Edge Of Temptation

‘Not as long as I have any say in the matter,’ Rafe declared shortly. ‘So now do you understand my position?’

Catherine made a negative gesture. ‘Surely—surely, as this valley means so much to you …’

‘No.’ Rafe shook his head. ‘Hammond Redvers didn’t get where he is today by philanthropising.’

‘But he’s your father-in-law!’

‘Yes. Well, he thinks I’m not realistic, and I think he’s a financial leech. We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye in these matters.’ He shook his head. ‘Although why I should admit that to you, I can’t imagine.’

Catherine met his gaze reluctantly. ‘Thank you, anyway,’ she murmured, half afraid of the penetration of those clear blue eyes, so unusual in someone so dark. ‘I—I do see your dilemma. I just wish there was some way …’

‘So do I,’ he retorted, with a return of abrasiveness, and thrusting open the door behind him, he levered himself out of the car. ‘Thank you for listening to me. Goodbye, Catherine.’

‘Goodbye—Rafe,’ she answered, although her tentative use of his name was drowned in the brisk slamming of the door.

CHAPTER THREE (#u4580d0f3-cf02-51d1-a3e6-c09a0a4ff0fd)

THE bar of the Bay Horse was half empty at this hour of a Friday evening, and Catherine led the way to a table in the corner, near the crackling log fire. Seating herself on the banquette, she accepted Robert’s offer of a Scotch and soda, and warmed her hands at the blaze as he went to get their drinks. It was an attractive room, and her eyes strayed over the hunting trophies and horse brasses that decorated the walls. There had been a hostelry on these premises almost as long as there had been a manor at Penwyth, and she couldn’t help thinking that Josh Evans would not complain at the increase in trade a development in the valley might bring.

Robert came back, carrying two glasses, and she transferred her attention to him. A little over medium height and stocky, with a fair complexion and drooping moustache, he was an amusing companion, and she forced a smile to her lips as he seated himself on the banquette beside her.

‘Cheers,’ he said, swallowing a mouthful of his lager, and she took a mouthful of her own drink as he added: ‘Nice place.’ He waved his glass expansively. ‘Can we get a meal here?’

‘We can. A bar meal, at least,’ she conceded. ‘But we won’t. Aunt Margaret would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you over for supper.’

Robert laughed goodnaturedly. It was an amiable sound, and Catherine thought how good it was to hear it. Robert was unfailingly cheerful, and right now he was exactly what she needed.

‘Aunt Margaret,’ he said, swallowing more of his lager. ‘And Uncle Mervyn, is that right? You see—–’ He held up a knowing finger. ‘I don’t forget these things.’

Catherine’s smile was less tense. ‘It’s good to see you, Robert. But you should have warned me you were coming. I promised to have supper at the farm last week, and I didn’t make it. I daren’t let them down again.’

‘That’s okay,’ Robert shrugged. ‘I like meeting your family. It makes me feel that I’m getting somewhere—–’

‘Now, Robert …’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I’m not going to bring that up again. I just—well, I like being with you, and I don’t mind where it is.’

Catherine looked down into her glass. ‘You should find yourself a woman who wants to settle down,’ she said quietly. ‘Not a career woman like me. You know you want a home and family. You’re not getting any younger—neither of us are. You should be looking around.’

Robert ignored her and looked round the bar. ‘This looks a pretty old place,’ he commented. ‘Stone floors no less. No wonder the beer’s cold!’

‘You’re right. The cellars are ancient. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking those very thoughts.’

‘Really?’ Robert grinned. ‘You see! We even think alike.’

‘Oh, Robert!’

Catherine applied herself to her drink again, and Robert looked about him. ‘Tell me who everyone is,’ he ordered. ‘Come on. The bartender, for example. Is he the publican?’

‘No, that’s Morris Evans, the publican’s son. Josh has the licence.’

‘You mean he owns the place?’

‘No, again.’ Catherine’s lips tightened. ‘All the property in the valley is part of the Penwyth Estate.’

‘Is that right?’ Robert’s fair brows ascended. ‘That would be the estate which has granted drilling rights on your uncle’s land?’

‘Yes.’ Catherine’s fingers tightened round her glass. She preferred not to think about that.

Sensing this, Robert went on: ‘So, who else is here? That fat old boy in the corner, for instance, with the pipe. Who’s he?’

Patiently, Catherine catalogued the various occupations of the people in the bar, realising that Robert was doing his best to cheer her up. He was a nice person, and she had been delighted when he walked into the boutique, right on closing time. She hadn’t seen him for over two months, not since the last time she was in London, and it was surprising how much she had missed his humorous face.

A sudden influx of customers caused him to glance round again, and in an undertone, he said: ‘Farmers! These days they don’t look any different from accountants.’

‘They may be accountants, for all I know,’ declared Catherine tersely, after giving the men a cursory look. ‘They’re Norcroft’s men—geologists or geophysicists or something. They’re the ones conducting the explorations at Penwyn. I believe they’re staying here at the inn. They’re engineers of some kind, but I don’t know them.’

‘I see.’ Robert considered the newcomers thoughtfully. ‘And—is there any news?’

‘Not yet.’

‘How long has it been?’

‘Since they arrived?’ Catherine shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I don’t know. A month, six weeks—something like that.’

It was exactly six weeks, two days, and eight hours since she had had that interview with Rafe Glyndower, but she wasn’t going to tell Robert that.

‘Interesting.’ Robert nodded now, and then, in an attempt to justify this statement, he added: ‘I mean, if it was anywhere else than on your uncle’s land, it would be interesting, wouldn’t it? If they do find lead, it will be tremendously important. After all, everyone thought lead mining was virtually defunct in Britain.’

Catherine knew he was right. Such a find was potentially exciting, but not if one was personally involved. She could only see the effect it was having on her family, and that negated its importance so far as she was concerned. Not that the men’s appearance had interfered too much with the running of Penwyn, yet at any rate. Their present explorations were confined to the top field, and apart from the inconvenience, and an occasional tremor from their boring equipment, they could almost forget they were there. Indeed, it was always possible that their search would prove fruitless, in which case Rafe Glyndower had given an undertaking that her uncle should have first option should the land have to be sold.

It was the only light at the end of the tunnel, but she knew her uncle had little faith in it. From the moment the first drillings were heard, he had withdrawn into a shell of his own making, and no amount of sympathy or cajolement could bring him out of it. He was not eating, he had lost weight; and her aunt said he was sleeping badly. And all because his shepherd had found the head of a Roman axe among some rocks in the top pasture, and he had been honest enough to hand it over to the Glyndowers.

Yet for all that, she could not entirely blame Rafe Glyndower for what had happened, even though her attitude had enraged her cousin Owen. Rafe was as helpless as they were, at the mercy of his own needs and necessities, and there was no easy solution to any of their problems.

Supper at Penwyn was not a comfortable occasion, even though her aunt attempted to make it so. Uncle Mervyn was out attending to a cow that was calving, and apart from appearing for a brief moment halfway through the meal, he left his wife to entertain their guests.

‘Do you have a dairy herd, too, Mrs Powys?’ asked Robert politely, helping himself to another slice of savoury flan, and Catherine saw the way Owen glowered at him.

‘Oh, no.’ Aunt Margaret shook her head. ‘Just a few cows for our own use, that’s all.’

‘This is a sheep farm,’ Owen told him shortly. ‘Or at least, it was.’

‘Owen!’

His mother gave him a warning look, but it was too good an opportunity to miss, and turning on Catherine, he added: ‘We’re all indebted to my dear cousin here for removing the uncertainty.’

‘It’s not Catherine’s fault.’ It was Gillian, his wife, who defended her. ‘She only told you what Mr Glyndower had told her.’