Dark Summer Dawn by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page B

being fanciful.
    They had travelled for the most part in silence. Dane had addressed a few brief remarks to her, usually connected with her comfort. Was she warm enough? Did she want the radio on? After a while, Lisa had pretended to doze. It was easier than sitting rigidly beside him, fighting to think of something to say which would not evoke any disturbing memories, or re-open any old wounds. Not that Dane had ever felt wounded, she thought bitterly.
    She would be glad to get to the house now. The car she was travelling in was the last word in comfort, but she felt cramped and cooped up. A cage however luxurious was still a cage, she thought, and she had to share hers with a predator.
    Once off the motorway she began in spite of herself to take more interest in her surroundings, to look about her for long-remembered landmarks. So many place names on the signposts struck answering chords within her, and most of them had happy associations—Wetherby with its race track where Chas had called her his mascot because she'd picked three winners for him on the card— Harrogate where she and Julie had been at school—York with its gated walls and towering Minster, and the little winding streets which seemed like a step into the past. She hadn't realised until that moment just how much she had missed it all, and a wave of pure nostalgia washed over her. She had been homesick, but she had managed to keep it at bay by reminding herself how impossible it was that she should ever go back.
    Yet now she was back, brought by the man who had driven her into flight in the first place. And again she thought, 'I must be insane.'
    The motorway was far behind them now, and it was getting dark, too dark to gain more than a fleeting impression of the surrounding countryside, the dale where Stoniscliffe was situated.
    But she could remember it, could imagine the sweep of the moor, the tall rocks which pressed down to the very verges of the road, the splashing waterfalls, the march of the dry-stone walls, and the sturdy grey houses set firm against all the wind and weather could do to them.
    She could gauge almost to the moment when Dane would slow for the turning which led downhill into the village. When they had been children she and Julie had always closed their eyes at that moment and counted to fifteen not too quickly, because that was how long it took to reach Stoniscliffe. Instinctively she closed her eyes and began to count, feeling the car turn in at the gate, the scrunch of the tyres over the gravel with the old familiar rush of excitement.
    Dane said drily, 'You can open your eyes now. We're here.'
    She obeyed, only to be almost dazzled by the lights streaming from the ground floor. The front door stood wide open, and she could see Julie's slim figure almost dancing with excitement.
    Once again she had to wait impatiently for Dane to release the door catch for her, and then she was running up the three shallow steps which led to the door, and Julie was hugging her.
    'Oh, Lisa— Lisa ! It's wonderful to see you again. You wretch, to go off like that without a word to me. I have missed you so!'
    She put her arm through Lisa's and took her into the house. Mrs Arkwright was waiting in the hall, neat in her dark blue dress, her grey hair arranged in its usual formal bun. Her expression betrayed neither welcome nor resentment, and Lisa looked back at her equally calmly.
    'Good evening, Mrs Arkwright.'
    'Good evening, miss,' the housekeeper returned. 'If you'd like to follow me, I'll show you your room.'
    'There's no need for that,' Julie broke in impatiently.
    She knows which room is hers. This is her home, remember. Besides, Daddy wants to see her right away. He's been on tenterhooks ever since lunch, poor darling.' She added to Lisa in an undertone, 'Did Dane tell you about Daddy—about the wheelchair?'
    'Yes, he did.' Lisa sighed. 'Why didn't you write to me, Julie, tell me?'
    'Because he'd have had me hanged, drawn and quartered if I'd