Kitabı oku: «The Secret Virgin», sayfa 3

Tory gave her father an irritated frown. She did not want to spend any more time in Jonathan McGuire’s company than she had to. Besides, he was their guest, not hers.

She wasn’t daft; she knew exactly what her father was up to. There was a good war film on the television this afternoon, and her father didn’t want to miss it! If he could manage to persuade Jonathan to go out with Tory, then he would be able to watch it.

Jonathan looked puzzled. ‘But I thought you told me it was best to stay in this afternoon?’ he reminded Tory. ‘Something to do with the bikes on the TT course?’ he added.

‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ her father told him jovially. ‘Tory hasn’t been round the course herself for a couple of years; I’m sure she would love to take you. Wouldn’t you love?’ he pressed hopefully. ‘It’s an experience everyone should have once in their lifetime!’ he assured Jonathan.

‘You ride a motorbike?’ Jonathan no longer looked puzzled—he looked astounded.

Tory bristled at his disbelieving expression. She had been born on the island, lived here all her life until six years ago, still spent as much time here as work and other commitments would allow, and motorbikes were a fact of the island, whether you liked them or not. Five years ago Tory had bought her own motorbike, on the basis that if you couldn’t beat them, you joined them!

‘Yes, I ride a motorbike,’ she confirmed stiffly. ‘I’ll take you out on it when we’ve finished lunch. If you would like to go?’

If you dare! her tone implied.

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW ever did we get ourselves into this?’ Jonathan exclaimed as she handed him the second helmet before leaving the house, the two of them striding across the yard to the shed where Tory kept her bike.

She had been wondering that herself all the time she was in her bedroom putting on her leathers, forgoing dessert herself to leave Jonathan downstairs with her parents to enjoy his.

But she knew exactly why she had behaved in the way that she had; Jonathan’s scornful reaction to hearing she rode a motorbike had clearly indicated he didn’t believe she was big enough to handle a pushbike, let alone a machine powerful enough to take the two of them around the TT course.

‘Don’t you know?’ she derided, already starting to feel hot in the black leathers as the warm sun shone down on them.

Dark brows rose over grey eyes. ‘Do you?’

Tory nodded grimly. ‘You were dared into it—by me! And I was goaded into it—by you!’

Jonathan grimaced. ‘Very commendable!’ he responded mockingly. ‘Just how long is this TT course?’ he asked slowly.

‘Almost thirty-eight miles.’ She unlocked the shed, throwing back the doors.

‘Thirty-eight—! I think maybe I should have forgone that second helping of pie your mother pressed on me!’ he said with feeling.

Tory turned to chuckle softly at his expression. ‘Frightened you might shortly see it again?’

‘God, I hope not,’ he groaned.

Tory went into the shed to get her bike, needing all her strength to push it outside into the yard, sparing Jonathan a brief glance from beneath lowered lashes once she had done so. She wasn’t disappointed; he was staring open-mouthed at the powerful machine.

Bright red, with a 750cc engine, it was an extremely powerful, as well as beautiful, bike.

‘Can you really ride that thing?’ he queried suspiciously.

Her mouth tightened. Had he forgotten that it was exactly this sort of attitude that had got them into this in the first place? Obviously not a man who learnt his lesson the first time around!

She got on the leather seat, putting her helmet on before starting the powerful engine. ‘Get on,’ she told him firmly. ‘We’ll go down to the Grandstand where the races start from. And for goodness’ sake, hold on!’ she ordered warningly.

She held the bike steady as Jonathan got on behind her, tensing slightly as his arms curved about her waist. Well, she was the one who had told him to hold on!

But it wasn’t too difficult once they were on the TT course itself, with the sun beating down, the breeze whistling past them, and with the comradeship of the other bikers, to almost forget she had Jonathan McGuire as a passenger. Only the occasional tightening of his grip about her waist reminded her.

She had forgotten the thrill of this ride too, felt totally exhilarated as the miles passed beneath them.

As they approached the Grandstand after the first lap of the circuit she felt a dig in her ribs, and turned slightly to see what Jonathan wanted, only to find him pointing towards the parking area where thousands of bikers were already gathered.

Disappointed, she throttled down before turning into an empty space and switching off the engine, taking off her helmet to shake her dark hair loose about her shoulders before turning to look at Jonathan.

A very green-looking Jonathan!

‘Are you okay?’ she gasped concernedly as he got off the bike, staggering slightly.

He ripped off his own helmet, taking in huge gulps of air now that he was back on terra firma. ‘Do I look all right?’ he snarled through gritted teeth.

Actually, he looked terrible, Tory decided as she swung off the bike too, putting it on its stand before turning back to him. ‘I—’

‘Tory! Hey, Tory!’

They both turned to the leather-clad figure limping towards them, a grin of pure pleasure splitting the ruggedly hewn features of the newcomer.

‘Terry!’ Tory greeted with equal pleasure before being gathered up into a bear hug.

‘It’s great to see you back on the island.’ Terry moved back slightly to look down at her, still grinning. ‘Back on the bike, too.’ He nodded his approval ‘We missed you here last year,’ he said wistfully.

She grinned. ‘Work commitments.’

Terry grinned back. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Oh, you know—’

‘I hate to interrupt this moving reunion—’ the sarcasm in Jonathan’s tone completely belied his words ‘—but could one of you point me in the direction of a public convenience?’

Terry gave Tory an ‘is he with you?’ look, before answering the other man. ‘Over there, mate.’ He waved in the direction of the Grandstand.

‘Thank you.’ Jonathan gave a terse nod, his face set in grim lines as he strode off in the direction indicated.

‘Friend of yours?’ Terry said meaningfully.

‘Sort of,’ Tory replied, watching Jonathan until he disappeared into the Gents. ‘I don’t think he’s too impressed with our TT course,’ she understated, not sure that Jonathan hadn’t excused himself so that he could be sick! ‘If he isn’t back in ten minutes, perhaps you had better go and see if he’s all right,’ she suggested.

Terry chuckled. ‘He’s American, isn’t he?’

‘Mmm,’ she confirmed vaguely, feeling slightly guilty that she hadn’t realised Jonathan wasn’t enjoying the ride as much as she was. ‘How are Jane and the family?’ She changed the subject as she turned back to Terry.

‘All well,’ he responded. ‘We all missed you at the wedding yesterday.’

As her cousin—in fact, Denise’s older brother—of course Terry and his family would also have been at the ceremony. ‘I’m sorry I missed it, too,’ she said, not altogether truthfully. ‘But I had—other commitments.’

That ‘commitment’—she was glad to see!—was making his way back to them through the crowd at this very moment, no longer looking quite as green as he had when Tory had first looked at him after their ride.

‘How is Aunty Thelma today?’ Terry enquired.

‘Hobbling about,’ Tory assured him, happier now that she knew Jonathan wasn’t collapsed in a heap somewhere. ‘You know Mum,’ she opined, ‘you can’t keep her down for long!’

‘That’s true,’ Terry acknowledged affectionately. ‘I have to say,’ he went on thoughtfully as he gave the approaching Jonathan McGuire a glance, ‘he’s a definite improvement on the other one you brought home.’

The ‘other one’, Tory knew, being Rupert! But then Rupert, with his rakish London sophistication, on the one, never to be repeated occasion he had accompanied her to the island, hadn’t set out to win any points for charm. He had been deliberately condescending, to her family and friends alike.

But, by the same token, Jonathan McGuire was not someone she had brought home!

‘So, what do you think of our TT course?’ Terry turned to ask the other man as he rejoined them, giving Tory no opportunity to refute her cousin’s mistaken impression concerning her relationship to Jonathan.

Terry had always had a wicked sense of humour, Tory remembered with an inward groan. Admittedly Jonathan wasn’t green any more, but he was certainly still very white.

‘Jonathan McGuire. Terry Bridson.’ She introduced the two men quickly as she saw that Jonathan’s eyes were once again the flinty grey colour that warned of impending danger to anyone who crossed him, and Terry’s teasing definitely came under that heading!

She watched as the two men shook hands, Terry still grinning, Jonathan managing a grimace of a smile in return.

‘Your TT course is—interesting,’ Jonathan ventured. ‘What other forms of torture do you have for the unsuspecting tourist?’

The latter was added so mildly that the sarcasm underlying the remark didn’t sink in with Tory for several seconds.

Terry, however, roared with laughter, slapping the other man companionably on the back. ‘We call it fun here on the island.’ He grinned.

‘Hmm,’ Jonathan responded non-committally. ‘Are you one of the competitors?’

‘Not any more.’ Terry sobered. ‘I came off a few years ago.’ He slapped his damaged knee, the reason for his pronounced limp. ‘I don’t have the agility to be a competitor any more.’

‘Much to his family’s relief,’ Tory put in firmly.

Terry shrugged. ‘There is that, I suppose.’ But the wistfulness could clearly be heard in his voice. ‘Are you staying on the island long, Jonathan? Or are you just here for TT?’

From the look on his face, Jonathan didn’t care if he never looked at another motorbike in his lifetime!

‘I’m unsure of the length of my stay,’ he answered the other man, that guarded tone back in his voice.

‘If you’re still here next week, maybe you and Tory would like to come out for a quiet drink.’ Terry seemed completely oblivious to the other man’s non-committal answer. ‘This week is out, I’m afraid. For obvious reasons.’ He looked about them, the noise of bike engines, chatter and laughter almost deafening.

So was next week, as far as Tory was concerned. She had no wish to be linked as the other half of a couple with Jonathan McGuire! Especially where her family was concerned.

‘We had better be getting back.’ She touched her cousin’s arm in apology. ‘And we’ll take a raincheck on next week,’ she added as she pulled her helmet back on. ‘Neither of us is sure of our plans at the moment.’

‘Fine,’ Terry said. ‘But give me a ring before you go back to London. Nice to meet you, Jonathan,’ he finished, before limping back to the group of friends he had been talking with when they had arrived.

Tory looked at the still ashen-faced Jonathan. ‘Do you feel up to riding back to the farm on the bike? I promise I’ll go slowly.’

He briefly shut his eyes and then opened them again as he pulled his own helmet back on. ‘This has got to be the maddest thing I’ve ever done in my life,’ he said.

She gave him a mischievous look. ‘It beats hot-air ballooning, hang-gliding and parachuting!’

‘I’ve never done any of those, either.’

‘You haven’t lived!’ Tory told him with feeling, having done—and enjoyed—all three.

He looked at her, unimpressed. ‘I’m only just beginning to realise that…’ He climbed back on the pillion seat. ‘I’ll enjoy this if it kills me!’ he announced determinedly.

She laughed, lifting up a hand in farewell to Terry and his friends, several of whom she recognised, before accelerating the bike back into the stream of other bikes—but heading towards the coastal road, away from the actual course.

Jonathan didn’t have her in quite such a death-grip this time, and was much more relaxed behind her now, seeming to actually be enjoying the uninterrupted views of the Irish sea, the sheer cliffs rising up from it in places, the hillsides covered in the vivid yellow-orange gorse.

Tory didn’t head straight back to the farm, taking the road into Laxey instead, going down the road that led to the beach. It was crowded of course, but the sun, the sand, the bracing sea air, were all quite invigorating.

‘Come on, I’ll buy you an ice-cream,’ she told the no longer white-faced Jonathan once she had parked the bike, leaving their helmets locked to the side of the machine.

Jonathan shook his head a few minutes later as they walked along side by side, eating the vanilla ice-creams in their cornets. Dozens of people were milling about, either on the beach itself or walking along as they were. ‘Maddie and Gideon are never going to believe this. Gideon assured me this is one of the most peaceful places on earth!’

‘Fifty weeks of the year it is. Well…possibly a little less than that; we also have the Manx Grand Prix and the Southern One Hundred—also motorcycle races,’ Tory told him ruefully. ‘But by Monday of next week the majority of these people will have gone home.’

‘Home where?’ he questioned.

‘Europe mostly, mainly Germany. But we get people from all over the world, including the States. Believe it or not, most of the bikers are actually accountants, lawyers, white collar workers; they just let their hair down on the Isle of Man for two weeks of the year. They just want to watch the races and in between have a good time,’ she explained affectionately. ‘For instance, it’s going to be absolutely wild in Douglas this evening.’

‘That’s the capital, isn’t it? Jonathan asked.

‘It is now, but years ago it used to be Castletown.’

Jonathan looked at her over the top of his ice-cream. ‘Were you issuing an invitation just now?’ he murmured huskily.

Tory gave him a startled glance. An invitation—?

‘To join in this evening’s fun in Douglas,’ Jonathan drawled at her puzzled expression.

Of course she hadn’t been issuing an invitation! She was just very proud of her island home, wanted other people to love it as much as she did.

She should have known what sort of person Rupert was three years ago when he’d come here with her; he had absolutely hated the island, had called it a provincial wilderness!

‘Or perhaps I should invite you as my guest,’ Jonathan continued at her lack of response. ‘It seems only fair as you’ve taken me out this afternoon.’

‘Drive down in the car, you mean,’ Tory said knowingly.

He gave a rueful smile. ‘That’s exactly what I mean!’

‘And what happened to that not intending to socialise while you’re here that you mentioned yesterday?’ she reminded pointedly.

He had only been here a little over twenty-four hours, and so far he had been to her parents’ home for lunch, been taken out for a bike ride by her, and now he was asking her to spend the evening with him, too.

But she did not want to go out with Jonathan this evening, or any other evening for that matter. She was no more interested in socialising than he had told her he was yesterday…especially not with him!

Why especially not with him…?

Oh, shut up, she told that inner voice crossly. It was obvious why not; the man was arrogant, rude, didn’t belong here any more than Rupert did!

The latter might be true, she conceded slowly, but the arrogance and rudeness hadn’t been as noticeable today…

‘I really am sorry I was so rude and uncooperative yesterday,’ Jonathan grated, seeming to pick up on at least some of her thoughts. ‘My only excuse—and it really isn’t good enough—is that I had flown overnight from the States before getting on the Isle of Man plane a couple of hours later. Consequently, I was more than a little jet-lagged!’

She knew just how unpleasant that could be, had often arrived abroad completely disorientated, half the time not even knowing where she was!

‘I didn’t know that,’ she said quietly, her ice-cream finished now.

‘Why should you? I— Here,’ he reached out and gently ran his fingertip along the side of her mouth. ‘Hey, it was only ice-cream,’ he defended at her reaction.

Tory had jumped as if someone had hit her, at once feeling the heated colour in her cheeks at her over-the-top reaction. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered awkwardly, wiping her mouth with a tissue now. ‘I—I wondered what you were doing.’

Jonathan raised dark brows. ‘What did you think I was doing?’

They had stopped walking now, were standing close together on the pavement, Tory not quite managing to meet Jonathan’s searching gaze.

What had she thought he was doing?

More to the point, why? Jonathan hadn’t shown by so much as a smile that he found her in the least attractive, so why had her imagination jumped several steps ahead and imagined he was about to kiss her a couple of minutes ago?

Which he obviously hadn’t been!

She gave a bright, meaningless smile to cover up her embarrassment. ‘I guess I’m a little jumpy myself at the moment,’ she excused lightly, deliberately not answering his question. ‘If you’re sure you feel up to it, I’m quite happy to show you Douglas on the evening of Mad Sunday.’

Jonathan looked serious. ‘You’re starting to make me feel nervous now…’

Tory laughed at his worried expression. ‘No, honestly, you’ll enjoy it,’ she said with certainty. ‘It’s just a lot of people having a lot of fun.’

Though she wasn’t sure she was going to be one of them, she decided later that afternoon, as she bathed and washed her hair ready for going out that evening. The last time she had been on the island for TT she had spent most of racing week with Terry and his friends. Being in the company of Jonathan McGuire was a different proposition completely!

What was he going to make of the bikers doing fantastic wheelies up and down Douglas promenade, some of them wearing only underpants to protect their modesty? The pints and pints of beer being consumed by the crowds as they watched and cheered their antics? The impromptu parties? The bungee-jumping over the sea? The rock band playing on the quay?

If he had thought the drive around the TT course was ‘interesting’, then he was going to find this evening even more so!

‘You look very nice, love,’ her father told her as she joined them in the kitchen.

She must have changed her clothes half a dozen times before settling on the bright red tee shirt and black jeans, and she still wasn’t sure she had chosen the right things to wear. Normally she would have gone to Douglas on her bike, and, like most of the revellers, she would have been in her biking leathers. But as Jonathan was driving them into Douglas…

He had thanked her very politely for taking him out when she’d returned him to the Byrnes’ house earlier, had expressed pleasure in the drive back along the coast road—and promptly added, as he’d handed her the helmet back with obvious relief, that he didn’t care if he never went on a motorbike again in his life—ever!

Tory had laughed, had still been smiling when she’d reached home a few minutes later—her father, as she had suspected, having very much enjoyed his war film in their absence!

‘I’ll do this, Mum,’ she assured her mother now as she took over getting the Sunday tea: scones she had baked earlier that morning, fresh cream, and strawberry jam her mother had made a couple of months ago, also getting out a fruit cake her mother had made earlier in the week.

‘Aren’t you joining us, Tory?’ her mother asked as Tory joined them with only a cup of tea in front of her. ‘I hope you aren’t dieting again, love,’ she added worriedly. ‘You really worried me the last time you did that.’

Rupert had decided a couple of years ago that she could do with losing a few pounds. Those ‘few pounds’ had resulted in even her size eights hanging loosely on her!

Her mother’s answer to that, the next time Tory had gone home, had been to prepare all her favourite foods and make sure she ate them, ensuring that Tory was back to her original weight by the time she’d returned to London. Much to Rupert’s annoyance!

‘No, I’m not dieting, Mum,’ she assured her wryly. ‘Jonathan is taking me into Douglas this evening, and so—’

‘Jonathan is?’ her father echoed, brows raised speculatively.

Tory gave an inward sigh. Her parents, she knew, were no different from any others, and saw every man over twenty-five and under forty-five as a prospective son-in-law. She just wished that Jonathan McGuire didn’t fit that particular criteria. Because he certainly wasn’t suitable in any other way!

‘Jonathan is,’ she confirmed. ‘So we’ll probably pick up a snack to eat in Douglas somewhere.’ There would be lots of places selling food this evening, from basic hotdogs to Chinese food.

‘That’ll be nice, love,’ her father commented non-committally as he helped himself to the jam and cream to go with his scones.

She gave him a reproving look for his deliberate understatement. ‘It won’t be nice at all,’ she bit out impatiently. ‘But without appearing rude to Madison, as well as her brother, I could hardly refuse his invitation!’

‘Of course you couldn’t, Tory,’ her mother agreed. ‘He seems a very pleasant young man?’ she continued questioningly. Indeed, the flowers he had brought her earlier were now in pride of place in the sitting room.

Jonathan McGuire was not pleasant! A lot of other things, perhaps, but nothing as wishy-washy as pleasant!

‘Any more war films on tonight, Dad?’ Tory turned to him teasingly, unable to answer her mother.

‘No.’ His eyes twinkled at their shared joke concerning this afternoon. ‘But there is a John Wayne film on later.’

Another of her father’s favourites, she acknowledged un-begrudgingly. Her father, and her mother, worked extremely hard on the farm, especially this time of the year, and watching the television in the evenings was one of their avenues of entertainment.

Her cup of tea finished, Tory stood up abruptly. ‘Jonathan was going to pick me up in about half an hour, but it’s such a lovely sunny evening I think I’ll walk over.’ And she would avoid any more searching questions concerning Jonathan!

She picked up a black denim jacket in case it got cooler later that evening, hooking her thumb into it before throwing it over one shoulder.

‘Have you got your key to get in? We’ll probably be in bed when you get home,’ her mother prompted.

‘I’m not expecting to be that late,’ Tory said firmly; she knew her parents liked to be in bed early, but a couple of hours in Douglas should be enough. More than enough when it was spent with Jonathan McGuire!

‘Take your key just in case,’ her father advised.

Tory had to admit that she felt a little disgruntled as she witnessed the knowing look that passed between her parents before she left the house. They were wasting their time if they imagined there was anything in the least romantic between Jonathan McGuire and herself; as far as Tory was concerned she was just being polite to the brother of a friend and neighbour!

‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks…’

Where had that little taunting voice inside her come from? Wherever it was, she wished it would go straight back again!

Jonathan was good-looking, there was no doubting that. He was also extremely self-confident—but no longer arrogant? that little voice mocked again—much to Tory’s increasing irritation! He had a certain charm, when he chose to exert it. He also hadn’t been in the least concerned at admitting his aversion to the ride round the TT course earlier, so he wasn’t pompously self-important, either.

There was also the way she had reacted to his touching her earlier, to remove the ice-cream from the side of her mouth…

She had made light of it at the time, but as it wasn’t the first time it had happened—there had also been that tingling up her arm the previous day when they’d shaken hands—there was no doubting the fact that his merest touch sent little shock waves through her body.

But what did that mean?

She had been without a man in her life for too long; that was what it meant, she told herself sharply.

That was Rupert’s fault again. His possessive attitude tended to frighten away any prospective boyfriends, in fact most people considered he was her boyfriend, to the point where she hadn’t even been asked out by another man for over eighteen months.

No doubt Rupert, for all he hated the island, wouldn’t have been agreeable to her coming here on her own either if he had thought there was the remotest possibility of her meeting any eligible men!

Oh, damn Rupert, she told herself crossly. He had had his chance a couple of years ago—and he had blown it!

She waved to the people camping in the neighbouring field as she strolled across to Jonathan’s house; the island hotels and boarding houses simply couldn’t accommodate a sudden influx of almost fifty thousand people, and a lot of visitors chose to bring tents and simply camp out. Tory’s father had been letting them use the west field for as long as she could remember, laying on water and toilet facilities for them so that their stay could be as comfortable as possible, so much so that they usually had the same people come back to stay year after year.

The Byrne house looked mellowly welcoming in the early evening sunlight, the warmth of it’s colours reflecting warmly.

It was only as Tory approached the front of the house that she became aware of the sound of music playing, the gentle strum of a guitar carried hauntingly in the still evening air.

Jonathan McGuire?

He had been less than forthcoming when she’d questioned him yesterday about the guitar, only finally grudgingly admitting that he played; if that was him playing now, then he played very well!

Tory made her way quietly round the side of the house, loath to disturb him when he wasn’t even aware that anyone was listening; after all, he had said he would pick her up at seven o’clock—had no idea she would walk over instead.

He was sitting on the back balcony of the house, the guitar resting comfortably on his knee, long, artistic hands moving easily over the strings of the guitar as he played, the sound absolutely beautiful to the senses.

Tory hadn’t really noticed his hands before, but now she saw they were long and slender, brushing against the strings of the guitar almost in a loving caress.

She tried to place the tune, but it wasn’t one she was familiar with. Nevertheless, it was poignantly beautiful, seeming to conjure up pictures in the mind of love found and then love lost, of heartbreak. To her surprise, Tory felt the sting of tears in her eyes…

It was—

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, sneaking around, spying on me like this?’

That angrily rasping voice brought her back to a sudden awareness of her surroundings, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear the mesmerising beauty of the tune Jonathan had been playing from her brain.

Jonathan had stopped playing now, had risen indignantly to his feet, was glaring across the terrace at her with undisguised fury.

Oh, help!