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relief she felt none of the overpowering pleasure she had felt before. She
kept her eyes open, looking over his shoulder at the darkening sky. The sun
was setting behind the trees in an orange glow. Some starlings nesting in the
trees flew up in a black flock and circled around against the brightness of the
dying sun.
Matt drew away and looked at her unsmilingly.
Lisa gave him a hard, bright smile. 'Goodnight, Mr Wolfe,' she said, and got
out of the car.
He slammed the door immediately and drove off so fast that she had not
reached the gate before he had vanished.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN Lisa let herself into the house she was surprised to find Fran and Peter
playing cards at the table in the sitting-room with apparent enjoyment.
Normally they had no time for each other, snapping and snarling like hostile
dogs when they met. She stood in the doorway surveying them
incredulously.
Fran looked up and, amazingly, grinned at her. 'Where on earth have you
been all this time? I was beginning to think Matt had abducted you.' She
looked at Peter through her lashes, her pretty face mischievous. 'Peter was
terribly jealous.'
Lisa had expected to be greeted with a furious denunciation when she
returned. She had been looking for tears, for rage, for wild accusations for
anything but this light teasing.
'We drove to Pelly Bridge,' she explained, her tone careful, 'Matt took me to
meet his parents.'
Fran's eyes widened in disbelief. 'Why on earth should he want to take you
there? How frightfully dull! What were they like?'
'Very nice,' said Lisa.
'I would have expected him to buy them a better house,' Fran said
thoughtfully. 'He must be rolling in money. I wonder if he's mean? Rich
people often are, they say.'
'What does Mr Wolfe's father do?' Doctor Baynard asked, laying his cards
on the table face down.
'He works at St George's,' Lisa told him.
'A doctor?' Her father looked interested. 'What a coincidence!'
'No,' she explained, telling him about Mr Wolfe's job. He listened, nodding,
watching her face with curious eyes which took in her high colour, her
liveliness,, with speculation.
Fran fidgeted irritably. 'Dad, are we going to finish this game or not? Hurry
up! Lisa, make a cup of tea, will you, there's a dear. You're distracting Dad.'
Lisa strolled into the kitchen and heard them continue with the game noisily,
arguing like children.
'I'm out,' Fran said triumphantly.
'Jam, pure jam,' Peter muttered. 'That's the fourth hand you've won in a row.
I think you must be cheating.'
'Steady, children,' Doctor Baynard warned them, a smile in his voice.
'You're just a rotten loser,' Fran objected loudly.
'Not to mention a rotten card player.'
'I'll show you what a bad loser I am!' Peter said wrathfully. A moment later
Fran's slender figure shot through into the kitchen, her eyes bright, her
mouth curved in laughter.
'Help,' she gasped to Lisa. 'Hide me!'
Peter came into the room, his expression torn between amusement and
determination. Fran sheltered behind Lisa, giggling. 'Save me from your
mad boyfriend !' she cried as Peter dodged around to catch her.
'You wait until I catch you,' Peter snapped. 'I'll teach you to cheat at cards!'
The next moment he had dragged Fran out from behind Lisa, flinging her
over his shoulder like a sack of coals, her legs kicking wildly. He carried her,
shrieking breathlessly, from the kitchen out onto the long terrace which ran
along the back of the house. Lisa, laughing, went on with making the tea.
Through the window she saw Peter fling Fran into the old garden hammock
which was slung there, setting it swinging violently.
Fran's voice drifted in through the window. 'You beast... you horrible beast!'
Lisa covered the pot with the knitted cosy she had made herself, turning
away to find the cups and saucers. She laid them out on the kitchen table,
mentally counting the number who wanted tea, then went to call up to
Timmy to ask if he wanted a drink.
'No, thanks,' he shouted back. 'What's all the racket going on down
there?''Fran and Peter playing cards,' she called back.
'I thought it was World War Three,' he said calmly.
She went back into the kitchen to pour the tea and took it into the
sitting-room. Her father had put a record on his stereo equipment. The gentle
sadness of Dvorak's 'New World' symphony echoed around the room. Lisa
kissed the top of her father's head as she placed his cup in front of him.
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