Chase A Green Shadow

‘Very well. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I’m doing you both an injustice. And no doubt in other circumstances I would have to agree. But right now I’m just relieved that you’re going to stay with Lance. Besides, it will do you good to travel. And England is a beautiful country, no matter what it’s climate’s like.’

Tamsyn expelled her breath loudly. ‘Okay, Mummy. I won’t make a fuss.’ She forced herself to be interested. ‘Where did you say Charles was lecturing first?’

Laura regarded her intently for a moment as though realising for the first time that Tamsyn had a mind and a will of her own. Then she shrugged, as though to dispel the unease she had suddenly experienced, and began to tell her daughter the details of their schedule.

Charles arrived before Tamsyn went down to dinner, and when she entered the exquisitely appointed lounge he was standing helping himself to a drink from the cabinet. It was strange, she thought with a pang, that when she returned from visiting her father, Charles would be a permanent fixture here, sharing their lives, and sleeping in her mother’s bedroom. She would no longer be able to go into her mother’s room in the early hours of the morning and tell her all about the party she had just been to, or climb into bed with her on Sunday mornings and have Rebecca bring them breakfast together.

Charles turned when he heard her step and regarded her admiringly. He was a man in his early fifties, of medium build with a rather angular face and body. Like her mother he, too, lectured at the university, and it was their mutual interests which had brought them together. Tamsyn neither liked nor disliked him, but she could understand his appeal for her mother. Theirs was a blending of minds rather than spirits, but Tamsyn knew that that kind of a union would never do for her.

‘You’re looking charming, my dear,’ he said now, pouring her some sherry with the familiarity of long use. ‘Here you are.’

‘Thank you.’ Tamsyn took the glass and looked down into its depths without drinking the liquid. ‘Has it stopped raining yet?’

Charles finished his bourbon and poured himself a second. ‘More or less. It’s quite cool for June, don’t you think?’

Tamsyn nodded, and seated herself comfortably in an armchair, smoothing the skirt of her long amber-coloured caftan about her. ‘Mummy tells me you’re visiting Seattle first.’

‘Yes. Then we’ll drive south through California, finishing up at San Diego.’

‘A wonderful trip,’ commented Tamsyn.

‘Indeed.’ Charles looked rather smug. ‘I’m sure your mother will enjoy it.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ agreed Tamsyn amicably.

‘You’re not bitter, are you, Tamsyn?’

‘Bitter?’ Tamsyn was taken aback. ‘No. Why should I be bitter?’

‘About being sent to your father, of course. I mean—well, Laura has cared for you all these years without a break, you know. It’s time he fulfilled his commitment.’

Tamsyn was staggered. Was that what her mother had said? Had she told Charles that Lance Stanford had virtually disregarded his responsibilities? Tamsyn found this possibility vaguely distasteful. After all, her mother had never encouraged her father to keep in touch with his daughter, and Tamsyn recognised the fact that Lance Stanford must have resented this from time to time. But Tamsyn had always allied herself with her mother, never ever imagining that Laura would take it upon herself to get married again.

But just then Laura came into the room, mature and slightly intimidating in a gown of black silk. ‘Oh, good,’ she said, when she saw the glass of bourbon in Charles’s hand. ‘You’ve helped yourself. I hoped you would.’ She allowed him to kiss her cheek. ‘After all, you’ve got to get used to making yourself at home here, hasn’t he, Tamsyn?’

Tamsyn managed a faint smile, and then her mother’s voice changed: ‘Tamsyn, go and find Rebecca, darling. Ask her how long dinner will be. I’m starving.’

Tamsyn got up and went obediently out of the room, closing the door behind her. She understood her mother’s request for what it was, an attempt to get her out of the way for a few minutes, but it was not a pleasing experience being made to feel an intruder in one’s own home. Perhaps it was a good thing they were going away. By the time they came back the newness of their relationship would have been blunted and perhaps then it would not be so hard to take.

The Boeing 747 landed at London Airport in the early evening, London time. It had not been an arduous journey for Tamsyn, but the time change would take some getting used to. Dinner had been served on the flight, but she had been too strung up to eat anything, the events of the past forty-eight hours gradually taking their toll of her.

Her mother and Charles Penman had been married the previous afternoon in a civil ceremony that had lasted only a few minutes. There had been few guests, mainly members of the university fraternity, and it had all seemed rather cold and irreligious to Tamsyn. But her mother was happy, and that was all that mattered. Laura’s happiness was evident in her heightened colour, in the excitement of her voice, and in the way she behaved with an increased confidence.

After the ceremony there had been a private reception before they all left for the airport, Laura and Charles on the first stage of their journey to Seattle, and Tamsyn to stay overnight at the airport hotel to be ready for her flight the next morning.

After her mother had left, Tamsyn had sought the privacy of her room and indulged herself in a way she had not done since she was a child. But the tears had relieved her tension somewhat, and only now, with the huge jet taxiing to a halt outside the airport buildings, did a little of that tension return.

Her father was to meet her at the airport, and she wondered whether Joanna would be with him. She hoped not. She would like to have a few moments alone with her father before coming into contact with her—stepmother! It sounded unreal somehow: stepmother. How could one have a stepmother when one’s own mother was alive and well? It didn’t seem right somehow.

Her cases were cleared without incident and a porter carried them through to the reception lounge. But there was no sign of her father, and her heart sank. Surely he hadn’t forgotten she was coming. Surely he hadn’t mistaken the time of the flight. Knowing her mother as she did she felt sure all the details would have been arranged meticulously.

She sighed and glanced down at herself. Did she look all right? What would he think of her? She had been a child when last he saw her. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to travel in trousers, but in this Tamsyn had been firm. She preferred casual clothes, and besides, the dull green suede trouser suit had cost her mother over a hundred dollars and nothing so expensive could look all bad.

A breeze blew in through an open doorway, taking several strands of her hair and stroking them across her face. She was wiping the hair from her mouth when she became aware that she was being scrutinised rather closely by a man across the lounge from her.

An unaccustomed feeling of apprehension slid down her spine as for a brief moment her gaze locked with his and then she looked away, aware of a strange sense of disturbance. She had never before exchanged such a glance with a man of his age—he could be anything from thirty-five to forty-five—and she felt shaken for a moment. Not that he interested her, she told herself sharply. He was too big, too broad, too muscular, too masculine in every way, with dark skin and dark hair and sideburns that reached his jawline. He was not a handsome man by any standards, although she thought that some women might find his harshly carved features and deeply set eyes attractive; if one found such primitive strength appealing, of course.

She ventured another look at him and found to her embarrassment that he was still watching her, his expression vaguely speculative. Tamsyn turned her back on him, but she was intensely aware of his eyes boring into her shoulder blades and she wished desperately that her father would appear and rescue her from this awful situation.

When a low, deep, faintly musical voice spoke just behind her she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘As everyone else appears to have departed, you must be Tamsyn Stanford—are you?’

Tamsyn spun round and to her astonishment she found herself confronted by the man who had been staring at her for the last few minutes. ‘I—I—yes,’ she stammered. ‘I’m Tamsyn Stanford. But—but who are you?’

The man’s dark eyes were enigmatic. ‘My name is Hywel Benedict. I’m a friend of your father’s. As he couldn’t come to meet you himself, he asked me to do so.’

‘Oh!’ Tamsyn was at a loss. ‘I—I see.’

The man looked down at her two cases. ‘Is this all your luggage?’ He bent to lift them easily.

‘I—yes—but how do I know you are who you say you are?’ She flushed in embarrassment as his eyes narrowed. ‘I mean—I’ve never heard your name before.’

Hywel Benedict considered her pink face for a moment and then he frowned. ‘I suppose it never occurred to your father to imagine that a girl from your background should consider there was anything sinister about my meeting you instead of him.’

‘What do you mean—my background?’ Tamsyn was stung by his tone.

‘Why, nothing,’ he responded expressionlessly. He stood down her cases again and put his hand inside the jacket of his casual sports suit and brought out a wallet. He extracted a photograph and handed it to her silently and Tamsyn tried to concentrate on the images imprinted upon it with some degree of composure. She recognised her father at once, and the small dark woman who she guessed was Joanna, although it wasn’t a very good likeness. And standing slightly behind them two other people; a woman, and the definite likeness of the man at her side.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, handing him back the photograph and feeling rather foolish. ‘Yes, this is all my luggage. Do we go?’

‘We go,’ he agreed, and strode away across the hall without waiting to see whether she was following him.

Outside it was a perfect summer evening, only a faint breeze to cool the warm atmosphere. Hywel Benedict slung her cases into the back of a rather shabby-looking station wagon and then opening the passenger side door indicated that Tamsyn should get in.

Tamsyn did so not without some reluctance. This was not the welcome she had expected to get and she was feeling decidedly tearful. Why hadn’t her father come to meet her, or even Joanna if he wasn’t able? Instead of this abrupt stranger who seemed prepared to think the worst of her without even waiting until he knew her.

The man climbed in beside her, his thigh brushing hers as he did so. He was such a big man, he succeeded in making Tamsyn, who had always found herself on eye-level terms with the young men of her acquaintance, feel quite small. He smelt of tweeds and tobacco, shaving soap and a clean male smell that made Tamsyn’s nostrils twitch a little. She wondered who he was, and what he did, and where he lived, and then chided herself for being curious about a man who was so obviously far out of her sphere of experience. He was her father’s contemporary, after all, not hers.

The station wagon responded smoothly beneath his strong-fingered hands, and he negotiated the airport traffic with only slight impatience. For a moment, Tamsyn was diverted by driving on the left-hand side of the road, and then she ventured another look at her companion.

Where his wrists left the white cuffs of his shirt she could see a thick covering of dark hair, while a gold watch glinted against his dark skin. He wore only one ring and that was on the third finger of his left hand, a gold signet ring engraved with his initials.

As though becoming aware of her scrutiny he glanced her way at that moment and encountered her startled green eyes. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

Tamsyn took an uneven breath. ‘It was all right, I suppose. I’ve not travelled a lot, so I wouldn’t really know.’ She sighed. ‘Where is my father? Why couldn’t he meet me?’

‘He’s at home—in the valley.’

‘At home?’ Tamsyn sounded indignant.