Man of the Trees (12 page)

She shook her head. ‘No, no. He’s too arrogant by far.’

‘But you’ll see even more of him with that botched up idea of his sleeping here and you still using the house.’

‘Don’t worry. I shan’t come until he’s gone out, and I’ll be away again before he gets back.’

‘That sounds all right in theory. But I don’t trust him. If only there was some way of getting rid of him!’

Ruth frowned. ‘That sounds terrible, Gareth. You—you wouldn’t really do anything to bring trouble on him, would you? I mean—those other things that happened. You didn’t—’

‘Are you asking me whether I had anything to do with gaps in fences or felling the wrong trees, etc? Good heavens, of course not! Who would?’

‘I—I don’t know. It just seems hard to believe that an experienced Forester would do those things.’

‘Well, if there’s any monkey business going on, it’s nothing to do with me. But I just wish he would go, that’s all. Anyway, he’s not infallible. Why shouldn’t he be guilty of neglect and of making mistakes? And I certainly don’t like this arrangement he’s talked you into.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Ruth, if only you’d—’

She knew what he was going to say. ‘Please, Gareth, don’t keep asking me. The—the idea of marriage doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want to marry anyone. I just want to get on with my career as an artist. Don’t worry about Ross Hamilton as far as I’m concerned. I shall avoid him like the plague, and go on trying to find a place—there must be one somewhere. All I want is a room with a northerly aspect and one big enough to hold Daddy’s piano. I can sell some of my other furniture.’

The next evening Ross came as planned to take her to the rooms he had been occupying and introduce her to Mrs. Smith, his landlady.

‘I’ll run you there in my car,’ he said, ‘see you settled in and make sure you know how to find the house, then run you back and you can pick up your own car and leave when you like. O.K.?’

She wondered that he bothered to ask her. He had it all planned.

Actually, Mrs. Smith knew of Ruth and about the death of her father and was full of sympathy about her predicament.

‘Such a shame you have to move out,’ she said. ‘That’s the worst of living in a Forestry Commission house—or any house that goes with a job. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here, my dear, until you get fixed up in a place of your own.’

The sitting room was indeed comfortable-looking. It had an open fire, two comfortable armchairs, a writing desk, a drop-leaf table for meals, a television set and attractive curtains and carpeting. Similarly, the bedroom. But it was not home, Ruth thought with a sudden pang. Mrs. Smith gave her a key to the front door and told her she could come in whatever time she liked.

But as Ross drove her back to the house which had been her home for so many years Ruth had an awful feeling of having been ousted.

‘Cheer up,’ Ross exhorted, as though reading her thoughts, ‘it may not be as bad as you think. Look at it this way. Wherever your piano and your artist’s materials are, there your home is.’

Ruth received this in silence. He sounded almost as though he wanted this solution to her problem to be a permanent one. Or was he trying gradually to get her to live with him as he had previously suggested? Or—and somehow this angered her more—did he want freedom to bring Linda into the house?

She almost changed her mind about the whole thing, and tears filled her eyes thinking of her father and the happiness and settled life she had once known.

When they arrived back at the house, she hesitated, not sure whether she should get straight into her car without going into the house again. Ross saw her hesitation.

‘Come on in, for goodness’ sake. Go up to your attic, mooch about in your bedroom or play the piano—anything you like. It’s not the end of the world.’

She sighed a little and moved towards the house. It was all very well for him. It
was
the end of a world for her, a world in which she had been happy and free, absorbed in her work, secure in the love of her father, warmed by the friendship of Gareth. Now she felt unsettled and somehow at odds with life as well as unhappy about being slowly turned out of her home.

Ross had brought his own suitcases with him, and when they entered the house he took them straight upstairs to the room which used to be her father’s. Feeling restless, Ruth wandered about downstairs. It was odd to hear someone moving about upstairs, yet somehow strangely comforting. She wandered into the music room and began to play, soon becoming engrossed as she went from one favourite piece of music to another.

When at last she paused and became aware of her surroundings, she realised that the house was very quiet. Where was Ross? What was he doing? She rose and went into the living room. He was sitting in the chair her father used to occupy, his head resting back, his eyes closed. She stood in the doorway and looked at him for a moment or two, and a most peculiar feeling came over her. She wanted to go to him and put her hands on his cheeks and kiss his brow, to sit by his side and rest her arm across his knee. An emotion somewhere between tears and tenderness took possession of her, and somehow she found herself unable to move.

But suddenly he opened his eyes and looked at her. For a moment he did not speak, then he held out his arm. ‘Come here.’

Like someone hypnotised she went towards him, and he watched her progress with narrowed eyes. When she reached his chair he pulled her down and into his arms. The next moment he had covered her mouth with his and was kissing her in a way she had never been kissed before. It was new and strange to her, and at first she was afraid, but then all at once she felt the upsurge of an emotion such as she had never felt in her life. She began to return his kisses with even more ardour than he was displaying, feeling her control slipping rapidly. His hands began to smooth over her body until she felt herself trembling.

His hands stopped caressing her and came up to grasp her by her upper arms. She heard him swear softly, and mutter something else she couldn’t quite catch.

Then, in a louder tone, ‘I think you’d better go, little girl, before I’m tempted beyond all resistance to carry you upstairs.’

He pushed her away, and she had no recourse than to stand up. Still trembling, she smoothed back her hair and struggled to compose herself. Ross, his face a mask, reached for his pipe and began to stuff tobacco into it.

Scarcely knowing how she got there, Ruth reached the door, but Ross’s voice halted her.

‘Ruth—’ He came towards her but did not touch her. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again, I assure you.’

She didn’t answer him. She turned and walked out of the room and out of the house. She began to walk, not realising what she was doing or where she was going. She was almost blinded with tears, and anger and frustration began to take possession of her. How dared he do this to her? How dared he virtually make love to her and then push her away as if it were she who had started it? She hated him! Carry her upstairs indeed! She almost wished he had tried it, so that she could have hit him good and hard.

She was out on the open road now and it was nearly dark. The headlights of a car picked her out and drew up just ahead of her. Ross got out and came towards her. He grabbed her by the arm.

‘What do you think you’re doing, you little fool? You can’t walk all the way there. It’s too far.’ It was her own car he had brought. He thrust her towards it. ‘Go on, get in, and for the love of Mike drive carefully. I’ll ring you in five minutes to find out if you’ve arrived safely.’

She flung off his arm. ‘You needn’t bother!’ she told him angrily. ‘And if you ever so much as touch me again I—I’ll spread it around the whole of the New Forest just what kind of man you are!’

She got in the car and slammed the door behind her before he had time to answer. His tall figure loomed up at the window by the side of her, but she started up the car and with a great roar of the engine surged away from him.

A red traffic light brought her to a screaming halt just in time. While she waited for it to change to green she endeavoured to calm down.
Go on like this and you’ll get yourself killed,
her thoughts went fiercely.

The lights changed and she drove the rest of the way with a little more composure, but still troubled and angry. When she let herself into the house of her new quarters she found a tray of sandwiches and a flask of coffee in her sitting room along with a note from Mrs. Smith urging her to make herself at home.

Ruth poured herself a cup of coffee and sank into one of the armchairs, inevitably going over the scene with Ross. Her mind and body seemed still alive and in tumult. Why had she allowed him to kiss her in that way and his hands to fondle her body? She had always managed to stop Gareth. She didn’t want that kind of relationship with any man. It was too—devastating. How many other women had Ross kissed like that?

The sudden ringing of the telephone made her almost spill her coffee. She rose to answer it, then halted. It would probably be Ross. She didn’t want to answer it. She didn’t want to speak to him. Let it ring. The ringing persisted, and she knew that if it were Ross and she did not answer he would only call her again. Besides, there was just a chance that it might not be Ross. It might be Mrs. Smith, or Gareth or indeed anyone.

Reluctantly she picked up the receiver. At least if it were Ross it would prevent his bothering again.

‘Ruth?’ came the query before she could even speak.

‘Yes, it’s Ruth,’ she answered, recognising Ross’s voice even in the monosyllable of her name.

‘Ah, you’ve arrived safely—which is no thanks to the way you drove away. You were like a maniac behind the wheel of that car.’

‘It was a maniac I was trying to get away from!’ she flashed back. It made her feel better snapping back at him.

‘Oh, really? I didn’t see one. It was probably a figment of your imagination,’ he answered smoothly. ‘Well, goodnight, sleep well,’ he added, and rang off before she had time to think of a reply.

You should look in the mirror,
she fumed as she went back to her coffee.
Then you would see the maniac.

Battling with him for the brief moment had brought back her appetite. She munched a sandwich. She must eat some of them, anyway, out of courtesy to Mrs. Smith. But she felt exhausted after the events of the day, and the evening in particular, and when she had returned the tray to the kitchen and washed her cup and saucer and the flask, she made her way upstairs to bed.

She was so exhausted she fell asleep almost immediately. Her brain was too tired to think any more. But she wakened again, probably as Mrs. Smith came up the stairs, and from then on she lay tossing and thinking, thinking of the way she had responded to Ross. She had had her share of boy-friends, and often, to a greater or lesser degree, they had kissed her and tried to make ardent love to her. But somehow she had never been roused in the same way she had been with Ross. Why? Was he more expert at the game?

She punched her pillow and turned over and tried to go to sleep. She was no child. The experts said it was quite natural to respond in that way when a man kissed and fondled a woman. But it had been as though a fire had swept through her. And she had wanted him to go on. If he had not pushed her away, goodness knew what would have happened. Why did he? Why had he suddenly stopped? The obvious and simple answer, of course, was that he did not want to go any further. Tears of aggravation filled her eyes. She shouldn’t have wanted him to, either, and she supposed that if he had tried she would have stopped him in time. She had not been brought up to be narrow-minded, but she had been taught that ideally, sex should be practised only within the confines of marriage, also that one should love a man for his character, his mind, rather than merely on physical attraction.

Love? She caught herself up. Love had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with the way Ross Hamilton had made love to her or her response to him. She heartily disliked him, and the feeling was mutual, she felt sure of that. So why couldn’t she put the whole episode out of her mind? Put it down to experience. Most women wouldn’t have given it a second thought, and she didn’t suppose Ross would lose any sleep over it. Neither would she. She must redouble her efforts to find another place to live. Perhaps she had set her sights too high. She had seen plenty of small places. She would just have to sell some of her furniture. After all, all she needed was one armchair in a living room, and one bedroom. Even the smallest of cottages had two bedrooms. She could use one as a studio. In time, she could have an extension built on to a place. The main thing was to see as little of Ross Hamilton as she possibly could.

But this thought did nothing to still an odd feeling of tenderness as his face appeared within an inch of her own, and a longing for him which now filled her heart. She loved him.

It was then that all fight, resentment and frustration went from her. She closed her eyes, savoured the touch of his lips on hers, the feel of his hand smoothing her body. Ross, she breathed his name. Oh, Ross, I love you!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Roth
awoke the next morning still in a rosy haze, Ross’s name on every breath she drew. It was not until she had swallowed the cup of hot, strong tea brought to her by Mrs. Smith that doubts and misgivings began to assail her. Did she really love Ross, or was it merely physical attraction? Was this ache in her being merely frustration? Oh, God, if she only knew the answer! And suppose she were genuinely in love with him? He did not love her, otherwise he would surely have told her so. Even in these days of so-called equality of the sexes, it was usually the man who declared his love first.