Sweet Sanctuary Read online

  Sweet Sanctuary

  By

  Charlotte Lamb

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OTHER

  Harlequin Romances

  by

  CHARLOTTE LAMB

  1722—FOLLOW A STRANGER

  1751—CARNIVAL COAST

  1803—A FAMILY AFFAIR

  Original hard cover edition published in 1975

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  SBN 373-01938-6

  Harlequin edition published January 1976

  Copyright © 1975 Charlotte Lamb.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The spring sunshine was deceptive. That mild blue sky, the dancing dazzle of light on the station window, the golden sheen of daffodils on the grass bank—they all disguised the bitter wind which nipped at feet and hands with the aggression of December rather than April.

  Kate Fox shivered in her shabby camelhair coat, drawing the collar closer to her face, flushing as her glance collided with that of the only other passenger waiting on the platform.

  They had already studied each other with the casual interest boredom breeds on such occasions.

  He was the executive type, she had decided with a faint flicker of hostility. He was tall, well-groomed, with smooth dark hair and eyes the colour of the wintry grey sea she had last seen yesterday when she was driving away from her home. His expression was an irritating mixture of the sardonic and the curious. His rather attractive mouth had twitched at her scornful scrutiny, and he had openly returned her interest, his brows lifting so slightly that it just might have been accidental, yet somehow leaving her in no doubt that he intended the silent comment. Kate had lifted her chin in defiance and turned her attention elsewhere.

  Now, conscious of his opinion of her clothes, she gave him a cold stare. Her old coat was past praying for and should have been discarded ages ago, but all her spare money had been needed for Aunt Agnes. For the last two years of her life the poor darling had been unable to digest anything but the lightest food; gently steamed fish, chicken and eggs, with plenty of fruit and fresh salads. Working part-time, so as to be with her as much as possible, Kate had only just earned enough for their food. Luckily, the house belonged to Aunt Agnes, and their rates were not too high. Kate had not been aware of the slow deterioration in her clothes until after Aunt Anges's death. When she had sold the house, the solicitor had said, she would have sufficient funds to buy herself whatever she needed. It was then that, reading his half-pitying, half-shocked glance, Kate had realised how shabby she had become. She had flushed and changed the subject.

  He had touched, too, on the subject of a future career. Apart from working part-time in a pet shop Kate had not been trained for anything other than nursing an invalid. She had gently rejected the solicitor's well-meant suggestions.

  "I've already applied for a job," she had told him.

  He had looked surprised. "Oh?"

  "I answered an advertisement in The Times. It's ideal for me. I think—a post as companion to a widow in rural Essex. A love of animals essential, but no housework or cooking needed."

  His smooth, well-trained face cracked slightly into a frown. "It sounds too much like your previous life. You're too young to bury yourself with another old lady in the depths of the country. Why not go up to London, train as a nurse or a secretary, and enjoy your youth?" He had sighed. "It doesn't last for ever, you know."

  She had smiled at him. "I like the country. London terrifies me."

  "Well, I hope you will reconsider your decision," he had told her.

  She had listened to his arguments politely, but had not changed her mind, and was on her way now to her new home. She had thought of it as home ever since her first meeting with her new employer, who had come up to London to interview several applicants.

  A tall, very thin woman in a blue trouser-suit, with white hair coiled on top of her head in thick plaits which formed a coronet, Mrs. Butler had impressed her on sight. From beneath thin brows she had flashed a glance at her out of eyes of so vivid a blue that one blinked when they opened wide. Her nose had been high, arched and imperious, her mouth generously wide, her chin obstinate, to say the least.

  She was not a woman one could easily forget— eccentric, determined and memorable. Kate had felt sure that if she did take the job, when it was offered, she would never find her life dull. It might be exasperating, even alarming at times, but never dull.

  The journey from her old home in Devon had taken so long that she had spent the previous night in London, horrified by the noise of traffic and the pace of life in a great city.

  It was balm to the soul to stand here, on this small country, railway station, and hear the birds singing, the wind bending the grass and the eerie singing of the wires overhead.

  This was the last stage of her long journey. The little district line train had been overdue for ten minutes. The station porter had seemed cheerfully indifferent to this fact when she enquired, and, accustomed to country ways, she had accepted his excuse.

  Her companion was less amenable. He was tackling the porter again, in sharp tones. The porter vanished into some inner sanctum and after some delay returned, looking sulky.

  "Seemingly," he began in his slow drawl, "there won't be no down train for an hour or so. Trouble on the line up there somewhere. They say it'll take a bit of a while to clear the line."

  The executive type exploded with wrath. The porter shrugged his inability to do anything about the situation.

  "If you don't want to wait along here, best you get the bus into town and get one of them hire cars."

  The executive type glanced across at Kate, lifting one brow. "May I offer you a lift? You'll have a long wait."

  She looked at her heavy suitcase, then at him, doubtfully. The porter nodded at her.

  "You'll be all right with the gentleman, miss," he assured her. "I've seen him on the train now and then."

  The other man gave them both an infuriated look, then bent and picked up her suitcase, grunting in surprise at the weight.

  "I'm sorry," she said nervously. "It's full of books."

  "I thought you must collect rocks," he commented.

  "I'll take it," she said, reaching out a hand.

  He swung round, gripping her by the elbow. "Come along. I imagine I can manage this weight. I'm not incapable."

  She saw that she had offended him, so did not protest further. The porter watched them, grinning, but his grin vanished when her companion gave him one of his hard looks.

  They caught a one-decker bus outside the station which dropped them a short walk from a car-hire firm. Half an hour later they were well on their way along narrow country lanes.

  "You said you were making for Abbot's Marsh," her companion observed, glancing at her.

  Dragging herself back from the trance into which she had fallen while contemplating the gentle unfolding of the leaves on the elms, Kate nodded. "Yes."

  He exclaimed in irritation, "You are really the most uncommunicative girl I've ever met! Most females are eager to launch themselves into an ocean of small-talk. You have to be forced into committing yourself to the most minute fragment of conversation."

  She stared at him in astonishment. "My father disliked what he called chattering females," she confessed shyly.

  He gave her another of his long, shrewd glances. "I see."

  What, she wondered, did he see? She had learnt something about him during their time in the car-hire
firm. The long form he had had to fill in had sketched in his background. She had read it nervously over his shoulder. His name, she learnt, was Nicholas Adams. Aged thirty-four. Profession: architect. He had given her a cool, dismissive stare when he caught her reading what he wrote, and, flushing, she had then moved away.

  These slabs of fact had told her a little about him, but she was not competent to fill in the detail by observation. She merely registered his look of assurance, his successful glaze, and decided that he must be a good architect and an irritating man.

  "Have you escaped from a nunnery?" he asked abruptly.

  Surprise kept her silent. Then she said, "I beg your pardon?"

  He gestured with a brief glance. "Your clothes, your unworldly air. They seemed to add up to some sort of cloistered existence."

  "Hardly likely in this day and age," she said coolly.

  He smiled, staring straight ahead at the road. "So mind my own business? I get the message. May I ask where you're going? Or is that, too, a purely private matter?"

  "I thought we'd agreed that I was going to Abbot's Marsh?"

  "I live there myself," he nodded. "I know everyone in the place. Are you visiting someone?"

  "In a sense," she said, deliberately evasive.

  He turned to look at her, and met warm brown smiling eyes that teased him gently. A grin broke on his face. The cold grey eyes crinkled charmingly.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he said, laughing. "I was beginning to think you incapable of humour. My name is Nicholas Adams, as I suspect you noticed when we were in the car-hire office. I'm an architect—my own office is in Maiden if you ever consider building a house in Essex."

  "I'll remember that," she promised gravely.

  He groaned. "Do I have to torture you to find out your name?"

  "Kate Fox," she said, smiling.

  He paused at a crossroads and looked at her, assessing the sleek brown hair, the colour of beech leaves in autumn; the eyes beneath their fine brows and the gentle, tender pink mouth. She had a sensitive, mobile face, responsive to every mood.

  "It suits you," he said. "Short but compact, suggesting quick wits and a certain hidden humour."

  "There's no answer to that," she riposted.

  He grinned and drove on along a wider road which passed a deserted railway station. Suddenly he braked beside a parked white sports car. The driver, a girl with silvery-white hair coiled on top of her head, stared, then opened her car door and climbed out.

  "Nick! What are you doing in that old heap?"

  He wound down his window. "Hello, darling! Did you come to meet me?"

  "I thought you were coming by train. I've been waiting for ages, but there hasn't been a sight of a train."

  "There was some sort of trouble on the line—I hired a car for the day and drove here."

  The heavily made-up eyes slid past him and focused sharply on Kate. A lifted eyebrow brought Nick's head up.

  "Oh, this young lady was the only other passenger waiting for the train, so I offered her a lift." He sounded indifferent and the other girl's lovely face relaxed. The pale pink lips parted in a cool smile at Kate. The green eyes were unsmiling.

  "How lucky for her that you hired a car," she drawled.

  Kate flushed at something in the tone.

  "Do you mind if I have a private word with my fiancé?" The green eyes dared her to mind. A long white hand touched Nick's arm. "Nick? Come over to my car for a moment. I want to tell you something very important."

  He murmured an apology to Kate, his eyes a little angry, but followed the girl obediently. He murmured something to her. Kate, staring in the opposite direction, longed to be elsewhere.

  Suddenly the other girl's voice rose sharply. "She ordered me off the land! I told her that it was your estate, not hers, and she just said that if I didn't go she would set the dogs on me!"

  Nicholas Adams laughed. "Those mangy hounds? They wouldn't bite a hole in a cushion!"

  "You're not taking this seriously, Nick. She's your aunt! She only lives there by your consent. How dare she speak to me like that?"

  "She's eccentric," he said soothingly. "She probably didn't know who you were!"

  "Oh, yes, she did! Because she said I could wait until she was dead before I made my alterations to the furniture."

  He looked down at her, his face taut. "Sylvia, what did you say to her? What did she mean by that? I thought I told you we would take our time over persuading her to leave Sanctuary?"

  Kate, shaken, sat up and turned to stare at them. Sanctuary? That was the name of the house in which Mrs. Butler lived! Were they talking about her new employer?

  Sylvia was looking sulkily at him. "I saw some fantastic white velvet curtains in London last week. I wanted to check the drawing-room at Sanctuary to see how much I would need."

  "After what I said to you?" His tone was incredulous.

  The green eyes lifted to him, wide and innocent. "But, darling, I wasn't trying to get her to leave. I only wanted the measurements of the windows. Mother thinks we should start planning the new decorations."

  "Mother thinks!" His tone was exasperated.

  She wound her long white fingers over his arm, swaying towards him, the pink mouth raised invitingly. "Darling, don't be cross! I meant no harm! But how long must we wait to get our own home? Is it wrong or unnatural to want to live in our own house? It isn't as if you weren't prepared to help her find a new home!"

  "I've bought her one," he said, smiling.

  "No!" She looked elated. "Where?"

  "I bought Rose Cottage," he said.

  Her face fell. "Right at our gates? Oh, darling, is that wise?"

  "It may swing her over to our side," he said. "After all, she can hardly claim she's being sent away when the new house is right outside the lodge gate."

  "She'll never leave Sanctuary willingly," declared Sylvia. "I saw that today. She's an obstinate old woman and totally selfish."

  He sighed. "You don't know her well enough, Sylvia. Wait until you do. Aunt Elaine is really very sweet." He hesitated. "I suppose you won't reconsider having her living with us?"

  "Even if I would agree, she wouldn't," Sylvia snapped. "She hates me."

  He kissed her. "Nonsense! How could anyone hate you?"

  Her lashes fluttered appealingly. The white hands were lifted to touch his dark head, then fell.

  "I must go, Sylvia," he said. "I shall have to deliver my passenger. I'll call in at your house before I go home."

  "Who is she?" Sylvia asked, looking over at Kate, who flushed and looked away quickly.

  "I don't know," he said. "She's a secretive little creature."

  "Mousey," agreed Sylvia. "Those appalling clothes! She looks like a refugee."

  "Don't be unkind," he said indulgently. "I think she must be rather poor."

  "What's she doing in this district? I've never seen her before and I thought I knew everyone for miles around."

  "I think she's visiting some relative. Or perhaps she's got a job. Didn't Colonel Lewis say he was expecting a new housekeeper this week?"

  "That girl is far too young for a job like that! She can't be more than eighteen."

  He shrugged. "Well, I must go."

  Sylvia stood waving as they drove away. Kate stared ahead, every particle of feeling tingling with wrath and wounded pride. There was a roar, a flash of white and the sports car suddenly shot past them, at a fantastic speed. The horn blared. Sylvia waved, laughing, and then was gone.

  "Silly girl," murmured Nicholas.

  "She'll get killed doing that one day," Kate said coldly. "In narrow country lanes that sort of driving is criminal."

  "Thank you, Mr. Justice Fox," Nicholas retorted. "Where can I drop you? We're just coming into Abbot's Marsh."

  "You can take me to Sanctuary," she said huskily.

  "What?" His head swung. The car lurched violently and there was an ominous scratching along the side as it ran into the hedge. He swore under his breath an
d drew back. There was a moment's silence, then he demanded, "Did you say Sanctuary?"

  "Yes."

  "You're going to Sanctuary?"

  She gave him a cold look. "Must you keep repeating the same question? Yes, I am going to Sanctuary."

  "But that's my house!"

  "I gathered as much from your conversation."

  "You didn't know until then?" Then he pulled up and stared at her. "Were you listening to my conversation? Eavesdropping?"

  "I was in full view," she pointed out. "If you didn't want me to hear you, you should have kept your voices down. It wasn't my fault that I heard. I would have had to wear ear plugs to avoid hearing every word. Your fiancée has a very penetrating voice."

  He glared at her. "There's no need to be catty about Sylvia!"

  "I was merely stating a fact."

  "I've noticed that other women always dislike her. A girl who looks like that has to get used to being the object of jealousy and spite, I suppose."

  "I'm not jealous of her! Nor, I hope, am I spiteful." Kate tried not to sound as chagrined as she felt.

  "Why are you going to Sanctuary?" He was staring at her with a sort of incredulous dismay.

  "I've got a job there."

  "A job?" His voice hardened.

  "Do stop repeating everything I say!"

  "What sort of job?"

  "Companion-secretary," she said smugly. "To Mrs. Butler."

  "Aunt Elaine? I knew she was up to something when she went up to London so suddenly. I might have known! And I understand her very well—this is the gauntlet,"

  "What?" Kate was bewildered.

  "You," he said impatiently.

  "What about me?"

  "You are the gauntlet, of course. Thrown down— defiance. I should have expected it."

  "I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

  "Aunt Elaine has been asked to leave my house because I'm getting married, but she refuses to go. To consolidate her position she has chosen to employ you. You're to be her ally. She feels she needs one. Also the very fact that she has engaged you makes her position somehow stronger, makes her a permanent fixture."