Storm's End Page 10

  Julie's head was filled with a jumble of impressions from his colorful word-pictures of exotic costumes, fantasy floats, marching bands, trinkets tossed out to the revelers and streets packed with holiday crowds.

  "It sounds like a lot of fun," she acknowledged. "You say you spend a week in New Orleans. Do Blaise and my grandfather go along, too?"

  Clive cast her a sidelong glance that was accompanied with a grimace. "Are you kidding?" he exclaimed. "Uncle Andy's too old to want to get involved with such crowds and Blaise…" he laughed, "Blaise doesn't know how to let himself go and have fun for an entire week. He'd be afraid the plant would close down without his nose stuck to the grindstone."

  His description did not tally entirely with her own impression of Blaise during that week he had spent with her in Houston, Julie thought as she waved goodbye to Clive a few minutes later. True, he had come out of a sense of responsibility, but with her he had relaxed and had a holiday spirit during those days together… up until the last.

  She reentered the house quietly, so that if Blaise and Rosalind were still in the living room they would not hear her, and she made her way a bit morosely up the stairs and down the hall into her bedroom.

  She undressed listlessly and put on a pair of shorty pajamas that tied in tiny yellow bows on the shoulders. Then, barefoot, she went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

  When she walked back into her bedroom, carefully closing the bathroom door behind her, she turned toward the bed and gasped with shock. There sat Blaise on the edge of the bed, his jacket and tie gone, his shirt collar opened and looking just as though he had every right to be where he was.

  "What are you doing in here?" she asked indignantly.

  "I came to talk to you," was the calm reply.

  "I thought you were still downstairs with Rosalind," she said sarcastically.

  "Well, you thought wrong, didn't you?" Blaise got to his feet and advanced toward her. Only then did Julie realize what she was wearing, because Blaise's eyes were raking her up and down, insolently noting every detail of her thinly covered body. Before she could move toward the closet in an effort to get her robe, Blaise's fingers grasped her wrist in a tight vise. "I came to warn you not to get too cozy with Clive."

  "And who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" she snapped as she twisted her arm and felt the friction between her skin and his. "I happen to like Clive and I see no reason why I can't be friendly with him if I wish. After all, he is my cousin!"

  Blaise's laugh was harsh. "Yes, and Clive would be friendly with the devil himself if he thought it would get him what he wanted."

  Julie's chin jutted out. "Are you implying that I'm the devil?"

  Blaise grinned at that and lowered his gaze to the clearly defined outline of her breasts. "Well, if you're not the devil, you're certainly in league with him right now," he said suggestively. "You're quite a temptress in that next-to-nothing thing you're wearing." Now his eyes lifted to her face again and the grin faded. "However, the point is that Clive knows you're bound to inherit some stock from Dad and he is trying to win you over to his side so that you'll be voting with him when it counts."

  "I am not exactly stupid," Julie hissed furiously, "and I'm perfectly capable of making up my own mind without being influenced by either you or Clive!"

  Blaise shook his head. "You don't know a thing about the business," he pointed out.

  "That's true, but I can learn, and I will! Besides, my grandfather has already pointed out that if I vote irresponsibly I'd be hurting Bobby and mother as well as myself, so I'm not likely to do anything without careful consideration, but that will not stop me from being friends with Clive." Now her lips curled in scorn. "You'd better be more concerned with the fact that your stepfather was quite displeased over your girlfriend's visit tonight."

  Blaise's laugh was humorless. "There are some things even Andrew Barclay cannot control and one of them is my love life. I agreed to marry you so I could save the plant from being ruined by Clive's whims, but as long as the marriage is a secret, as long as I'm tied to an ice cube, I'll take my warmth where I can find it."

  "Ice cube!" Julie cried wildly. "You know nothing about me! Nothing, do you hear? And I hate you for your sweeping judgments!"

  Suddenly both his arms were around her, pinning her soft body against the hard leanness of his. "Then here's one more reason you can hate me," he growled.

  His lips claimed hers roughly as Julie tried to turn her head to free herself. There was no gentleness, no seductiveness to the burning of his lips on hers; rather, it was an assault, a brutal plundering of her mouth. He forced her lips open and his teeth nibbled at the full, sensuous lower one. Julie's hands were beating ineffectively against the strength of his chest until Blaise took them both in his, raised them around his neck and left them there before his own arms once more crushed her to him.

  But all at once, Blaise changed, became gentler. The bruising force of his lips softened into caresses that sped a liquid fire raging through Julie's melting limbs. His hands traveled up to her shoulders, untying the bows there and the silky pajama top fell away, leaving her breasts fully exposed to the tender stroking of his fingers.

  "God," Blaise whispered unsteadily, "you drive me to distraction." His lips found her mouth again and possessed it with urgent hunger while she clung to him with a dizzying need of her own.

  As he had once before, Blaise swept her into his arms and this time he carried her to the bed.

  But before he could lower himself onto the bed beside her, in that brief instant, Julie's senses returned. A vision of Rosalind York downstairs tonight suddenly rose up to taunt her. Blaise didn't really want her… not when he had someone as lovely as Rosalind around. He was merely playing with her. He had been angry when she had drawn back that other time and his male pride was involved. He only wanted now to make a complete fool of her!

  Julie rolled to the opposite side of the bed, got swiftly to her feet and grabbed at the bedspread to cover her nakedness. "Get out!" she gasped as her breasts heaved. "Go back to your girlfriend where you belong and," now her voice was ragged and painful, "leave me be!"

  Blaise's chest, too, was heaving from the onslaught of emotions that had surged through him and there was such a blank, disbelieving expression on his face it would have been ludicrous if Julie had found anything amusing about the situation just then.

  "You really are repressed and frigid!" Blaise grated out at last as he knotted and unknotted his fists at his side. "No wonder your fiancé broke off with you. If you had been a real woman, surely he would have put up with your family problems in order to have you." With long strides, he crossed the room to the door and then he turned and threw her a dark glance. "You know, that guy had a lucky escape. A damned lucky escape!"

  Chapter Six

  Julie wandered around the side of the house like a lost soul. From the back yard came the sounds of the lawn mower the gardener was using; inside the house the vacuum cleaner hummed, pushed by the maid who came twice weekly to help Mrs. Landry. Upstairs were her mother and Sarah, both of them happily occupied, Ruth propped up in bed with skeins of yarn which would eventually become a comforter for Sarah to take to her new home as a bride; Sarah, in the rocking chair, was busy embroidering a table cloth for the same purpose. Bobby had gone to spend the day with Tony.

  Now Julie paused beside a rosebush and absently plucked away a dead bud. She was bored and it was an insidious disease that gnawed away at her insides. There was nothing here for her to do, to while away her time, and the day stretched endlessly like a black void. She could, of course, have joined her mother and Sarah with some similar type of work, but needlework of any sort had always driven her to distraction. She despised it and she could see no beneficial purpose in putting herself through such torture.

  Without any special purpose, she headed toward the long stretch of front lawn and, as she reached the drive, she spotted her grandfather some distance away, walking slowly
with the aid of a cane. Normally he did not use it, but through Mrs. Landry Julie had learned that he suffered greatly with arthritis and whenever he walked any distance beyond a few rooms, he always used the cane. He saw her now and lifted the cane and waved it in greeting.

  Julie waved back and then, impulsively, went to meet him. He waited for her beneath one of the majestic oaks and there was a warm, friendly smile on his face as she approached.

  "You look much cooler than I feel," he said, indicating her white shorts and sleeveless yellow top. "In the respect of dress, women are far more liberated than men."

  "Oh, I don't know," she retorted. "There are Bermuda shorts for men. You could always try them."

  "Not with my knobby knees," he snorted. "Please allow me a little more dignity than that."

  Julie grinned, then asked politely, "How are you this morning, sir?"

  "Oh, fine, fine." The cane shifted from his right hand to his left. "Just enjoying my exercise before it gets too hot. How are you?"

  Julie shrugged and fell into step beside him as he began to move slowly once more, heading away from the house. "Frankly, I'm bored stiff," she told him honestly. "Do you suppose," she asked tentatively, "that you could find some job at the plant for me?"

  Keen gray eyes appraised her face but what surprised Julie was the twinkle of humor that lurked there. "You can have anything, within reason, that money can buy and yet you want a job. What's the matter, don't you enjoy being a rich man's granddaughter?"

  Julie's lips twitched in spite of herself. "Now that's a loaded question, sir, and I'm really not in the mood to quarrel with you this morning."

  Andrew Barclay's own mouth stretched into a smile. "That's good, because I'm not in the mood to quarrel either. It's far too fine a morning for that. But seriously, do you really want a job? I would have thought you'd be content to be here where your mother and Bobby need you."

  "That's just it," Julie grimaced. "They don't, really. Mom has Sarah and you know they get on like bosom buddies and Bobby is always off doing something with Tony. I enjoy being able to be around when they do want my company, but it just doesn't take up much of my time. And Mrs. Landry doesn't seem to appreciate my attempts to help out in the house. Besides, if I'm to take my place on the board of directors, I ought to know something about synthetic rubber!"

  "I thoroughly agree," he surprised her by saying, "and if you want to learn, you shall. I've got some material in the study you can read and we can arrange for you to take a tour of the plant. We could drive in this morning if you like. I'm sure Blaise would be delighted to show you around."

  Julie froze. The very last thing she wanted was to see Blaise again so soon after that scene between them last night. He had said unforgivable things to her and just now it was beyond her to be able to face him with even the most minute degree of composure.

  "I… I…" Her mouth was dry and words eluded her, and she squirmed uneasily beneath her grandfather's penetrating gaze. Mutely, she shook her head, unaware of the telltale pain that glazed her eyes.

  "You and Blaise have had another quarrel, haven't you?" Andrew Barclay asked quietly.

  "How… how did you know?" she asked in a low voice.

  "Hmmph!" he growled. "It doesn't take a genius to realize something's wrong, what with Blaise scowling and making snapping comments at breakfast and you going white as a blank sheet of paper at the thought of having to see him." They had halted in their slow meandering, but now the old man moved forward once more, murmuring, "Perhaps I made a mistake. A terrible mistake."

  Yes, Julie thought sickly, he had made a terrible mistake in forcing them to marry, but the damage had already been done now, and there was no way to change that. Her life was linked to a man who scorned and despised her. He condemned her for not letting him make love to her even while he reserved for himself the right to love another woman. It didn't make sense… any of it, least of all why he should have this strange power to hurt her so badly. Last night it would have been the easiest thing imaginable to give in to the fires that had raged through her body, flames that left her weak and limp and frustrated in the end, but had she done so, she would have hated herself today. There would be no pride left, no shred of self-esteem remaining if she had followed the impulsive, sensuous dictates of her body, because Rosalind would still be waiting in the background, the triumphant winner of the sweepstakes for love.

  Clive telephoned in midafternoon to invite Julie out to dinner that evening. Julie wavered. It would be nice to get away from the house, but on the other hand she could just visualize Blaise's dark anger if she accepted. And then her shoulders squared. Why shouldn't she go? Clive was a relative, after all. There was no reason she should not enjoy his company other than Blaise's disapproval and that, she decided quite firmly, was no reason at all. He came and went as he pleased, saw whom he pleased and she would do the same.

  "I'd love it, Clive," she told him. "Thanks for asking."

  "Fine. I'll pick you up around seven."

  When she went downstairs that evening, Julie hoped she would be able to leave the house without seeing Blaise, but her luck was out. As she walked down the hall toward the living room, Blaise opened the study door and came out. He saw her and stopped abruptly, taking in the soft beige dress she was wearing, the white sandals and the significance of the purse she was carrying.

  "Going out?" he asked.

  "As a matter of fact, yes." Julie's entire body grew taut and her eyes were wary.

  "Care to say where?"

  "Not particularly." Resentment coated her voice.

  Blaise took a step toward her. "Julie, about last night…"

  "I don't care to discuss it, Blaise!" she said thickly. "You've abused me quite enough as it is!"

  "I've abused you?" His voice held a note of incredulity. "What do you think you've done to me?" He came a step closer and there was a dangerous light in his eyes that caused Julie to retreat a few steps. "You lead a man on like that and then you say…" His voice broke off at the sound of the front door opening behind them.

  "Hi," Clive said with a lazy smile at Julie. "I see you're all ready and waiting. That must mean you're as hungry as I am."

  Julie was tremblingly aware of Blaise only a few inches from her and her face was hot with color at what he had been saying and now, at Clive's timely interruption, she could only offer him a weak smile.

  Blaise's eyebrows drew together low over his dark eyes. "You're going out to dinner?" He was looking at Julie.

  "That's right," Clive answered for her and there was a sudden belligerent twist to his mouth. "You got any objections?"

  Blaise's gaze left Julie's face and he glanced toward Clive, shrugging carelessly. "Of course not," he said blandly. "Have fun!" Then he turned, went back into the study and closed the door.

  Unexpectedly, Julie got her first glimpse of the Barclay Rubber Manufacturing Company that same evening. Once they reached the city, Clive decided to run by the plant to check on something before dinner. When they arrived at the gates, the guard waved them in and Julie saw a large complex of white metal buildings.

  Clive parked his car near one of them by a fence and asked, "Do you want to come in?"

  Julie shook her head. "Not unless you're going to be long."

  "I'll only be a minute," he promised as he opened his door.

  Julie was content to wait. She did want to see the plant as her grandfather had suggested only that morning, but the idea of going into a darkened building this late in the day was not appealing. Besides, she would only be seeing offices, not the actual plant in operation. But, as she sat gazing around her, she resolved that she would set to work soon studying the material Andrew Barclay had given her at lunch. So far she had only flipped through a few pages and words like "styrene", "butadiene" and "isobutylene" were so off-putting that she had quickly stuffed the papers in a bureau drawer. But she would learn, she promised herself. After all, she was now a part-owner in the company.

  Clive ret
urned and, as they drove away from the plant, she had a good view of the Mississippi River winding its way along the edges of the city. This late in the evening, its muddy water was murky and unappealing. More inviting was the towering spire of the capitol building further down along the river. It was a landmark that could be seen for miles.

  They had dinner at a seafood restaurant on Florida Boulevard, and over cocktails Clive asked with a slight laugh, "Well, what did you think of the plant?"

  Julie shrugged. "Not much from the outside. It's like a dull bookcover." She glanced curiously at him. "Do you enjoy your work there?"

  It was Clive's turn to shrug and he lit a cigarette before replying. "Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't," he told her. "As you've probably already been told, Blaise is acting manager over plant operations. I'm the marketing manager and Uncle Andy is the board chairman. Technically, he still calls the shots, but sometimes Blaise seems to forget that fact and tries to make decisions he doesn't have the right to make. Like expansion. It's been years since we've expanded and we're practically out-growing the space we've got. I'm positive that I could double our sales if we only had a greater output, but Blaise is dead set against it."

  "Why?" Julie asked as she picked up her glass. "If it could bring in more income…"

  Clive grimaced. "With expansion, we're talking of an outlay of millions of dollars, of course, but since we're an independent company instead of one of the giants, Blaise thinks we'd be overextending ourselves and never recoup our investment. He's crazy, of course. I know of one of the largest manufacturing companies that would like to buy us out at a hefty profit for us. Why would they want us if they didn't see our potential in growth? I've tried to persuade Uncle Andy that failing expansion, we ought to sell and make a bundle while we can. There's just no room for relatively small, independent producers in this country anymore. The big conglomerates are the only way to go."