’s piano in store, and there’s no doubt whatever that the D.O. wants Ross to be here where he can keep an eye on the Beat.’

Gareth’s face was dark. ‘So it’s Ross now, is it?’

Ruth sighed. ‘Oh, Gareth, don’t be difficult. What else should I call him? Mr. Hamilton?’

‘I just cut out the mister bit,’ he muttered. He gave her an apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t stand the fellow. He gets under my skin.’

Ruth laughed briefly. ‘Mine, too. I could wish him far enough.’

His face brightened. ‘You could? That’s a relief. I was beginning to think you’d come to like him.’