talk to the likes of us. ‘Course we always knew he was in charge. There wasn’t any questioning his authority. But he was a decent bloke. And I’m pleased to say Mr York—er—Masterton—is carrying on in the same way, although he’s got double the energy and the authority. ‘Course, he’s younger. But it’s a good thing with this lot if you ask me.’
Alex sipped the steaming coffee, her smile ruminative as she followed Ron’s gesture towards the two bashfullooking youths. It wasn’t the picture Shirley had painted of her father—or even of York.
‘So how long has it been exactly since Mr Mast—I mean Mr York,’ she corrected herself, ‘took over the running of things?’ Obviously it was a name used privately between the men, she realised, to distinguish between uncle and nephew. She had to find out, acquaint herself with facts she hadn’t gleaned simply from Shirley and the newspapers.
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’
Hearing the deep, familiar voice, she whirled around, wincing as hot coffee slopped over her hand.
‘That was rather careless.’
Of course he’d noticed, and before she had realised it he was pressing a clean white handkerchief into her hand. It was slightly warm from his body heat and she knew that it would smell of his own personal scent. The scent that had lingered on her skin after he had kissed her…
‘Th-thanks,’ she stammered, feeling awkward, wishing he hadn’t, unable to look at him as he addressed the others.
‘Gary, Jason, I don’t pay you to stand around all day drinking coffee with the first nubile female that breezes in here.’ Like magic, his unquestionable authority had the two teenagers scuttling back to work. ‘Thanks for keeping her out of mischief, Ron.’ His tone held deep respect for the older man.
When they were back in the car, however, his coat discarded on the back seat, he said scathingly, ‘Asking a lot of questions, weren’t you?’ Suspicion burned in his eyes as he pulled away with more than a fair amount of aggression, the spinning wheels kicking up dust.
‘Why shouldn’t I ask questions about my family if I want to?’ Alex challenged indignantly.
He cast a sidelong glance across the car. ‘Your family?’ he sneered. ‘I don’t think there’s any way that I can be fooled into imagining that you have any right here.’ And before she could respond he said harshly, ‘And did you have to aim your questions at my employees?’
Perhaps I shouldn’t have, she thought, studying the nails of one hand which was resting in her lap. They were filed to their usual moderate length, enhanced only by a clear, protective lacquer. Edgily, though, she said, ‘Well, I knew the sort of response I’d have got if I’d asked you.’
He didn’t look at her as the car climbed the long road out of the quarry.
‘That doesn’t give you any right to go fraternising with them,’ he said. ‘Sharing their coffee-breaks, laughing and joking with them as if you were on their level. Familiarising yourself with my workforce, Alex, is, from now on, strictly taboo.’
Alex’s nostrils flared as she watched him stop at a junction. The lush Somerset valley dropped away below them, stretching for miles, green touched with silver, from the sparkling lower fields to the thick white caps over the surrounding hills.
‘You hypocrite,’ she murmured under her breath.
‘Hypocrite?’ Now, as he pulled away, he sent a questioning glance in her direction.
‘Ron said what a decent guy you were. That your position hasn’t made you put yourself above them—probably because of the act you put on in trying to convince them it hasn’t,’ she couldn’t refrain from adding, although, strangely, she didn’t really believe that. Instinctively she knew that York Masterton wouldn’t ever try to be anything but the man he was. ‘Now you’re implying I shouldn’t stoop even to talking to them.’
‘Corrupting is the word I’d use,’ he delivered with smooth precision. ‘And I was thinking more of them—not you.’
‘Thanks,’ she breathed, and stared belligerently at the road. Well, what could she expect from him? she thought. He didn’t trust her. And, even if he did eventually accept her as his long-lost cousin, because of his low opinion of Shirley and the gold-digger he obviously thought she, Alex, was he’d still continue to flay her verbally at the least opportunity.
‘I never knew Page was in a wheelchair,’ she said tentatively.
‘No? Didn’t you read it somewhere?’ he muttered with scathing emphasis.
Alex swallowed, trying not to be put off. ‘No.’
‘He was in it long enough,’ he rasped.
She took a deep breath, trying again. ‘How long?’
Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Nine—ten years.’ ‘Ten years!’ Shock made a squeak out of her voice. ‘Did—did Shirley know?’ she ventured, puzzled, after a moment.
The striking contours of his profile hardened as he made some derisive sound through his nose. ‘I doubt very much, pretty…cousin…if the woman you claim was your mother ever actually knew. Or cared,’ he appended roughly.
The bitterness in him was tangible enough to make her recoil in her seat. He had been close to Page—far closer than she had ever begun to imagine, she was surprised to realise, sensing the deeply personal grief beneath that tough, impenetrable exterior.
‘What happened to him?’ she found enough courage to ask at length.
‘Do you really care?’
He looked so savage, gripping the wheel with those long dark hands whitening at the knuckles, that she was almost intimidated into silence. But if she wanted him to accept her claim to being a Masterton then she had to start acting like one, she told herself firmly, from somewhere finding the confidence to utter, ‘He was my grandfather. I’m interested, that’s all.’
‘Yes, and that’s about the size of it, isn’t it?’ he tossed angrily back at her. ‘Which is why you can sit there nonchalantly talking about a man you never knew without the first bloody idea of the pain he went through—what it’s like to suffer!’
His outburst made her flinch. Then she wanted to hurl at him that she knew enough about pain and suffering to last her a lifetime, but that would have revealed too much about herself, so she didn’t dare.
‘He had a stroke. Now let’s forget it,’ he said eventually, plunging them both into silence and driving the luxurious car with barely restrained vehemence for the rest of the journey home.
OVER the next couple of days Alex kept herself occupied by discovering her surroundings. She explored the town, reached from the long road that ran downhill from the house to the quaint and historic seafront which in summer, she knew, would be crowded because of the modern holiday centre with its fun-filled watershoots and garish colours. On the far side of the town, it was, she decided, the only thing to detract from
