Easy Connections - Chapter 1

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=3 height=90 BGCOLOR="#3399FF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <I><B>Liz Berry Books</B></I><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FFFFFF" FACE="Arial" ><B>  </B></FONT></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=160 BGCOLOR="#FFCC66" TEXT="#080000" background="08bd4c00dkelyh.png"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Liz Berry Books"><U><I><B>Home</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Meet Liz "><U><I><B>Meet Liz</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books"><U><I><B>Books</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id98.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Third Book/Creativity"><U><I><B>Third Book</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id29.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Messages"><U><I><B>Messages</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id30.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Bookstore"><U><I><B>Bookstore</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id31.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Liz"><U><I><B>Contact Liz</B></I></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id32.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Links"><U><I><B>Links</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>Easy Connections </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Chapter 1</B></div> <bR> <div> <I><B>                                                         </B></I></div> <div> The sky was apricot gold and the September shadows legthened across the grass. At the edge of the field by the stream, Cathy continued to paint, unaware of the time passing or of the semi-circle of young cows behind her. </div> <div>   It was only when one of the cows snorted close to her ear that she looked round and found the ring of moony eyes gazing at her. Giggling, she clapped her hands and shooed the cows away. Where had they come from? They hadn't been there when she started painting nearly three hours ago. Could they really be watching her paint?</div> <div>   Smiling, she went back to the painting on the easel. Yesterday she had made two pencil studies of the plants and trees, and today she had brought oils and a canvas to try to capture the purple brown of the tree and the weeds, dark in the water of the stream. Now the painting was almost finished and she was reasonably content with her afternoon's work. Mr Arnold, at any rate, would like it. </div> <div>   She remembered then, feeling strange, that Mr Arnold wouldn't see it. School was over forever.</div> <div>   The cows had retreated only a few steps, and soon they were back, close together, snorting and inching forward. She waved her arms to make them go away, but they looked so shy and wistful, like the boys at the end of term disco, that she threw back her head and laughed aloud. </div> <div>   Frightened by the unexpected noise, the cows lifted their heads, their eyes showing white. They turned about, jostling each other, and lumbered off up the field. The last one got a stray kick and galloped away panicking. Its tail, swinging wildly, caught one thin leg of her easel.</div> <div>   The easel toppled backwards. The painting, fixed insecurely, sailed over the top, made a leisurely somersault, and landed, smack, face up in the nearby stream. It began to float gaily downstream.</div> <div>  Cathy began to laugh helplessly. She kicked off her sandals and waded into midstream. The painting moved forward, just out of reach. She grabbed at it, unsuccessfully, and it floated forward another metre. She tried to move more quickly, stumbled, her feet slipping on the mossy pebbles, lost her balance and fell forward with a splash into the water.</div> <div>   She pulled herself up, soaked, and sat down on the largest stepping stone in the middle of the stream, hysterical with laughter. Monty Python, she thought. Buster Keaton!</div> <div>  When she managed to get a grip of her hilarity, she saw that the painting had now lodged itself securely between two boulders. She waded downstream, still laughing, picked it up, and shook the water from it. She made her way to the bank and propped the painting against a bush to let the hot sun dry out the canvas. The oily surface seemed none the worse for its dipping, not even scratched, but she thought the stretchers would probably warp. The canvas would need restretching. And the sun was too hot.</div> <div>   In the end she put the painting against a tree trunk shadowed by a bush so that it would dry out more slowly. The final details could be done at the house later.</div> <div>   She began to clean her palette and brushes and packed them away with the easel and paints into her old straw bag. She threw away the turps under a bush, wiped out the tin and put it into the bag. Finally she rubbed her hands on a rag, sniffing at them appreciatively. There was something about the smell of turpentine. Her hands were small, with thin fingers. They moved swiftly and deftly. Tomorrow she would start a painting of the greenhouses at the market garden.</div> <div>   Her chores finished, she became aware again of the water dribbling unpleasantly down her back. She took off her teeshirt, wrung it out and, hesitating, draped it over a bush to dry. She would have liked to take off her velour shorts too, which were clinging uncomfortably, but the cows had given her an odd feeling of being watched, even though they were at the far end of the field now.</div> <div>   Her hair, which had been neatly tied back, was curling in damp tendrils round her forehead and shoulders. She shook it back and sat down in a patch of sunlight to dry it, leaning back on her arms. The sun was warm on her body. She closed her eyes, feeling deeply peaceful and happy.</div> <div>   No more exams. No more boring holiday work in the packing factory. Just two more blissful weeks painting here in the country - then art college at last! </div> <div> On her own, in her own bedsit. <I>Free.</I> No more hassles with Aunt Cass about the light on at two o'clock in the morning. Just paint, paint, paint!</div> <div>   She wondered how Aunt Cass was getting on in Edinburgh. After fifty years in London she had decided to go back to her old home. Cathy thought, suddenly, that she would miss crusty old Aunt Cass, who wasn't a real aunt at all, just the lady who had lived next door. But when her mother had died suddenly two years ago, Aunt Cass had offered to look after her during term time, so that she could finish her exams, without changing schools. There was no one else. Her father had disappeared to Australia years before and her only brother lived out in Nethercombe with his wife and baby son. She stayed with them during the holidays.</div> <div>   Cathy had taken her A-level Art with distinction, when she was only sixteen, and the last year she had spent a lot of time at the local polytechnic, following (unofficially, because she was too young) the art foundation course, and getting extra A-levels. She was sure that this was the reason they had offered her a place at the London College of Art, a year earlier than usual, plus, of course, her folder of work and the recommendations of her teachers. Her special home circumstances had counted too. She was very lucky. It was almost unheard of to get into College before you were actually eighteen. She might have had to wait another whole year! It seemed too good to be true.</div> <div>   She smiled and stretched out luxuriously. It was nearly time for the evening meal. Another few minutes and she would find her sandals...</div> <bR> <div> The young man on the higher, opposite bank of the stream, half-hidden by the trees was enchanted.</div> <div>   He had been watching her for over half an hour now. He had seen the ring of animals round the oblivious girl, and he had stayed to see what happened. He had enjoyed the knock-about comedy act in the stream. Her laughter had delighted him - he had not met many girls who would laugh in that kind of situation - and he had even enjoyed watching her pack. The striptease was a surprise bonus.</div> <div>   He was so absorbed that he did not hear his friend come up behind him. </div> <div>   'What are you looking at?'</div> <div>   'You nearly gave me a heart attack.' He got up grinning and flipped his fingers. 'Nice.'</div> <div>   They stood, staring across at the girl lying in the sunlit meadow. She was about seventeen, delicate and slender, but with full breasts, her skin a clear creamy rose. Her hair, dishevelled, shone golden in the sun. She was barefoot and there was a cut on her shin.</div> <div>   His friend stared blankly, taking in the state of the girl, then weary disgust swept across his face. He swore explosively.</div> <div>   'Not already! How did this one get in?'</div> <div>   The other began to laugh. 'Listen...' But his friend was already striding and scrambling down the bank under the overhanging trees.</div> <div>   'Hey, <I>you!</I>'</div> <div>   Cathy heard the laughter and the crackling twigs. She had been nearly asleep, but she sat up hastily, trying to focus through the red haze the sun had printed on her eyelids.</div> <div>   'Hey, you, girl!'</div> <div>   The furious voice got through her daze and her vision cleared miraculously.</div> <div>   Two young men were standing a few metres away, on the other side of the stream.</div> <div>   Cathy blinked, rubbed her eyes and stared again. They were still there, staring back at her, silent now. They stood shoulder to shoulder, just above average height, very straight and graceful. They were strangely alike. Lithe, slip-hipped. They were both fair, but one was ash-blond with short, rough-cut hair, and the other had long, shoulder-length curly hair, dark gold. But it was their faces that made Cathy take an extra deep breath. They were beautiful.</div> <div>   She thought, confused, that you couldn't call men beautiful. Handsome. But the two faces that looked at her silently and intently across the stream were<I> beautiful</I>. Coldly beautiful, with perfect bone structure, slightly tilted eyes, clear tanned skin and wide, clear-cut full mouths. For a crazy moment she thought they must have walked out of the deeper woods behind. Tolkien. Elvish Lords! Then the one with the long hair spoke, and her reason righted itself. He was very angry.</div> <div>   'What you doing here, girl?'</div> <div>   She blushed vividly and folded her arms around her. She was angry with herself for being found like this, annoyed by his unnecessary rudeness. She caught his faint American accent. She was doing no harm. What right had he to shout at her?</div> <div>   'Ramble on, boy!'</div> <div>   It was a fair imitation, and his friend gave way to a new burst of laughter.</div> <div>   'You too!' She got up, hoping they could not see the way her knees were trembling, and went over to the bush. She turned her back and pulled on her wet teeshirt.</div> <div>   The long-haired one, even more furious now at the mockery, groped for his English accent which had got overlaid in his four months in the States.</div> <div>   'You're trespassing on my land.'</div> <div>   'This is Cox's Farm.'</div> <div>   '<I>My </I>farm.'</div> <div>   Cathy's dark, grey-violet eyes looked him over carefully, taking in the long fingers, the tight jeans, the flowery silk shirt, unbuttoned with a kind of careless elegance to reveal a bare chest and a strangely carved stone pendant. He was not embarrassed by her scrutiny.</div> <div>   'You don't look like a farmer to me.'</div> <div>   Another splutter of laughter from the short-haired one, who was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and a copper disc on a thick chain.</div> <div>   'You know damn well who we are, or you wouldn't be lying around like that, just waiting to be found!'</div> <div>   'I was painting.'</div> <div>   'God, they think of everything!' he said to his friend. 'I don't see any painting, paints, easel...'</div> <div>   'They're in the bag, there. I've just packed up.'</div> <div>   'Anyone can borrow the gear. Where's the painting? Do you generally paint like - that?' He flipped his hand towards the wet shirt. She eased it away from her skin, blushing furiously.</div> <div>   'Of course not! I was painting and these cows came along and pushed my painting in the stream and I went to get it and fell in.'</div> <div>   It sounded unlikely, and the humour of the situation got to her again, and she bit her lip to stop laughing. His eyes darkened dangerously.</div> <div>   'Bullocks,' said the short-haired one, gently. 'They're bullocks, love.'</div> <div>   She stared at him diverted. 'What! Are you <I>sure</I>? How do you know...?' She stopped dead, but it was too late.</div> <div>   He raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming. 'You want a demonstration?'</div> <div>   Cathy, scarlet, could not help laughing. 'I never noticed.'</div> <div>   'As the actress said to the bishop. I bet the boys just love you.' They both laughted.</div> <div>   'That does it!' said the long-haired one, losing his temper completely and striding across the stream on the large flat stepping stones.</div> <div>   'You're coming back to the house with me and we'll see what the fuzz have to say. I've had enough.' He seized her bag, and clamping a hand on her shoulder propelled her, roughly, across the stream and up the bank, slipping and stumbling. He was surprisingly strong.</div> <div>   'Oh, please!' she said, trying to twist away. 'Won't you <I>please</I> let me explain? I don't know who you think I am or what I want, but please don't call the police. Honestly it's not necessary. Please, please wait.'</div> <div>   'Yes I thought you wouldn't find that so funny!'</div> <div>   'But if you saw the cows, I mean, bullocks, you must have seen me painting.'</div> <div>   'I didn't see any bullocks. All I saw was <I>you</I>, lying down, without your shirt!'</div> <div>   'Listen,' said the short-haired one, trying to restrain his laughter. 'It's true, honestly. There were bullocks. I can vouch for them. And she did fall in the stream.'</div> <div>   His friend shot him a glinting, sidelong glance.</div> <div>   'I guess I thought you'd say something like that, Chris, ol' buddy. You saw it all, I suppose.'</div> <div>   'Nearly all.' He laughed. 'I was hoping.'</div> <div>   'I came along too soon?'</div> <div>   'Maybe.' He winked irrepressibly at Cathy. 'Dev thinks it's all a cock and bull story.'</div> <div>   Cathy bit her lip again, but she was too scared to laugh aloud.</div> <div>   They went across the field towards the farm. Dev kept his hand on her shoulder, the strong fingers biting into her bones. The one called Chris walked on the other side of her, still laughing, trying to confirm her story. She looked at them sideways, not understanding their jokey, allusive conversation, only knowing that Dev did not believe Chris either.</div> <div>   What was the matter with him? Why was his temper so trigger happy? She hadn't <I>done</I> anything. Now she was so close she could feel the tension in his body, and saw that there was a kind of edgy desperation about him which frightened her. She walked as close as she could to Chris, but although he joked and laughed and seemed kinder, she realised that his laughter was coming too quickly, too hectically to be quite natural. She shivered. Had they been taking drugs?</div> <div>   There was no point in trying to get away. It would only make it worse. She would have to let things take their course. Jim would be furious.</div> <div>   She suddenly felt very strange. It was as though she had done this many times before, walked across fields with these two. It was as though she already knew them. Knew them very well indeed. But she was sure she had never seen them. Neither of them was the sort you could possibly forget. She glanced up and met Chris' light grey eyes. His expression was unreadable and he had stopped laughing. She looked hastily at Dev. He was looking at her too. His grey eyes were very dark.</div> <div>   They had crossed the far field, entered a belt of trees and come out on to a gravelled walk. 'Ouch!'</div> <div>   'What's the matter now?'</div> <div>   She said, 'It's the gravel. It's hurting my feet.'</div> <div>   He looked down at her feet, exasperated. They were bleeding in several places from the stones in the stream.</div> <div>   'For Pete's sake, what have you done with your shoes?'</div> <div>   'They're in the water meadow. You dragged me off before I could get them.'</div> <div>   He said grimly, 'We'll go across the lawn.'</div> <div>   She had not seen Cox's Farm for over a year. Then the grass had been overgrown, the windows of the big old Regency house boarded up. It was a long time since it had been a farm. Some of the fields were used by Mr.Hubble who farmed the other side of the village.</div> <div>   She was staggered at the changes. The house had been lovingly restored. Its beautiful golden stone had been cleaned; the broken outbuildings had been pulled down. Now everything was glossy and gleaming, the lawns smooth, the flower beds well kept. The door under the pillared porch was propped open with a shiny brass bell. There was a black Bentley on the raked gravel. Honeysuckle and roses rioted over the stable-yard wall, and through the arch she saw a middle-aged man in a check shirt, washing down a large red foreign car with black windows. He grinned when he saw them.</div> <div>   'Nice bit of gingerbread you've found there.'</div> <div>   Chris laughed, but Dev grunted irritably.</div> <div>   There had been a garden the other side of the stable. She said, staring, 'I'm glad you left the old stone barn. It's beautiful.'</div> <div>   Dev looked at her. 'You know the place?'</div> <div>   'What have you done to the knot garden? It was there, the other side of the stable.'</div> <div>   'I wanted a swimming pool,' he said shortly.</div> <div>   'It was three hundred years old!' She was incredulous. 'You dug up the knot garden to make a swimming pool?' </div> <div>  He shot her a glance of acute dislike. 'You can't swim in a knot garden, sweetheart!'</div> <div>   They came to the edge of the lawn and, hardly stopping in his stride, he picked her up effortlessly and carried her across the gravel, into the stone-paved hall. It was done before she had time to struggle, and she felt how strong and hard his shoulder muscles were under the extraordinary shirt.</div> <div>   'I thought only brides got carried over thresholds,' she said, embarrassed, trying to joke. But his face above her was dark, ruthless, and she was scared stiff now.</div> <div>   She had not really believed that he was the owner, and she was trying hard to remember what she had heard lately about Cox's Farm. Mary had said an army of village women had been sent in to clean it up. Then interior decorators had moved in. Nobody had clapped eyes yet on the new owner. He was out of the country most of the time. There was supposed to be a housekeeping couple looking after the place, but nobody had seen them, either. All the village knew that an immense sum of money must have been spent installing electrically operated gates and repairing the high walls of the estate. There had been a wild rumour, based on this, that the owner was someone important in show biz.</div> <div>   Cathy looked at him intently under her lashes, as he put her down ungently in the middle of the hall floor, but she did not recognise him at all.</div> <div>   He went straight to the telephone on a low table near the huge open fire place, and dialled a number without looking it up.</div> <div>   'Dev, are you sure you're doing the right thing?' Chris dropped on to a long scarlet sofa that stood on a scarlet and black Eastern carpet.</div> <div>   'Mind your own business. I've spent fifty thousand making this place private, and I'm not having any damned boilers wandering around.'</div> <div>   Chris looked at her and smiled, ruefully shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands. She smiled back, shyly, gratefully, to show there were no hard feelings. He was really very attractive.</div> <div>   She saw then that Dev was looking at her sardonically. She heard the telephone engaged signal. He cursed and dialled again, and went on staring at her.</div> <div>   This time he got through. 'Paul Devlin, Cox's Farm.'</div> <div>   Her grey-violet eyes were clear, looking into his and he could have sworn the name meant nothing to her. A good actress too, he thought. 'I've got an intruder. A girl.' His eyes moved over her, slowly, insolently. 'No, not armed. Not dangerous.'</div> <div>   A flush burned her skin deeply, and she had to turn away, swallowing. He smiled, satisfied, confirmed in his suspicions.</div> <div>   'Thanks, I'd appreciate it.'</div> <div>   He put the receiver down, and sat on the sofa next to Chris, stretching out his long legs. 'He's coming along. Sit down.'</div> <div>   'No, thanks.'</div> <div>   He continued to watch her like a cat. 'If you run, I'll smack you!'</div> <div>   She glared at him, but knew he was telling the truth. His temper was too unstable to take a chance.</div> <div>   Chris, slumped on the sofa, his head on the low back, was watching her too. She had no illusions about what she looked like. Her hair looked as though she had just got up, curling into tendrils. Her shorts and shirt were clinging to her embarrassingly, and her legs and arms were muddy with stream water, probably her face too.</div> <div>   Let them look, she thought defiantly. I don't care!</div> <div>   Now they were sitting down they seemed utterly exhausted, not relaxed. There was an unnatural tension about them, and the pressure of their joint, silent gaze was unnerving, almost sinister. She prowled uncomfortably about the room. After today she would not see them again, anyway.</div> <div>   Then, suddenly, it <I>really</I> did not matter. She forgot the two strange young men.</div> <div>   Over the fireplace, glowing in scarlet and gold and orange with streaks of livid green, was an oil painting. An original de Stael. Hardly believing, she went over and stood on tiptoe, resting her hands on the elegant white marble. Three musicians playing jazz. The paint was thick, luscious, each wide rough stroke standing for itself, unaltered, oozing at the edges into another stroke. He must have used a putty knife - something like that, she thought. Not a stroke wasted. Essence of jazz. She loved jazz. She loved <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#FF3333" FACE="Times New Roman" >de Stael.*</FONT>  She drew a long, ragged breath. It glowed so much more than the reproductions in books.  </div> <div>   In the recess next the fireplace, was another de Stael, smaller, of a seaside place. Five areas of colour, interlocking, and he had everything he needed to show an African beach, with the heat hammering from a vermilion sky. Next to it, on the shadowy return wall, was another oil painting, not a de Stael.</div> <div>   It was a dark picture, with a fire burning through, or perhaps glowing coals, and in the coals, a hand. A hand? Holding an object, cool, diaphanous, ice? Diamonds? Dripping cold fire and stars.</div> <div>   Dev was irritated with her utter concentration. It was a new experience for him. Girls were never detached and oblivious when he was around.</div> <div>   'I'm glad you like the paintings.'</div> <div>   His voice came to her, sarcastic, savage. She turned and looked at him, dazed, as though she had forgotten he was there.</div> <div>   'They're beautiful! How did you get hold of a de Stael like that?'</div> <div>   He said, cynically, 'Money buys everything.'</div> <div>   She turned back to the paintings, and his temper leaped. 'You don't have to keep up the pose now, you know. All right, so you can spot a de Stael, but it won't make any difference. The police are on their way.'</div> <div>  She ignored him, looking at the strange painting. 'Who did this other one?'</div> <div>   There was no reply. She turned, surprised and met the two pairs of eyes, so similar, so different. Then Chris jerked his head sideways at Dev.</div> <div>   '<I>You</I> did? You're a painter?'</div> <div>   'Oh, for Chrissake! Drop it!' He sprang to his feet, stalked to the window, moved uncontrollably back to the fireplace and finally walked out.</div> <div>   She looked uncertainly at Chris. He did not move. She took a step towards the open door.</div> <div>   'No. Don't try it.' His voice was soft, expressionless.</div> <div>   Dev came back with a glass of colourless spirit, and drank it, lounging back on the sofa. She stood in the centre, watching him warily, glancing occasionally at Chris, who looked back, kindly, but neutral.</div> <div>   'It's his house. I visit.'</div> <div>   She shrugged, trying to avoid their eyes.</div> <div>   The room became quiet again, almost eerily motionless, as though they were all suspended in time. The strange tension grew. Cathy could not look away from them now. Their glances touched and locked. We're talking to each other without words, she thought, suddenly panic-stricken, and forced her mind to go blank, because she did not want to understand what they were saying. She must not look at them, <I>either</I> of them.</div> <div>   At last, far away at the other side of the park, she thought she heard the sound of a car and began to relax.</div> <div>   At the same moment, down the central broad staircase came an extremely beautiful girl. She had a perfect oval face, made up to a pale mask. The mouth was a dark purple. They eyes were heavy, dark-rimmed, but when Cathy looked into them, she found they were shockingly dead. The pupils were dilated, and she did not seem to be focusing properly. So it <I>was</I> drugs! Cathy shivered involuntarily. Was that the reason for all this money? Were they some sort of international drug-smuggling ring?</div> <div>   The girl was wearing a fabulous, skin-tight, disco outfit, with a bare midriff and a deeply plunging neckline, which revealed her equally fabulous figure. She walked so quietly that she might have been a zombie. Neither Chris nor Dev took any notice of her and Cathy wondered which of them owned her. She sat down, ignoring Cathy and began to flick through the pages of a magazine.</div> <div>   '<I>Rock Life</I> rang earlier. They want a feature interview. I gave them Bill's number.'</div> <div>   Cathy jumped several inches. The girl's voice was cold, metallic, American-accented. And then, suddenly, everything slotted together: The beautiful young men, the fantastic house, the fabulous cars, the wall-to-wall wealth, the paranoia, the drugs.</div> <div>  'Pop stars!' She began to laugh. 'You're pop stars!' Her laughter exploded as her fright dissolved. She coughed, to catch her breath and self-control. 'You gave me a fright. I thought you were dope smugglers.' A fresh wave of laughter hit her. 'And <I>you</I> think I'm a fan, or one of those girls - what do you call them - who go round after the bands.'</div> <div> 'Groupies.'</div> <div> 'Hookers.'</div> <div> Neither of them had moved. Their heads back on the sofa, they watched her through half-closed eyes, as though they were posing for a photograph. Chris was smiling, but Dev's eyes had gone absolutely black and glittering.</div> <div> 'And, oh dear...' She went off into laughter again, remembering his absolute certainty that she knew who he was. 'I didn't mean to offend you. I'm so sorry I don't recognise you or your names.'</div> <div> She breathed deeply trying to regain control. 'Y-you see pop isn't my thing. I don't know anything about it. I don't listen to it. Don't know the names of the pop stars or anything.'</div> <div> 'Rock,' said Dev, savagely.</div> <div> 'Rock then, whatever you call it. I don't know anything about it. Well, I might know the current Number One, but that's all.'</div> <div> 'What <I>is</I> your bag, sweetie?' Chris sat up suddenly and lit a cigarette, looking more human and natural. He was grinning at her. She smiled back. 'Jazz, folk, some classical. Mainly jazz at the moment.'</div> <div> 'Who?'</div> <div> 'Miles Davis. John Coltrane.'</div> <div> 'Oscar Petersen, Joe Pass?'</div> <div> Cathy's eyes lit up. 'You like him? I heard him at Ronnie Scott's last year. He's great! Generally I like classical guitar though.'</div> <div> 'Hey, hear that, Dev? We've got us a little intellectual lady.'</div> <div> Dev got up swiftly and threw the remains of his vodka into the collection of house plants decorating the fireplace.</div> <div> <I>'Folk! </I>You heard her!' He was disgusted. 'What's wrong with rock? What's wrong with electric guitar?'</div> <div> She was uneasy. 'Nothing. It just doesn't do as much. You know - not so many chord variations. But you're a musician, you know all about it. I don't know anything about rock, I told you. And folk's okay. It's simple and true. Why are you sneering.'</div> <div> 'It's crap.'</div> <div> 'A friend of mine says it's the music of the ordinary people,' Cathy said, stiffly.</div> <div> 'Don't say you're into politics too!'</div> <div> 'Why not? I'm alive, aren't I?' She was hostile.</div> <div> Dev said, 'How can you have simple, true music, when the world is upside down and everything complicated? It's not true at all, it's a lie! We've got to find a new kind of music, not look back. You know Miles used electronic instruments, effects?'</div> <div> 'Yes,' said Cathy, 'I didn't say...'</div> <div> 'At the moment we don't know what to do with our electronics, but we're learning. You know that an electric guitar really switched over can blow your mind, baby? You know the effects you can get by playing into the amplifiers? You know the same phrase played over and over, a certain vibration, can act like a mantra? There's a different kind of music coming now. With electronics we might even go beyond it one day...'</div> <div> Cathy stared at him. His face looked quite different now. Alive, younger. He was talking enthusiastically, his highly creative intelligence making her see, briefly, the vision <I>he</I> saw.</div> <div> He was so beautiful.</div> <div> The thought must have been mirrored in her eyes, because, suddenly, he stopped talking, and it was as though a curtain had risen. He was looking at her quite differently now.</div> <div> She realised, fully, for the first time, how devastatingly sexy and attractive he was. Not just coldly beautiful. Her breath seemed to go away, and the colour flooded up and burned deeper into her pale skin. She was too young to be able to stand that kind of looking. She turned away, swallowing.</div> <div> His experience of girls was wide. He read her clearly, seeing the bewildered flare of desire. He smiled mockingly, disappointed. So he hadn't been mistaken. A nice little actress, pretty as a peach, with a maggot in the centre, like the other one.</div> <div> Cathy was shaken and confused. She could not understand the lightning changes of mood, and she could not understand the emotional tension between them. With Chris too. Why had Dev looked at her like <I>that?</I> A perfectly ordinary afternoon had turned into something like an eerie surrealist film.</div> <div> 'Dev,' said Chris, coolly. 'The law's here.'</div> <div> Cathy relaxed as the panda car stopped on the gravel outside the open door.</div> <div> A moment later, James Harlow, the village bobby, came into the hall, hesitant, taking off his cap, so that the sun caught his fair hair.</div> <div> 'You took your time!' Dev spun round and walked over to him.</div> <div> Jim's colour rose. 'I'm sorry, sir. I got here as quickly as possible. There was an urgent call, just as I was setting off. What seems to be the trouble?'</div> <div> 'Nothing <I>seems</I> to be the trouble. There <I>is</I> trouble. I spent god knows how much making this place secure and private. We got back from our US tour today, <I>today</I>, you understand, and what do I find? A bloody girl has got in already! She couldn't just have wandered on to the property. I want her arrested for breaking and entering.'</div> <div> That very morning Jim had had a telephone call from his Chief, who had told him who the new owner of Cox's Farm was, and given strict orders that Jim must keep an eye open for fan trouble, and keep Devlin sweet. 'I don't want any trouble, d'you hear me, Harlow?' he went on. 'Especially I don't want any trouble with the Press. Anything of that nature and we'll have a small riot on our hands. Once they know he's here the fans will start arriving. I don't want it. I can't spare the men to help you. His manager says he wants absolute privacy. <I>Understand</I>?'</div> <div> Jim understood very well indeed. Blow this, and he might never get promotion again, anywhere. The telephone call had realised his worst fears.</div> <div> 'Where...?'</div> <div> 'Over there.'</div> <div> He looked around. There was a girl with a wild mane of tangled gold hair, long arms and legs. Brief, too brief clothes, clinging wetly to her. She smiled ruefully.</div> <div> 'Hello, Jim.'</div> <div> He went white. 'Good grief, Cathy! What are you doing <I>here</I>? Mary was wondering where you were.'</div> <div> 'I was painting in the water-meadow by the stream, and he came along and made me come back here. He thinks I'm after him, a groupie, or something. They're pop stars, I think.'</div> <div> Chris, glancing from one to the other, started to laugh helplessly. But Dev hardly moved.</div> <div> 'You know her?'</div> <div> 'She's my sister, sir. Down here from London. Staying at the Police House with us for a couple of weeks' holiday.'</div> <div> 'She broke in.'</div> <div> 'Cathy, how did you get in? I told you Cox's Farm is sealed off and private now.'</div> <div> 'There's a gap in the Police House hedge. I just walked through it.'</div> <div> Chris gave another yelp of laughter. The Police House was actually built in one corner of the Farm property. It was one of the reasons Dev had bought the place. It was the only section they hadn't bothered to electrify.</div> <div> 'I wanted to paint by the edge of the stream. There's that old tree, you remember. And you said that nobody was here, only the couple who look after the place.'</div> <div> 'But what happened? You're wet, and you look...'</div> <div> She flushed. 'I fell in the stream. There were cows - no, bullocks...' Her eyes slid to Chris, and she bit her lip, trying not to laugh.</div> <div> 'It isn't funny, Cathy!' Jim was annoyed. He turned to Dev. 'Look, I'm very sorry, sir. I think there's been a real misunderstanding. You can see for yourself what happened. My sister is very wrong to be here, but she's only just come down, and it used to be all open land. If you wish to press charges of course, I'll have to...'</div> <div> There was silence. Dev looked at her, his eyes glittering. How could he take it any further? It would never stand up in court. He thought of the publicity the media would stir up. He felt he could kill her.</div> <div> She realised that he thought he had been made a fool of, deliberately. 'I'm sorry,' she said, hopelessly. 'You just wouldn't give me time to explain. You were so angry, I thought it would be better to just come along. If you let me go now, I promise I won't ever come back.'</div> <div> He stared at her, dangerous.</div> <div> 'Dev!' said Chris, slowly and clearly. '<I>Dev</I>!'</div> <div> 'What is it?' He did not look away from her.</div> <div> 'Dev, it seems to me we may have been a little hasty...'</div> <div> Dev spun around, outraged, but whatever he read in Chris's eyes, stopped him dead. Cathy could see nothing.</div> <div> 'You don't want any local publicity, Dev. You'll have the fans down on you again. You'll have to sell the farm and it took long enough to find it. You don't want to upset the local law - ' he smiled at Jim - 'or the media boys. After all, Cathy has apologised. It seems to me we've been a little tough on her. Wouldn't it be kind of friendly if you invited her to stay over and eat a meal with us this evening? To show there's no hard feelings on either side.' His voice was silky smooth.</div> <div> Once again, Cathy was sure that some message passed between them too subtle for an outsider to pick up. Suddenly, she was unreasonably panic stricken. She could hardly wait to get away from them. They were dangerous.</div> <div> Then Dev was laughing, recklessly, almost wildly.</div> <div> 'All right, Chris. It's your choice.You win.' He turned. 'What do you say, Cathy? You'll stay? We'll drop the charge if you stay and keep us company. We're lonely with no one around!'</div> <div> Cathy gaped at him, her mind a blank.</div> <div> 'B-but you wanted to get rid of me just now! And I'm wet through, not dressed for...'</div> <div> 'We can lend you something dry.'</div> <div> Cathy saw that Jim was frowning at her. She tried to signal to him that she did not want to stay, but he only looked angrier.</div> <div> 'And my sister-in-law will have cooked a meal for me...'</div> <div> 'We'd appreciate your company. We like to relax with friends after a tour.' Dev's voice was steely.</div> <div> Jim made up his mind. <I>Keep Devlin sweet! </I>'I'll tell Mary you'll be late, Cathy. Mr. Devlin's been very kind to overlook the matter, and even to invite you for a meal. I'm sure you're grateful. It's a big treat, you know!' He went over to Dev and held out his hand. 'Thank you very much, sir, I appreciate your co-operation. I hope you'll enjoy a long and untroubled stay in this house. Cathy, give me a ring if you want a lift home.'</div> <div> 'Don't worry. I'll bring her back. My car's outside,' said Chris.</div> <div> Dev went to the door with Jim and shook his hand again. </div> <div> A few seconds later the little car drove off with a spurt of gravel.</div> <bR> <bR> <div>   <I><B>To be continued.....</B></I> <img src="HTMLobj-701/aniGif.gif" border="0" align="bottom" width="40" height="40">  </div> <bR> <div> <I><B>Copyright Liz Berry 2002. 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