Devil Lover

‘I tried that,’ Regan grimaced, carrying her wine through to their sitting room. ‘He just came round the next evening as if I hadn't said anything to him. I didn't have the heart to go through it all again.’

Lindy curled up in a chair. ‘That's probably what he was counting on.’

‘Probably,’ Regan laughingly agreed. ‘But even he wouldn't follow me down to Cornwall.’

‘I wouldn't count on it. He hardly lets you out of his sight.’ The doorbell rang. ‘Now's your chance to find out.’

‘How can you be sure it's him?’ Regan stood up.

‘Simple, Chris isn't coming over until later.’

‘A process of elimination, Watson,’ she laughed.

She let Donny in, still not sure why she could only feel mild attraction towards him. He was good-looking enough, very tall, with the body of one of his own country's Greek gods, his hair deeply black, waving in wild disorder, his eyes a deep brown, surrounded by thick black lashes. Regan knew that for work he wore smartly tailored suits, working for a shipping firm he had to look his best, but out of work he wore skintight denims and tee-shirts. He was a very good-looking individual of twenty-two—and yet he left her cold.

She accepted the kiss he placed on her lips, averting her face as he would have deepened the caress. She wished he would accept her friendship and not keep trying to make it something it could never be.

Lindy had gone to her bedroom by the time they entered the sitting-room, leaving the field clear for Regan to tell Donny of her future change of location, no doubt. As she had already known, he didn't like it, not one little bit.

‘You will hate it there,’ he said angrily. ‘There will be no night life there, no parties, no discos. Just think of the fun we have here.’

‘To tell you the truth, the parties and discos have started to pall a bit. Whatever happened to moonlight walks and days spent by the river?’

His expression showed his disgust. ‘I cannot imagine anything worse!’ he groaned.

‘Not here in London, no. Go for a moonlight walk and you're likely to get mugged, and the pollution of the river is likely to kill you if you get too near. I'm a country girl, Donny, and I'm looking forward to the move.’

‘And what about me?’ he asked moodily. ‘You know what will happen to us if you move away from here.’

‘There is no us, Donny,’ she dismissed softly. ‘And as I told you, I want to go. I lived in London because I had to, now I've finished college I would like to move back out again.’

‘You cannot tell me you will not miss all this,’ he scorned, his accent deepening in his anger. ‘I would go mad if I had to live in some quiet backwater.’

‘That's where we differ. I'm looking forward to it.’

‘You are determined to go?’ he knew that stubborn look of old.

‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘But remember this, I tried to stop you. You will remember that?’

Regan laughed. ‘I'll remember. And I'm sure to miss you.’

‘That is what I am hoping.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she nodded. ‘A case of absence making the heart grow fonder.’

‘Oh, Regan,’ his eyes pleaded, ‘I wish you would not go.’ He seemed about to say more and then checked himself. ‘I cannot stop you?’ he said resignedly.

‘No.’

‘Very well. As there are only a couple of days left before you are to leave I intend showing you everything you are going to miss, starting tonight with a party one of the girls is throwing.’

The next two days were a rush. When Regan wasn't out with Donny she was either packing or shopping, a lot of the clothing she had worn at college not being suitable to wear as a companion to an almost sixteen-year-old. Most of her things wouldn't set too good an example of neatness.

And then there was the call to her aunt and uncle, their disappointment immense when they knew she was moving even farther away from them. She was upset about that herself, being very close to them. In fact they had been bringing her up even before her father had died, her mother being Aunt Edith's younger sister. Regan's mother had died when she was seven, although she and her mother had often lived with Aunt Edith and Uncle Fred, since her father was often away.

As soon as her mother had died her aunt and uncle had stepped in to look after her, her father only putting in the occasional appearance. She had loved her father with a love akin to hero-worship, had come to know him as the man who turned up for a day or two bearing gifts and then disappeared again for six months or so. When he had suddenly died, and stopped appearing every now and then to disrupt the even tenor of her young life, she had for a few brief seconds felt a sense of relief. The guilt for that moment had never left her.

Finally Sunday morning came around, bringing bright sunshine with it. Regan donned one of the new sundresses she had acquired, and waited anxiously for Clive Western to arrive. Lindy had only just gone to bed; her night shifts for this year were just starting. Well, at least it would throw her and Christopher, who was moving in later today, in at the deep end. They were to have that test on their relationship straight away. Regan hoped it would work out for them.

Saying goodbye to Donny hadn't been easy, and she hoped he wasn't going to make a nuisance of himself in the near future. Mr Western had seemed nice, but he might not consider Donny a suitable friend for the companion of his daugher.

When the doorbell rang at exactly nine o'clock she knew it was him, and picked up her suitcase before taking one last look around what had been home to her for a long time now.

The drive was long and tiring, although the Mercedes was the ultimate in comfort. The powerful engine ate up the miles, and when the two of them weren't talking there was always the radio to fill in their silences. In actual fact Clive Western seemed to be becoming more and more preoccupied the nearer their destination they got, and with the heat of the day, the relaxing music and the comfort of her surroundings Regan soon fell asleep.

She felt terrible when she woke up; she always did if she fell asleep during the day. She sat up, smoothing back her long hair, wishing now that she had smoothed it back in the style she had had at her interview. She must look a mess.

‘Feeling better?’ Clive Western turned to smile at her.

‘A bit bedraggled,’ she admitted ruefully.

‘I'll be stopping for petrol in a minute, perhaps you would like to freshen up then.’

Ten minutes later she felt grateful for his thoughtfulness, her face newly washed, her make-up renewed and her hair brushed. Ready to face anyone, in fact.

The house certainly was remote, a large grey brick building set high on the cliff top, the only apparent habitation for several miles. There were several outbuildings, a couple of them looking like stables. Regan hoped so, she would love to go riding once again. She hadn't been able to go since her move to London, and it had been a pastime she particularly enjoyed.

Clive Western brought the car to a halt in the driveway at the front of the house, and after getting out Regan went to peer over the edge of the cliff to the sheer drop to the turbulent blue-grey sea below. The water looked icy cold, although in the heat of the day it probably wasn't, crashing against the jagged rocks that were scattered along the shoreline.

‘Brr!’ she shivered, turning away to meet Clive Western's curious stare. ‘It doesn't look very inviting,’ she explained.

‘It's very dangerous,’ he confirmed, taking her suitcase out of the boot of the car. ‘I wouldn't advise that you attempt to swim in it. There's a pool at the back of the house, I should use that.’

‘I think I will, thank you.’ She was perfectly well aware of how treacherous the Cornish coast could be, there were reports of deaths there every year. ‘I saw some stables too—will I be allowed to use one of the horses?’

‘You ride?’ He sounded surprised.

Regan smiled. ‘I'm a country girl, remember?’

‘Of course,’ he smiled back. ‘I can't see why you shouldn't ride one of the horses, they could probably do with the exercise.’

‘Oh, lovely!’ Her eyes glowed deeply blue in her pleasure.

‘Come into the house, Miss Thomas. I'm sure you're as ready for your lunch as I am. Mrs Hall will take you up to your room first,’ he said as the housekeeper came out into the reception area to meet them. ‘I have to go to the office, but no doubt we shall meet again later,’ he told Regan with a regretful smile. ‘Work has to come first, as usual,’ he grimaced.

Mrs Hall was a rotund woman in her fifties, with a friendly welcoming smile on her lips, but her dignity demanding a certain respect. Regan knew that her job as companion could be a friendless one, not fitting in with the household staff and yet not a member of the family either, but Mrs Hall soon showed her there would be no resentment of her in any household she ran.