objectively, Alix asked: ‘Where has Melissa been living?’ and witnessed his automatic gesture of withdrawal.
‘I could say that need not concern you, Mrs Thornton,’ he remarked dryly, ‘but knowing Melissa as I do, if I don’t tell you, she undoubtedly will. She was born in Tokyo, but she has lived all her life in Hokkaido, the northernmost island of the group.’ He studied the glowing tip of his cigar for a moment, and then went on: ‘Until quite recently, she was being looked after by an elderly English lady who had made her home in Japan, and that is why Melissa speaks our language so well. But unfortunately, Miss Stanwick died before I could bring them both back to England, and consequently other arrangements had to be made.’
‘I understand.’
‘I doubt you do, Mrs Thornton,’ he contradicted her, ‘but perhaps we’ll come to understand each other.’
Alix hoped not. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ she said non-committally, and then got to her feet. ‘If—if that’s all, Mr Morgan, it’s been a long day, and I am rather tired—’
His scowl silenced her. ‘I’m afraid that’s not all, Mrs Thornton. If you’ve finished your coffee, I suggest we adjourn to the library so that Mrs Brandon can get the table cleared.’
He moved lithely towards the door, and she had perforce to follow him, very conscious of the controlled muscular strength of his body. What chance would she have against that whipcord hardness of flesh and sinew, she asked herself, if ever that explosive temper of his was turned in her direction? There was not an ounce of surplus flesh on him, and whatever kind of life he had been leading, it had not softened him. Willie’s description of the man as a temperamental bastard, full of his own importance, was no comfort in this situation.
She refused the liqueur he offered her in the library, and perched on the edge of the chair she had occupied earlier, waiting for him to speak. Eventually he came and took the chair opposite, at the other side of the hearth, sitting with his legs apart, his hands cradling a brandy glass suspended between them.
‘I want to explain what I expect of you, Mrs Thornton,’ he said at last, and she tried to meet his eyes without flinching. ‘You noticed that Melissa is lame, I know that, but she’s not stupid. She can read—not well, I admit, but she is literate. However, that is not enough. I want her to read fluently. I want her to understand simple mathematics, and if there’s time, perhaps a little general knowledge could be included.’ Alix nodded, and he went on: ‘Your application also implied that you could speak both French and German. While I appreciate that you’re not a teacher, Mrs Thornton, and all this will be new to you, it may be possible to instruct Melissa in a language as well.’
Alix cleared her throat. Her mother, certainly, was fluent in several European languages, but her own abilities were less impressive. ‘I—French is my best subject,’ she managed, and he seemed to accept that.
‘There is the final matter of Makoto,’ he added. ‘She has cared for the child since she was born, and you may find her presence irritating at times.’ He paused. ‘She must be made to understand that while Melissa is working, she does not get in the way.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ said Alix quickly, and he inclined his head.
‘So.’ He lay back in his chair, stretching his long legs lazily, and raising the brandy glass to his lips. ‘I suggest you use this room for the lessons. I’ve taken the liberty of obtaining some textbooks, which you might study tomorrow, and the following day perhaps you could begin.’ He grimaced into his glass as if it no longer appealed to him, and then sat upright again. ‘I’m sorry if you feel I’m behaving like a slavedriver, but I have work to do as well, and I want to get these arrangements done with.’
‘That’s all right.’ Alix moved her shoulders deprecatingly. ‘So—so long as you don’t expect too much…’
‘I always expect too much, Mrs Thornton,’ he replied with irony. ‘That’s why my life has been one long disappointment to me.’
Alix got to her feet. ‘I—I’ll say goodnight, then,’ she asserted, not quite knowing how to answer him, and his lips twisted.
‘You’re not concerned that your reputation might suffer when it’s ultimately revealed that you’ve been living here with me?’ he inquired, looking tauntingly up at her, and she realised the amount of alcohol he had consumed throughout the evening was responsible for the slight glazing of his eyes.
‘I—no.’ She stilled the involuntary movement of her hand towards her throat again. And when he persisted on looking at her, she added: ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Your husband isn’t likely to come lusting for my blood?’
‘Of course not.’ She silently damned the revealing colour that entered her cheeks.
‘Good.’ With an economy of movement, he was on his feet and facing her, only a stride away. ‘I should hate to have to contend with the kind of publicity that would generate.’
‘You won’t,’ she assured him tautly, wishing she was not so conscious of his nearness.
‘You must have married out of the schoolroom,’ he observed insistently, and she saw his eyes move to the quickening rise and fall of her breasts.
‘Not—not quite,’ she stammered, feeling exposed, and with an indifferent shrug he moved away from her, leaving her weak and shaken by emotion.
‘Goodnight then, Mrs Thornton.’ He was opening the door for her, and she passed him with a mumbled salutation, crossing the hall to the stairs on legs which had never felt so uncertain.
She hadn’t expected to feel relieved to reach the isolation of her room, but she did. She closed her sitting room door and leaned back against it wearily, aware of feeling more exhausted than circumstances warranted. Then she expelled her breath on a sigh and straightening, walked through the lamplit apartment to her bedroom.
Someone had turned down her bed in her absence, and her nightgown had been draped carefully across the sheet. She wondered whether Myra had done it, and thinking of the other girl reminded her of the way she had looked at Oliver Morgan. However retarded her mental condition, physically she was a woman, and it was as a woman she had looked at her master. But how did he see her? She was not an unattractive girl, and he was a man with the same needs as any other man. And yet he had told Alix that he preferred to pay for his pleasures. Did he pay Myra?
She shuddered at the inclination of her thoughts, and tightening her lips, began to undress. But before she put on her nightgown, she ran her hands down over her breasts, her palms covering the hardening nipples. She felt strangely disturbed by the knowledge that a man like Oliver Morgan could arouse her in this way, and she stared at her reflection with unconcealed dislike. She had never felt this sense of discovery about herself before, and it was galling to find it coming between her and her work.
With a grimace of annoyance she reached for her nightgown, and allowed its filmy folds to fall about her ankles. Then she went into the bathroom to wash and clean her teeth, determinedly putting all thoughts of Oliver Morgan out of her mind. She was tired. Things would look different in the morning.
But once she was in bed, between sheets which she discovered were made of silk, it was not so easy to get to sleep. She had peeped through her curtains before getting into bed, and the mist outside seemed to be pressing against the window panes, imprisoning her in this isolated oasis of civilisation. Last night, sleeping in her own
