There were history books and geography books, an English grammar and a book of mathematical problems. The corresponding exercise books were with them, and while Anya stretched herself rather moodily in a chair beside the fire, Joanna studied her written work. Most of it was not good. There were too many errors, as well as an abundance of smudges and ink blots which gave the books an untidy appearance. What was surprising was that her spelling was excellent, as too was her attention to detail, and while other subjects merited only the briefest of essays, her English spread generously over pages and pages.

Unfortunately, someone-the last governess?-had scrawled all over the work, indicating her opinion of Anya's apparent apt.i.tude for literacy. There were comments like 'Too long-winded' and 'Try to avoid over-dramatising' and 'What has this to do with the essay?', and as Joanna read the pages of smeared handwriting she began to see why those comments had been made. The tides of the essays bore little resemblance to what came after. Anya seemed to use the tides only as ideas to elaborate, and it was obvious that a vivid imagination supplied the rest. What previous governesses had not seemed to notice, or if they had, they had not considered it praiseworthy, was that Anya possessed a remarkable talent for storytelling, and her essays were really wonderful fairy stories, wrapped around with all the folklore she had read and learned about throughout her young life. Joanna sat back amazed at the discovery she had made, and her eyes turned to the girl staring broodingly into the fire.

'What exactly did-the other governesses say about your work, Anya?' she asked, choosing her words with caution. 'It's obvious that you didn't enjoy history or maths, but why did you say they thought you were backward?'

Anya regarded her silently for a moment, as if gauging her reactions to what she had just read, and then she shrugged. 'I'm no good at lessons any more,' she mumbled, cupping her chin on one hand, and before Joanna could ask what she meant by 'any more' she went on: 'I used to like school once, in London. The teachers there didn't think I was stupid.' She paused. 'But that was a long time ago.'

Joanna hesitated. 'But what did these governesses you've had say to you? I mean, they must have had some opinion of your work.'

Anya thought for a minute, then she said: 'Miss Towers who came first-she was the best. She used to let me write during her lessons, and I liked that. I like writing. But Daddy sacked her because I wasn't learning anything, and the other two were horrible!'

Joanna sighed. 'How were they horrible?'

Anya frowned. 'Miss Latimer used to shout. She used to get angry because I couldn't do her rotten sums, and in the end I put a rat in her bedroom and she left.'

Joanna hid her reaction to this, and said faintly: 'And the other?'

'Miss Gering?' Anya hunched her shoulders. 'She was German, not a lot older than you are, but very strict. She used to put her hair in a plait and she always wore long skirts and flat shoes. She was the worst of all. Daddy made me pay attention to her, and if I didn't, she used to tell on me.' Her mouth jutted. 'Just like you did yesterday.'

Joanna gasped. 'I didn't tell on you!' She made a helpless gesture.

'You brought what happened on yourself!'

'You told Daddy I'd taken you down to the stream,' retorted Anya hotly.

'I did not,' Joanna objected indignantly. 'He already knew.'

Anya stared at her. 'I don't believe you.'

'That's up to you.' Joanna refused to be browbeaten.

'Nevertheless, it's true. One thing I don't do is lie.'

Anya's lashes-came to veil her eyes. 'Why did you ask me about the other governesses?' she asked. 'Why do you want to know?'

Joanna took the olive branch willingly. 'I was curious, that's all. I wondered who had scribbled all over your work.'

'Oh, that was Miss Gering,' said Anya, getting up to take a look. 'She said I was too fanciful. She told Daddy I still believed in fairies.'

Joanna gave her a wry look. 'And do you?'

Anya seemed to consider her answer. 'If I said yes, would you think I was backward?'

'No.' Joanna shook her head. 'Unlike Miss Gering, I think it's necessary to keep our dreams as long as we can. So long as we don't mix up fact with fantasy. Your work -' she indicated the open book on the desk, 'your work is imaginative, but I think that's because you enjoy writing. I liked reading your stories. I'm not saying you shouldn't pay more attention to your other lessons, these other books show a pretty poor standard, but you're not backward, only under-educated.'

Anya straightened her spine and looked down at her doubtfully.

'What if I said I didn't mind being under- educated, so long as I could write my stories? Why should I have to learn geography and history? I shan't need them if I'm going to be a writer.'

Joanna shrugged. 'I should have thought, if you were going to be a writer, you'd need all sorts of information.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, it's all right brushing aside geography and history if you're going to spend your life writing about elves and fairies.

But as you get older, your writing will mature. You might like to write about other lands and other people. That's where geography comes in. Or about other times -'

'And that's history,' said Anya gloomily.

'Yes.'

The girl shook her head. 'I've never thought of that.' A faint smile touched her lips. 'And I don't think you did, until now.'

Joanna had to smile in return. 'You must admit, it is original,'

she agreed, without conceit. 'So-what do you say? If I persuade your father that what you're writing is not fanciful rubbish, will you do your best to improve your other work?'

'How do you know I'll work for you, any better than for Miss Latimer or Miss Gering?'

'Because I'm more like Miss Towers,' declared Joanna firmly.

'Except that I will expect you to work, and shall expect you to make progress.'

Anya giggled. It was the first time she had relaxed so far and Joanna felt almost weak with success. 'Miss Towers was at least fifty,' she declared, 'and she wore thick hornrimmed spectacles.'

Joanna shrugged, not at all put out. 'Well, I can find some spectacles, if I have to,' she said, with a grimace, and with a little more enthusiasm, Anya pulled a chair to the desk.

Jake had not returned home by five o'clock and Joanna checked the ca.s.serole she had made earlier before making herself and Anya some tea. Anya had finished hers and disappeared about some business of her own when Joanna heard the sound of the Range Rover, and she unconsciously straightened her spine as Jake came into the kitchen where she was sitting. He noticed at once the tray of tea on the table in front of her, but she guessed it was the appetising aroma from the oven that caused the instinctive tightening of his lips. However, he made no immediate comment, merely closed the outer door behind him and strode rather wearily towards the glowing eye of the Aga.

Joanna watched him warm his hands for a moment, and then she got up from the table. 'Would you like some tea?' she offered, and when he turned to look at her over his shoulder: 'Don't refuse. There's plenty left, and you look as though you could do with a cup.'

Jake turned fully to face her, hands behind his back, parting the tweed hacking jacket, exposing the taut expanse of brown silk straining across his chest. It was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than the cotton shirts and cords he wore around the farm, and she could not help admiring the way his dark brown suede pants moulded the powerful contours of his thighs. He was all muscle and bone, and Joanna's reactions to him frightened her a little. This was a contingency she had never expected, believing as her mother had done, that Jake was so much older, but although she knew that he must be nearly forty, he possessed a latent s.e.xuality that defied age or circ.u.mstance.

There was an awful moment when she realised she had been staring, and his grim face mirrored his reactions to her fixation. It was obvious that he had got an entirely wrong impression of her numbed fascination, and in a harsh voice he said: 'What's the matter? Am I putting you off your tea? If you just leave the things, I can pour myself a cup, and then I suggest you go and pack your belongings.'

'Pack my belongings?' Joanna's gaze was unwavering now.

'Why should I pack my belongings? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not leaving!'

He came towards the table, long brown fingers beating an erratic tattoo on its surface. 'I think you should,' he declared steadily. 'I think it would be the best thing for all of us. Apart from Anya's obstructive behaviour, I've been unable to find anyone willing to come and work at Ravengarth, and as you pointed out, it's not suitable for an unmarried man and woman- girl-to share the same house unchaperoned.'

Joanna's eyes widened. 'You said this morning that I was young enough to be your daughter!' she reminded him.

'That it didn't matter -'

'I've had second thoughts about the matter.'

'Well, I haven't.' Joanna was feeling a little desperate now. It was all very well grumbling about the state of the house, and wishing Anya was a more normal little girl, but they were only small grievances.

She didn't want to go, of that she was certain, and she feared the determination in Jake's face that saw all the wrong things in hers.

'Perhaps I was wrong to imagine anyone could make any headway with Anya,' he muttered, half to himself. 'It's been too long. And after three unsuccessful attempts, I should have realised I was wasting my time -'

'You're not! That is- I'm not.' Joanna took an involuntary step towards him, unwittingly bringing her within arm's length of his dark tormented face. Somehow she had to convince him that she was different, that she was having some success with the child. 'Mr Sheldon, I think you might reconsider when I tell you -'.

'Miss Seton.' He straightened as she neared him, pushing back his shoulders and making a concerted effort to disguise his weariness.

'I'm sure you mean well, but there comes a time when even I have to admit defeat. Anya will have to go to boarding school.

Somewhere there must be a school that will take her, and any hopes that I might have had for softening the blow will have to be abandoned.'

'Don't say that!' Joanna put out an unthinking hand and grasped his sleeve, only intent at that moment to relieve his mood of discouragement. She was hardly aware of him as a man as she stretched out her hand, only as a dispirited human being, but the minute her fingers closed on his sleeve and felt the tensing of hard muscle beneath, all detachment fled. The unconscious intimacy of her action had brought her even closer to him, closer than she had been before, and almost savagely he looked down at her, willing her to recoil from the scarred proximity of his flawed features.

But she didn't. She looked up at him half wonderingly, examining his ravaged face in detail for the first time, and realised with a sense of amazement that she couldn't imagine him any other way. She had grown accustomed to his harsh appearance, it was as much a part of him as the smooth dark virility of his hair, and those curious amber eyes, and without stopping to ponder the whys and wherefores of what she was doing, she reached up and touched his cheek with a tentative finger. It was what she had wanted to do, she realised, since their first confrontation two days ago in the library, but what she was not prepared for was his violent reaction.

'Don't do that!' he snapped, dashing her hand away, and pushing angry fingers into the collar of his shirt as if it was suddenly too tight. 'I am not a wax dummy, Miss Seton. Just because you're leaving, don't imagine that gives you the right to treat me like a museum exhibit. I don't like being touched at any time, least of all by an inquisitive adolescent with a view to relating her experiences to a morbidly avid audience!'

'I'm not leaving,' Joanna declared vehemently. 'I don't want to leave.'

'Unfortunately, one can't always do what one wants to do, Miss Seton,' he retorted, drawing a deep breath, 'As I say, Anya is my primary concern, and -'

'I know that!'

'-as it's obvious that despite the similarity in your ages, which I'd thought might be an advantage -'

I'm twenty years old, Mr Sheldon. Not a child!'

'-you're having no success -'

Will you listen to me!' Joanna almost shouted the words, and his surprise temporarily cut off the depressing trend of his summation. 'I am making some progress with Anya. I am! We've spent the whole day together, and there's been no discord. None at all!'

He studied her impatient face for a long moment without saying anything, and her temper was not improved by the awareness of the slow colour that was mounting in her cheeks.

Then, as if dismissing any softening of his att.i.tude, he turned aside from her, saying harshly: 'She's probably humouring you for some reason of her own,' and Joanna's temper exploded into action.

'You won't listen to reason, will you?' she exclaimed, brushing past him, and in her haste her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounced against the firm muscle of his arm.

She didn't know which of them was the most affected by the incident. She was aware of Jake drawing aside from her, his face tense and guarded, and of the tingling sensation she was still feeling from that disturbing contact. It was strange because she had had far more familiar contacts with young men of her own age, occasions when she had been on holiday in the south of France, and had attended beach barbecues wearing only a bikini, and danced the night away; yet just by brushing Jake's arm with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s she was made more intimately aware of his masculinity than with any other man she had ever met.

She was still standing there, arms crossed over her body, palms ma.s.saging her elbows, when Anya came into the kitchen, and it was lucky that her delight in seeing her father distracted her awareness of the tense att.i.tudes of the other two people in the room. She came towards Jake eagerly, and Joanna quickly applied herself to the teacups, hardly conscious of anything except a sense of blind impotence. He was sending her away, she thought bitterly, and if there had been any doubts in his mind, she had probably destroyed them by her unthinking provocation.

'Did Miss Seton tell you what we've been doing today?' Anya asked, blithely indifferent to her father's bleak countenance, and while Joanna waited with bated breath for the girl to tell Jake about her writing, she added: 'We cleared out the library.' She arched her brows as if expecting dispute. 'Honestly! It was awfully dusty. Miss Seton said you could practically grow mushrooms behind the bookshelves!'

Joanna's shoulders sagged, and she was hardly surprised when Jake expressed no enthusiasm for the project. 'As I persistently keep having to remind Miss Seton, she was brought here to supervise your studies, not to act as an unpaid domestic,' he retorted brusquely, but this time Anya made no mistake.

'But she is, Daddy,' she protested, casting an appealing look in Joanna's direction. 'We did the cleaning this morning. This afternoon we've done school work.'

Jake's mouth compressed. 'Is this true?' he demanded, and Joanna met the narrow-eyed gaze he turned upon her with grim determination.

'I did try to tell you,' she said, annoyed to hear the tremor in her voice, and he turned back to his daughter in reluctant contrition.

'And what did Miss Seton have to say about your work?' he enquired distantly. 'Did she find your general abilities as sadly limited as her predecessor?'

'No!' It was Joanna who spoke, interjecting her own response before Anya could say anything. She didn't like his manner of interrogation, slanted as it was towards corrupting the tenuous understanding she and his daughter were achieving, and if she hadn't known he had Anya's well-being at heart, she would have said he was doing his best to turn the child against her. But why?

Why?

There was no time now to explore such a notion, and she went on quickly: 'Anya's capabilities are not limited. She-she's an intelligent child. A sensitive child,' she added forcefully. 'And she has a genuine apt.i.tude for English.'

He was obliged to look at her again then. 'For story- writing, don't you mean, Miss Seton?' he suggested coldly. 'An over-active imagination, which it sounds as though you are encouraging.'

'I am.' Joanna disliked having to argue with him in front of the child, but there was no other way. 'Why not? Her stories are good! Her grasp of description is outstanding for a girl of her age.'

Jake's hard eyes bored into hers, and the silent battle of wills it instigated was something Joanna knew she had to win. But not at the expense of Anya's peace of mind, and aware of the child's gaze upon them, she said deliberately: 'I know you don't like me, Mr Sheldon. You've made that very clear.

But I think in this instance it's more important that Anya takes advantage of the little I can teach her than that you and I should allow our personal differences to interfere with her future.'

It was a consummate piece of acting, considering the chaotic turmoil of her emotions, and one he could hardly gainsay. It served the dual purpose of diverting Anya's attention from their growing familiarity with one another, and at the same time left him little room for manoeuvre without arousing her suspicions.

'Very well,' he said at last, expelling his breath on a heavy sigh.

'Since you seem at least to have won her confidence, I have no choice but to submit to the reason of your argument.

However, I will defer any decision on the matter for the present time. Unless I can find a suitable woman to come and take charge of Ravengarth, I may be forced to make other arrangements.'

What those other arrangements might be Joanna had no idea, and Anya was only concerned with her own affairs anyway.

'Miss Seton's pretty good at housekeeping,' she volunteered thoughtfully. 'Couldn't you pay her twice as much to do both jobs?'

'No.' Jake's response was clipped. 'Somehow I've got to find a woman who's prepared to put up with the isolation of Ravengarth in exchange for a good salary, and until I do, I'm making no promises.'

It was not a satisfactory answer, but Joanna had to accept it.

At least, he was not dismissing her out of hand, she thought weakly, and then wondered if it wouldn't have been better if he had. Staying here, she sensed she was inviting trouble of a kind she had not yet experienced, but nothing would have induced her to leave. In some strange, incomprehensible way, she was involved with the scarred master of Ravengarth, and for good or ill she had chosen her own fate.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DURING the next few days Joanna had little time to worry about the expediency of her decision. Despite Jake's objections to her taking over the household, there was no one else to do it, and it was amazing how quickly she adapted to her new life. She made mistakes, the rarefied existence she had lived before coming to Ravengarth ill preparing her for the everyday obstacles that were thrown in her path, but apart from scorching one of the sheets by putting it too close to the fire, and breaking some of the china from the cabinet in the living room when she tried to wash it in water that was too hot, she felt she was succeeding reasonably well.

Certainly Anya did not protest at her prolonged spells of housekeeping, but this was because it meant there was less time for lessons. Anya, she had discovered, did not work well without supervision, but she joined Joanna in her spurts of cleaning with real enthusiasm, and she guessed the little girl's latent femininity was being stimulated by so much activity. It was obvious that Mrs Harris had more to answer for than just poor housekeeping, and Joanna fumed every time she thought of her baulking the child's natural development.