Fires in the Forest

  FIRES IN THE FOREST

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  Nicola has just graduated in French, and takes a summer job in the New Forest as tutor/companion to the wealthy seventeen-year-old Sarah Frayn, before she starts a bi-lingual secretarial course.

  Unpredictable and volatile, Sarah rebels against the harsh rules imposed by her half-brother Robert, especially his prohibition on meeting her boyfriend.

  Nicola has clashed with Robert before, but when various calamities afflict the family, she is thrown into closer contact with Robert.

  Fires In The Forest

  By Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2012 Marina Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  Print editions published under the pseudonym Bridget Thorn 1983 by Robert Hale, and 1992 by Ulverscroft.

  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at http:/www.marina-oliver.net.

  AUTHOR NOTE

  I once lived in the New Forest and loved exploring it. At that time, years ago, one might stumble at night over a resting cow on the unlit main road. Few roads were fenced, and ponies could wander at will into the villages.

  On one occasion when I was feeding our dog in the back of an estate car I found a pony's head reaching over my shoulder towards the dog's bowl.

  Because of the increased traffic, and consequent danger to animals and drivers, most roads are now fenced, but the Forest remains a delightful, unspoilt area of southern England.

  FIRES IN THE FOREST

  BY MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  'You've got the spare key? Mrs Watson upstairs will help if you need anything. Have fun, hope your summer job's interesting. I must fly, I'm late. See you in September.'

  Carol picked up her bag and dashed out of the flat, leaving Nicola smiling as she tidied up and checked she had not forgotten anything. Then she herself left, taking her case with her, and walked to the tube station a few minutes away.

  She was looking forward to spending a couple of months in the New Forest. She had seen very little of it while she had been at the University in Southampton, near though it was, because there had always been so much to do in college. To be in the country as well as by the sea would be a pleasant break before she came to live in London in September. Then she would be sharing the flat with Carol and another University friend who both had jobs while she took a secretarial course. Pleasant that is if her new charge Sarah Frayn was a friendly, co-operative girl. Talking French to a sullen teenager from a wealthy family would not be the ideal way of spending the summer.

  The Hammersmith platform was, as usual in the morning rush hour, crowded, and Nicola just managed to squeeze herself and her case into the train before the doors slid closed. She found herself unable to move, her nose almost touching the pale grey jacket of the man in front of her. She glanced upwards, saw dark wavy hair, and her heart leapt in alarm, then began to race wildly.

  'Oh no!' Nicola whispered, furious with her lack of control. Was she going to react in this stupid way every time she saw a dark-haired man in a pale grey suit? During the past few days while she had been in London she seemed to have seen dozens of them, and if she did not immediately realise it was not the handsome, arrogant Robert Wilmington her heart behaved in this ridiculous fashion.

  Briefly she recalled the scene in the shop where she had been working for a few days to help out the owner, a friend, and the blazing row the man had caused. Shuddering, she thrust away the memory of his fury and her own angry response and tried to concentrate on counting the number of stations before Charing Cross, where she had to change lines. As she craned to see the map on the wall of the compartment she wished that she had waited until the worst of the rush was over, but she soon reached Waterloo and deposited her case.

  As she knew London very little, she planned to spend the morning exploring, then meet Sarah Frayn at Euston Station. She wandered through Trafalgar Square, then was tempted into some antiquarian bookshops in a small, quaint street nearby where she browsed until, suddenly realising the time, she had to leave hurriedly to get to Euston by noon. Arriving just as the clock showed the hour, she crossed the vast crowded concourse to wait, as had been arranged, by the steps down to the taxi rank.

  The place seemed full of schoolchildren in a multitude of different coloured uniforms, and all of them seemed to be shouting to friends, running towards the entrance to the tube station, or searching anxiously for relatives. Most of them seemed to be eating sweets and ices and Nicola grinned, recalling her own schooldays when the food had seemed so boring and inadequate.

  She pulled out the small photograph of Sarah which Mrs Frayn had given her when she had interviewed her in Southampton.

  'She hasn't changed much since that was taken last year,' Sarah's mother had explained. 'Her school uniform is green, skirt and jacket with a white blouse. You'll be able to pick her out because her case is a dreadful red and white striped affair. Garish,' she said, grimacing and then laughing, 'but she has so little choice with clothes at school I hadn't the heart to deny her that! I hope she will have developed some clothes sense when she goes to the school in Switzerland in September.'

  *

  Watching for this monstrosity, Nicola was startled when she was spoken to. Turning, she looked enquiringly at the petite girl who had stopped beside her.

  'Miss Browne? I'm Sarah Frayn. It is Miss Browne, isn't it?'

  Nicola blinked. 'Yes,' she replied faintly. 'I – I was told you would be in uniform.'

  Sarah glanced down complacently at her clothes. She wore skin-tight faded pink jeans and a bright red sweat shirt with the legend TRY ME emblazoned across it in bold black lettering. High-heeled purple sandals on bare feet and a soft squashy cylindrical shoulder bag designed to imitate a coke tin completed a startling picture.

  'What, those hideous greens?' she asked, gesticulating vaguely towards a small group of girls scurrying across the concourse. 'I changed in the train.'

  'Are they in your bag or do you have to collect another case?' Nicola asked, looking rather doubtfully at the cylinder, which seemed almost empty.

  'No, I dumped them in the loo. I won't ever wear them again. I'm starving. Let's catch a bus to Piccadilly and find a McDonald's. Mother says it's vulgar but I love it, it's so cheerful, and anyway I've no more money for anywhere she'd approve of. We can get a bus outside.'

  Amused, Nicola allowed her to lead the way and Sarah chattered non-stop as they waited for the bus.

  'I didn't eat breakfast. Ghastly lumpy porridge, ugh! They might have spared us that on our last morning. Well, I'm free of it at last, thank heavens. No more rhubarb and custard every day, or horrid, horrid cabbage. Do you know, the only thing we ever smelt in the school kitchen seemed to be cabbage.'

  They ate burgers and French fried potatoes, then caught the Bournemouth train at Waterloo. Sarah talked a great deal about her friends, but also she seemed interested in Nicola.

 
; 'You've just got a French degree, haven't you? You must be fluent. I'm hopeless, I keep failing my exams.'

  Nicola laughed. 'Cheer up, I had the advantage of living in France for several years while my father worked in Paris.'

  'Is he still there?'

  'No. He and my mother died in a car crash just before I went to University.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know.'

  'That's OK. You couldn't.'

  'I hardly remember my father, he died when I was tiny. Mother speaks good French, but she goes there often, especially in winter.'

  'You'll improve when we speak it all the time,' Nicola said briskly. 'And even better when you go to Switzerland.'

  'I don't want to go,' Sarah protested. 'I've had enough of school and I don't want to be finished or learn more French. I'll make Robert let me stay at home,' she declared belligerently.

  Nicola smiled at her vehemence.

  'Who is Robert?' she asked.

  'My half-brother. Mother married twice. Robert has to decide everything, he's a madly bossy creature and always wants his own way.'

  'Does he live with you?'

  'Yes, unfortunately,' Sarah replied. 'He breeds horses, show jumpers, and they are pretty fabulous, I suppose, but I don't see much point in jumping over boxes painted to look like walls. I'd much sooner get on an old hack and amble about the Forest. There are some lovely rides. Do you know it?'

  'I've been through it occasionally, but only on the main road to Bournemouth.'

  'It's lovely away from the roads. Do you ride?' Sarah asked. 'Yes, I suppose you must or they wouldn't have chosen you. I ride a lot,' she added.

  'I do but not very well. It's years since I rode regularly. Why was that important?'

  Sarah pulled a face. 'You're to be my gaoler,' she announced calmly. 'You'll have to accompany me everywhere and make sure that I don't meet Tony. That's why you have to ride.'

  *

  'Gaoler?' Nicola exclaimed. 'Who is Tony? A boyfriend?'

  'Yes, although Robert has forbidden him to come to the house, and me to go to his stables – he runs a riding school. Can you imagine? It's gothic. He's afraid we'll elope.'

  'Why does he object to Tony?'

  'Oh, because he suspects he's after my money. I inherit quite a lot from my father when I'm twenty-one. Just because Tony has nothing except the stables Robert won't believe he doesn't care a rap about my money, only about me!'

  'You're rather young to make up your mind,' Nicola observed calmly. 'Surely it would not hurt to wait a little and show your brother you're serious?'

  'Why wait? I won't change, however many finishing schools they send me off to, and neither will Tony. Have you ever been in love?' she asked fiercely.

  'Not – no, I suppose not,' Nicola replied, startled, and wondered, as she had occasionally done before, whether she was so very strange in this. All other girls seemed to fall madly in love a dozen times before they reached her age, but although she had been out with several fellow students, she had been no more than friendly with any of them. Sarah was speaking again.

  'Neither has Robert. I wish he'd get married and then he'd have less time to fuss over me. He might understand better, as well. I thought he might be engaged by now the way it was at Easter,' she said moodily.

  'Is there someone?' Nicola asked.

  'There are always dozens of girls he takes out, and any one of them would leap at the chance, because he is rich and good-looking. But there is this devastatingly beautiful woman he's been seeing for over a year and I really thought she was going to catch him. She's divorced and has a cottage in the Forest, and was with him all the time last holidays, but I expect he's grown tired of her as he does with all of them. He'll never understand me,' she finished, and stared gloomily out of the train window.

  *

  Unwilling to pursue this line of conversation, Nicola took out one of the magazines she had bought and began to read. She was turning over a page when she happened to look up, and once again her heart began that uncontrollable hammering as she saw another grey-suited man, dark haired and tall, walking away from her along the central corridor of the train.

  She looked hastily back at her magazine, but the words danced before her eyes and all she could see was Mr Wilmington's handsome, furious face. Instead of reading the travel article on the smaller Greek Islands she found herself reliving the scenes she would never forget.

  It had been early one morning and she had been working with a young assistant in the shop. Their first customer had been a short, elderly man, bespectacled and balding, with fat cheeks and a protuberant stomach. Sharon served him and wrote down the order, then came to the cash register near to where Nicola was working while the customer wrote his message on the pad provided. As Nicola bent over the orchids she was twisting into a spray the other girl whistled softy under her breath.

  'Boy, oh boy! Just look at what's come in. Isn't he a dish?' Sharon whispered as she bent to pick up the receipt and returned to the other side of the shop to give it to the fat man.

  Nicola pushed back her unruly curls, leaving a smear of green across her cheek, and looked up with a smile, for Sharon was always enthusing over the younger male customers. The man she saw now, however, caused her to draw in her own breath and widen her eyes slightly. He was exceptional. Tall, slightly over six feet, he looked even taller because of his straight slim figure in a superbly tailored pale grey suit, set off by a slightly darker grey shirt and a misty blue tie.

  In his early thirties, he had a narrow face, dark piercing blue eyes and heavy brows. His hair, thick, dark and slightly wavy, showed the slightest touch of grey at the temples, which added to his already considerable air of distinction. A thin moustache emphasised his well-shaped lips and good, even white teeth which contrasted with his tanned skin.

  'Can I help you, sir?' Sharon was saying, her hips swaying seductively as she walked the few steps towards him. He had been looking at Nicola, frowning slightly, and he glanced at Sharon briefly then back at Nicola. She suddenly felt dowdy in her simple blue cotton dress, conscious it was two years old, the skirt a little too short, and she was not wearing tights, having sacrificed sleekness for coolness.

  At that moment the telephone rang. She turned thankfully away from that penetrating look and did not hear the order he gave. When she had finished he had gone and she was conscious of a ridiculous feeling of dismay. She would have liked to have seen whether her first impression of overwhelming good looks was a correct one, she hastily told herself and grinned across at Sharon who was pretending to rearrange a display of lilies near the door, but actually watching the customer walk away down the street.

  'Oh, Nicola, wasn't he gorgeous!' she sighed, seeing Nicola looking at her.

  'He's probably dreadfully conceited and arrogant, and thinks of no one but himself,' Nicola rejoined, laughing. 'Handsome people usually are. And he looked terribly bad-tempered. I wouldn't like to get in his bad books.'

  'It might be worth it,' Sharon said, sighing, and then giggled. 'Come and help me load up the van. I'm late with the morning round. Have you finished that orchid spray?'

  She disappeared, and there was a sudden rush of customers for Nicola. When Sharon came back they were too busy for further gossip, and said no more about their handsome customer until the shop doors were closed. Mrs Cooke, Nicola's friend who owned the shop, appeared from the back room with two bouquets.

  'Where did you put the cards for these, Sharon? Wilmington and Rosen.'

  'Sorry, I was in a rush and slipped them into this drawer. I'll do them, Mrs Cooke, while you cash up.'

  Mrs Cooke went back into her office. Nicola was sweeping up the fallen petals when Sharon giggled.

  'Nicola, just listen to this! "Thanks for a fabulously exciting weekend, darling. Hoping it's the first of many. Each rose is for a kiss remembered." And three dozen red roses!'

  'Lucky her. What's the other?'

  'Just "Happy Birthday, from Robert", and a mixed bouquet. Will
you write the cards, your handwriting is much better than mine? I'll finish the sweeping.'

  Nicola copied the messages onto two gilt-edged cards, then crossed to where the bouquets lay on a table.

  'Which is for which address?' she asked, picking up two labels Mrs Cooke had put beside them. 'One is for Mrs Rosen in Shirley.'

  When there was no reply she looked up to find Sharon staring at her in dismay.

  'What is it? Do you feel ill?'

  'No, but I've forgotten which was which! Lord, what shall I do?'

  'Which customers, do you remember?'

  'Yes, that old fat man and the gorgeous one. They came in almost together, and afterwards I just tore off the two messages and pushed them in the drawer.'

  Nicola recalled how anxious Sharon had been to watch from the doorway as the good-looking man walked away.

  'Did they pay by cheque?'

  'No, cash, both of them, I remember. What shall I do? Roses for Rosen,' she muttered, and giggled nervously. 'It couldn't be!'

  'The other one is for Mrs Jane Prendergast, near Beaulieu,' Nicola said. 'That doesn't help, there isn't a surname on either message.'

  Sharon shrugged. 'Well, I can't see the fat little man with anyone for a naughty weekend. The flowers must be for his wife's birthday.' She seized the cards and tucked them into place. 'Mrs Rosen in a council house semi in Shirley, and red roses to a cottage in the Forest. That must be right.'

  They were busy the following day, and Sharon was late going on her rounds. Just before lunch there was a lull and Nicola began to tidy away some boxes. She was perched on top of a rickety stepladder rearranging these on a high shelf when the doorbell jangled and the handsome customer walked in, to stand looking up at her, his eyes cold and a frown on his face.

  *

  Sarah's voice broke into her thoughts.

  'We'll soon reach Southampton. Tell me about the University. Was it fun?'

  Nicola replied cheerfully, relieved that Sarah's gloom appeared to have lifted. As the train drew out of Southampton station after a brief stop and passed the port area, Sarah changed the subject.