Morning Song Page 4

  She should not have attempted such a rash and dramatic exit; she had not the strength or the coordination for it. On the third step she tripped and barely caught herself against the rail before falling. She sat down hard, swearing softly to herself, rubbing her injured knee.

  She was not really hurt, but the incident only reminded her that she was clumsy and awkward and she must have looked like a scarlet-faced shrew shouting at Shane Holt a moment ago, and it was as good an excuse as any to let the angry tears come. And that was how Van found her only a few moments later.

  He sat down casually beside her and asked, ‘Was that the beginning of World War Three I heard, or did the roof merely cave in?’

  Lauren sniffed and impatiently rubbed away a tear with the heel of her hand. ‘It was that impossible friend of yours! I tell you, Van, the man is—’

  ‘Spare me the gory details.’ He lifted his hand mildly. ‘I knew it was coming when I heard you playing Dancers. I should have warned you, I guess.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t!’ she retorted righteously. ‘I have a right to play it if I want, and it’s not my fault or yours that he can’t take being reminded of his failure.’ She heard a high-powered engine burst into life, and glanced out the window just in time to see a low red car streak past. ‘Good,’ she muttered spitefully. ‘I hope he stays away. Because if he stays here much longer, I certainly won’t!’

  She was aware of Van’s silence, and she suddenly realized what she had said and how it had sounded. She had repaid Van’s kindness and hospitality with a childishness which was no better than Shane Holt’s, and she was chagrined. She couldn’t look at Van’s face and see the hurt and disappointment there, she was too ashamed to have him look at her, so she dropped her head, rubbing her knee absently, not knowing what to say.

  Van enquired in a moment, ‘Does your knee hurt?’

  ‘It always hurts,’ she muttered, still unable to look at him and despising herself.

  He dropped a hand lightly on her shoulder as he stood. ‘Try to remember,’ he advised gently, ‘that Shane is always hurting too.’

  Lauren tried to make up for her ungracious behaviour by helping Marie prepare lunch and then actually pretending to enjoy it. Shane did not put in an appearance, and Lauren was glad. She didn’t think she could take another encounter with him today.

  After lunch she went to her room, promising to come down later and help with dinner. But she felt drained, exhausted. She undressed and slipped beneath the coverlet. She remembered nothing else until a dim, faraway pounding stirred the heavy veil of dreamless slumber.

  She was aware that the knocking had been going on for some time, but she ignored it. Then she heard a voice—not Van’s—impatiently call, ‘There’s no use pretending you’re not in there. You can hear me!’

  She turned over slowly in the grey darkness and her eyes focused on the luminous numbers of the digital clock. Seven-fourteen. She had slept for almost four hours!

  She sat up abruptly, bringing her hands to her tousled hair and giving herself a little shake to clear the cobwebs of sleep. Four hours! She had never slept that long before in the afternoon, and it seemed as though she had hardly closed her eyes.

  And then the voice came again, a little more acerbically this time, and she realised in alarm that it was Shane Holt who addressed her from the other side of the door. ‘If you’re waiting for an apology you can damn well sit in there and rot! I’m not particularly thrilled at the idea of dining across the table from you, either!’

  Lauren slid out of bed and hurried to her closet for a robe, fully awake now and indignant at the thought that he was under the impression he had intimidated her into hiding in her room. She intended to fling open the door and tell him so, but she could hardly do so with any dignity in her underwear, and she couldn’t find a robe.

  There was a final series of swift raps, then he spoke again, completely out of patience now. ‘Look, I was sent up here to fetch you for dinner, but I could personally care less if you starve. Enjoy your sulks; I assure you, I’m going to enjoy my meal.’

  She found a robe and drew it on, hurrying to the door with angry words of defence on her lips. But she was too late; Shane was gone.

  She dressed in record time, ran a brush through her hair, and descended the stairs with the flush of sleep still on her face and the light of battle in her eyes. The three of them were at the dining room table, just beginning their meal. Van and Marie looked relieved to see her; Shane did not even glance up.

  ‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,’ she said, looking deliberately at Shane. He chose not to return her glance. ‘I was asleep.’

  Van looked surprised, and commented, ‘Too much sleep during the day isn’t good for you.’

  And Marie said, as Lauren slipped into her place at the table, ‘We wouldn’t have disturbed you, dear, but I thought you might be ...’ She broke off delicately, and Lauren realised in amazement that Marie, too, had thought she was simply being sullen by refusing to come to dinner. Well, she told herself uncomfortably, the way she had been behaving lately, what else could she expect them to think? Then Marie added simply, ‘At any rate, you can’t afford to miss any meals can you? I’m glad you decided to come down.’

  And then Lauren felt Shane’s eyes upon her, and she went pink with embarrassment. In her hurry, she had pulled on a scoop-necked, much-too-revealing sweater—especially considering the fact that she had nothing to reveal—and a pair of jeans that had fit her last year. Irrationally, she knew she would not have been nearly as bothered by anyone else’s seeing her like this, but it had to be Shane Holt. She had never before been so sensitive about her appearance, and once again she was frustrated with herself. It was only one more thing she did not seem to be able to understand about herself lately.

  She concentrated on serving her plate generously and eating mechanically, not really tasting anything, while the table conversation went on around her. To her surprise, Shane was quite pleasant to Marie and Van, and did not let the conversation lag. He totally ignored Lauren, which, at that moment, suited her fine. They talked about generalities, local news, the weather forecast, and business, and gradually Lauren began to realise that Shane had more than just an historical interest in Van’s talk about business. And then Van said, ‘You remember I mentioned to you that new singer I heard about—Jimmy Wild? Well, I had a chance to look him over a few weeks back and I’d like you to meet him.’

  Shane glanced up. ‘Why don’t you handle him yourself?’

  ‘Way out of my league,’ replied Van. ‘I tell you, this young man could really be something special with the right producer—’

  Lauren interrupted, without meaning to, staring at Shane, ‘Are you producing now?’

  His eyes met hers, one corner of his lips dropped dryly. ‘What better occupation for a worthless has been?’ he replied politely,

  She felt her cheeks go hot and she dropped her eyes quickly. The silence round the table was electric, but, fortunately, it was brief. Lauren was miserable with embarrassment and she busily began to cut her meat, knowing if she tried to eat another bite she would surely choke. She did not know whether to be angry with herself or with Shane, but it was much easier to blame him.

  Shane picked up the conversation easily. ‘Why don’t you have him send me a demo tape?’

  Van shook his head. ‘No, you’ve really got to meet this fellow. Let me call him and see when he can get away.’

  Shane lifted an eyebrow. ‘That booked, is he?’

  ‘At two-bit dives-for a minimum wage,’ laughed Van. ‘But still, it’s a living for him and he’s a little bit scared about taking the plunge into the big time ... especially when we’re not promising anything. Let me bring him out; take the time to see what he’s got.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ agreed Shane noncommittally. ‘I’ve got to be getting back pretty soon, though.’

  Good, thought Lauren grimly. The sooner the better. Lauren helped Marie clear the table, discreetly hidin
g her unfinished portions beneath her napkin, and Van invited Shane to play a game of table tennis. ‘Come on, Lauren,’ he insisted, ‘you can play the winner.’

  She shook her head firmly, not looking at either of them. She could feel Shane’s eyes on her, waiting for her answer. ‘No, thanks, I’m going to wash my hair and then ...’ She almost said ‘listen to some records’, but she stopped herself just in time. She wasn’t even allowed that small comfort any more! She added lamely, ‘Go to bed early, I guess. I don’t know why I’m so tired—must be the country air.’

  Marie took the last of the dishes from Lauren’s hands into the kitchen, and Van followed her with the remainder of the unfinished casserole, saying, ‘Okay, honey, looks like you’re elected. It’s no fun unless there’s a challenger waiting in the wings ...’

  Lauren was left alone with Shane in the dining room. She glanced at him briefly, and was surprised to find him watching her steadily, a look of thoughtful speculation in his eyes. She quickly avoided his gaze and moved past him towards the stairs.

  His voice was soft behind her. ‘One question, if I may.’

  She stopped, tensing herself for battle, and turned slowly to face him. He would not get the best of her this time. She could give as well as she could take, as soon he would discover—if he had not already.

  But his expression was enigmatic. ‘What,’ he asked simply, ‘is an “introverted Quasimodo”? ‘

  Lauren refused to blush; she refused to be embarrassed or intimidated. ‘Quasimodo,’ she told him evenly, ‘was a physical monster, twisted and ugly on the outside, but beautiful on the inside. You,’ she informed him without flinching, ‘are exactly the opposite.’

  For a moment there was utter silence. Nothing changed on his face, there was no hint of expression in his eyes, but she felt something change within the atmosphere. Then he dropped his eyes. ‘I see,’ he said softly, and turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  To Lauren’s surprise, Shane was actually present at breakfast the next morning. She had thought he would make every effort to avoid her for the remainder of his stay, but obviously she had underestimated him—as well as her powers of intimidation. That was a most peculiar meal. Lauren made a concentrated effort to keep up a stream of bright, pleasant conversation with Marie, while Shane did the same with Van, each of them totally ignoring the other while engaging in subtle competition for their hosts’ attention. Midway through the meal, Lauren was suddenly struck by how silly it all was and was almost overtaken by a fit of giggles. To her very great surprise, she happened to glance in Shane’s direction just then and saw a spark of amusement reflected in his own eyes. She was so taken aback that she forgot what she had been about to say, and broke off in mid-sentence, hastily taking a sip of coffee to cover. All right, Mr. Holt, she conceded silently, although without much rancour, first round to you!

  After such a stimulating start to the day, Lauren found herself in surprisingly good spirits, and she insisted upon helping Marie with the housework. This time, perhaps sensing Lauren’s restlessness, Marie offered no protests, and dispatched her guest with a basket of furniture polish and dust-cloths to make the rounds of the house. It was busy work and Lauren knew it, for Marie was such an assiduous housekeeper she did not allow so much as a speck of dust or a smudge to appear on her furniture during the day before polishing it away, but Lauren enjoyed the illusion of feeling useful again and had no urge to complain.

  There was a moment when she felt slightly uncomfortable upon entering the music room and remembering how her own foolish sentiment had got her into trouble yesterday. But she quickly shrugged that aside. She had a right to be here if she wanted, and besides, now she was curious about something else. So the great Shane Holt was now lending his inestimable talent to the production side of music. She wondered which of these recordings had his name on the label, which artists he sponsored, and if any of them were any good.

  She soon realised that discovering the answers to those questions would be an impossible task, unless she wanted to manually go through every one of the thousand-odd records Van had in his collection. She could always ask Van, of course, but she told herself that she really wasn’t that interested, and there was too much of a possibility that Shane might discover her curiosity and demand to know the reason for it. She was quite convinced by now that the less the two of them saw of each other the better off they both would be.

  Still, as she dusted, she could not prevent her fingers from trailing absently over the covers, and soon she found her attention again upon the small Shane Holt collection. And there was a surprise. The copy of Dancers that he had destroyed yesterday had been replaced, and she drew it out thoughtfully, noticing that it was a brand new copy; not even the price tag or the cellophane wrap had been removed. She knew Marie had not purchased it yesterday, and she doubted that Van had made a special trip, so that left only ...

  She heard a footfall behind her and whirled guiltily, the incriminating album still clutched in her hands.

  ‘Relax,’ Shane said lazily, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. ‘I’m unarmed.’

  She turned quickly and replaced the record, then blurted, ‘Did you replace this?’

  His smile was dry and humourless. ‘I always pay for my mistakes,’ he answered simply.

  She noticed he had pulled on a light plaid wool jacket over the denim shirt and jeans he had worn at breakfast, and changed into hiking boots. He looked at home in such an outfit, just as he looked at home in Van’s house among the mountains—rugged, outdoorsy, and very masculine. Then he said abruptly, ‘I’m going for a walk in the hills. Do you want to come?’

  Lauren almost dropped the basket of cleaning supplies as she lifted it from the desk, and her reply was automatic and startled. ‘No!’

  His next question took her off guard even more. ‘Why not?’

  She turned to him, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I should think that would be fairly obvious.’

  But he ignored the obvious and said, ‘I understand you recently underwent orthopaedic surgery. Didn’t your surgeon advise you of the beneficial effects of walking to strengthen your muscles and improve your overall general health?’

  She simply stared at him. She had a very strong feeling he was simply laying a nasty trap for her, for why would he invite her company when he had already made it clear he could not stand her presence? But she only said irritably, ‘You talk like a college professor!’

  ‘Why does that surprise you?’ He came over to her easily, removing the basket from her hands and replacing it on the desk. ‘You know so much about me; you should also know I was a college professor before I was a musician.’

  ‘No,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘One year of elucidating the virtues of T.S. Eliot and John Steinbeck to a group of adolescents who were more concerned with how to get into the best fraternity than the meaning of life was enough for me. I thought there surely must be an easier way to make a living, so ...’ he shrugged, delivering it like a challenge, ‘the rest is history.’

  But Lauren refused to be drawn into another scene.

  She started to step away from him, saying, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to—’

  His hand closed firmly about her forearm. ‘No,’ he repeated her words back to her from the night of the party, ‘I will not excuse you. Marie says you’re very delicate and must be treated with the utmost care, and that we should all do our part to see you back to health. And God knows, I always do my part. So you’ll walk with me.’

  She glared at him, resenting Marie for making her an object of solicitation and Shane for so glibly taking advantage of it. She tried to pull her arm away, replying coolly, ‘I’m touched by your concern, but I assure you—’

  He refused to let her go. ‘Look,’ he said impatiently, ‘we can stand here all day and argue about it or you can come with me now and get the worst over with. I don’t know about you, but Van and Marie happe
n to be very important to me and I refuse to make their home a battleground.’

  ‘Ha!’ she exclaimed, pulling at her arm again. ‘Look who’s talking! Mr. Diplomacy himself!’

  Now there was actually a spark of amusement in his eye, ‘If you could see how ridiculous you look, struggling with a man twice your size over a simple thing like a walk, I’m sure you would be more reasonable.’

  She dropped her eyes obstinately to the grip he still had on her arm, and she knew he was right. And it was just barely possible that he was making a genuine overture towards peace for the sake of their hosts, and the least she could do was meet him half way. ‘All right,’ she agreed at last, rather uncharitably. ‘But let me go.’

  Shane released her arm and politely gestured her ahead of him towards the door.

  He showed her to a path which curved around the back of the house towards the mountains, partially through open fields, partially through shadowed wood. Like yesterday, this day was clear and beautiful. The air was cool and fresh, the sky was a rich, deep, almost surrealistic blue, and the way the morning sun reflected off the mountains made them look more than three-dimensional. The air was sweet with the fragrance of pine and spruce and the chirping of the birds melodious, and Lauren wished she could relax and enjoy the walk. But she was too aware of his presence, too concerned over his sudden change of attitude towards her, and too busy trying to arm herself for the inevitable battle she could sense coming. She knew that he was checking his own long stride to keep up with her limping gait, and that made her uncomfortable. It seemed as though just being around him made the limp worse, and she wished she had never allowed him to talk her into this.

  Coming out of the short stretch of wood, the terrain became steeper and rockier. Lauren was becoming tired—she had not realised she was so out of shape—and more than once she turned her foot on a loose stone which had spilled from the mountain base. On the last occasion she very nearly fell, and only his strong grip on her arm saved her.