A Durable Fire Read online

  From the first, Arminel had known that her holiday friendship with Rhys Beringer was no more than that — friendship — but she had allowed him to persuade her to spend a holiday at his home in New Zealand. So it did seem rather unfair when she was greeted by a wall of snobbish hostility from Rhys’s mother, who clearly didn’t consider her good enough for him, and with cold contempt by his brother Kyle, who told her to her face that she was just a cheap gold-digger. But despite all that, it was Kyle with whom she fell in love — and ruined her life in the process. Would she ever be able to forget him?

  A DURABLE FIRE

  BY ROBYN DONALD

  MILLS & BOON LIMITED

  15-16 BROOK’S MEWS LONDON W1A 1DR

  Original hardcover edition published 1984

  Australian copyright 1984

  Philippine copyright 1984

  © Robyn Donald 1984

  ISBN 0 263 74553 8

  ForMEGAN

  But true love is a durable fire

  In the mind ever burning;

  Never sick, never old, never dead,

  From itself never turning.

  Walsinghame, Sir Walter Raleigh (c. 1552-1618)

  CHAPTER ONE

  At the doors that led into the departure hall he asked with cold composure, ‘Have you your passport ready?’

  Beneath her breath she said, ‘Yes, it’s in my bag. I checked it a moment ago.’

  All around them was the last-minute bustle of the airport, people kissing goodbye, children already waving, a few tears, barely suppressed excitement. Arminel Lovett cast a desperate glance around, her dark blue eyes stretched so wide that she bore the same glazed stare as a doll. Her rare, luminous beauty drew stares, some surreptitious, some open. Beside her, her tall escort was impossibly remote, his hard handsome face bored until he caught the eye of a man who was staring openly; then the light grey eyes flashed a warning fierce enough to abash the brash onlooker.

  In spite of having her attention fixed with painful intensity on him Arminel missed this piece of byplay. She dared not look at him, for she knew the exact degree of contempt in his glance whenever it rested on her, but she could feel his nearness with every cell in her body. It took all the willpower that she possessed not to break down, but somehow she managed to project a kind of detached aloofness to hide the anguish which twisted her heart.

  ‘Kyle,’ she began, her voice catching on his name. ‘Kyle, can’t we—?’

  Very curtly he interrupted. ‘There’s nothing more to say—’

  And was interrupted in his turn by the cultured impersonal voice over the loudspeaker. ‘Would passengers for Air New Zealand flight B134 to Brisbane please make their way to the departure hall. This is the last call. . .’

  Kyle Beringer looked down at the girl beside him. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, finality hardening the already cold tones to ice.

  She lifted her smooth black head proudly, met his gaze with one of equal composure. ‘Goodbye, Kyle. It was an education meeting you,’ she said, irony sharpening her voice before she walked without a backward glance through the doors, her slender body rigid, head held high above shoulders firmly straight.

  For a moment he stood watching her, his expression darkening, then he turned and with the smooth stride of an athlete made his way to the exit, ignoring the many frankly speculative and appreciative glances which came his way from the feminine half of the crowd.

  Somehow Arminel managed to retain her command of herself throughout the departure formalities, smiling as she made a noncommittal reply to the Customs Officer who asked her if she had enjoyed her holiday in New Zealand, waiting quietly in the lounge until they were marshalled on to the DC 10. First class, of course; Kyle had booked her seat. It probably hadn’t occurred to him that she had ever travelled on anything other than first class. Certainly no Beringer ever did.

  Once on board she sat quietly, head averted as the hostess went through the emergency drill. There were not very many passengers in this part of the big jet, and those who were there settled down with the poise of experienced travellers, blasé about the three-and-a-half-hour flight in front of them. It was raining lightly; the late spring day had been warm and tempting as they drove out, but now it had clouded over. Arminel did not even glance out as the plane taxied smoothly off on to the runway.

  But when the engines picked up speed she turned her face away from the light and impersonal cheerfulness of the interior and let the pent-up tears slide from her eyes.

  Just for a few minutes, she promised herself, but tension too long repressed becomes uncontrollable, and ten minutes later she was still weeping, silently yet with a desperation which finally alerted one of the stewardesses.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ she asked as she bent over Arminel, shielding her from the gaze of anyone who might be curious.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Arminel managed to stem the flow for long enough to make it look as though she was over the worst.

  ‘Well, ring, won’t you, if you’d like a drink. Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps.’ And with this wry wisdom the woman went on her way.

  Groping in her bag for another tissue, Arminel found to her horror that the tears would not be denied. Fiercely she wiped her eyes and cheeks, willing herself to be more sensible, to stop this embarrassing weakness before she made a complete laughing stock of herself. And still the tears oozed from beneath her lashes as though possessed of a will of their own. Her only consolation was that there was no one near enough to see her undignified anguish.

  It came as a shock, therefore, when a masculine voice said, as someone slid into the seat beside her, ‘She was right, you know. What you need is a stiff drink. You’re suffering from shock.’

  Choking, unable to summon up the usual freezing courtesy with which she normally repelled unwelcome advances, Arminel shook her head, wishing despairingly that people would just leave her alone so that she could find release from her grief in her own way.

  ‘You’re upsetting the stewardess,’ the voice went on inexorably, ‘and me, too.’

  ‘Please, I can’t . . . I’m not. . .’ She had to blow her nose because her voice was thick and indistinct, and then more tears began to chase themselves down the exquisite curve of her cheek.

  ‘No, you’re not, are you?’ Whoever he was he was quite accustomed to dealing with weeping women. Like Kyle.

  He said something she didn’t catch and a minute later a glass was put into her reluctant hand. ‘Drink it down. All of it,’ he said.

  It was an order, one Arminel was too limp to disobey. She spluttered as the liquid burnt a track down her throat and shook her head.

  ‘All of it,’ he repeated inexorably.

  Obediently she sipped at the stuff, too exhausted to feel anything more than this meek submission. And they had been right, he and the stewardess, for the brandy brought a cautious glow to her body, stilling the humiliating tears. Arminel stared straight ahead while she drank it, refusing to look at her rescuer, but she was very conscious of him. A swift sideways glance revealed hands which were lean and well-shaped resting on long, expensively-clad legs.

  When she had finished the drink he ordered another, saying calmly, ‘Take this a little slower. And sometimes it helps to talk to someone you’re never likely to meet again.’

  This time she turned her head to look at him, her eyes dark with rejection. About forty, or a little younger, he was good-looking in a conventional way, with regular features. The only claims to distinction were a jaw which promised determination and eyes of a considerable shrewdness, eyes which at the moment bore the arrested expression to which she was accustomed. It was the usual masculine tribute to the accident of heredity which had given her the face and body of an enchantress.

  Slowly,
as if the words were torn from him, he said, ‘How incredibly lovely you are.’

  Fiercely, leaving him in no doubt as to her sincerity, she choked, ‘I wish to God I was as ugly as sin!’

  Instantly the stunned expression was replaced by comprehension. ‘You must forgive me. I’m not usually so inept. If you’d like to tell me about it I’ll not annoy you with any more insensitive compliments.’

  When she hesitated, he continued softly, ‘I’m not trying to pick you up. I think you need to talk to someone and I assure you that I’m quite trustworthy. And like most men, I hate to see a woman cry. In any case, you’re almost young enough to be my daughter.’

  ‘I’m old enough to cause a pack of trouble,’ she said drearily, no longer resisting the insidious temptation to ease her pain by confiding in this pleasant stranger. It could do no harm. As he had said, they were most unlikely to meet after this flight, and something in his face and manner inspired confidence and trust. Her long slender fingers turned the glass as she looked down into it, her voice level, almost monotonous when she spoke.

  ‘I should have chosen almost any other place but the entrance to the shopping complex by the beach at Surfers Paradise. . . .’

  But Karen was new to Surfers and she wasn’t too sure that she could find her way to any of the other places Arminel had suggested over the telephone. So they had arranged a time, and, of course, Karen was late. She wouldn’t be Karen if she hadn’t been. Arminel waited, watching the crowds of holidaymakers in their light summery clothes even though this was the depths of winter. At Surfers it didn’t matter; the nights were cool, but during the day the sun shone benignly down on to the glorious beach and the busy, pleasant town beside it. Karen was taking a bus tour from Sydney to the beautiful tropical shores of Northern Queensland and had a day to spend in Surfers on the way. It was the first time they had met for over a year since Arminel had left a boring job in Sydney to come up here.

  Her eyes roamed the holiday crowd, searching rather anxiously for Karen’s small, curvy figure. Arminel enjoyed life here; all but one aspect of it. And, sure enough, before long a man tried to pick her up. She had been conscious of his stare for some minutes, but even her haughty aloofness hadn’t intimidated him. He was old enough to know better, a good-looking beach boy who probably preyed on lonely women on holiday, and he would not leave her alone.

  ‘Listen, push off!’ she was finally goaded into saying, anger colouring skin like warm satin.

  He laughed knowingly. ‘Boy, you look even prettier when you’re mad! Come on, don’t be stuck-up. I can give you a good time, better than whoever you’re waiting for.’

  ‘Oh, get lost!’ And when he just smiled she spat, ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll—’

  He leered, ‘You’ll what? Those pretty hands couldn’t hurt a fly. Anyway. I like it when a girl plays rough.’

  She was really exasperated now, and was just about to tell him exactly what she thought of him when a voice from behind made both of them turn.

  ‘You heard what the lady said,’ it drawled. ‘How about moving on now, boy?’

  Or it will give me great pleasure to assist you on your way, the stranger intimated without any need for words. About three inches taller than the pest, her rescuer was built like a rugby forward, all muscle and strength and self-confidence.

  Well, that had been the end of the pest. By the time Karen finally arrived her rescuer had introduced himself as Rhys Beringer, on holiday from New Zealand, had discovered her name and was proceeding to make the most of the situation.

  It was no wonder Karen couldn’t hide her astonishment. Bitter experience, beginning at a tender age, had made Arminel so wary that, as Karen had often teased her, she wasn’t interested in any man unless he came with references and certificated to prove that he was harmless.

  ‘But Rhys is different,’ Arminel said, astounded herself at her quick acceptance of the man.

  ‘Better looking than most,’ Karen mocked, stirring her coffee and basking in the reflected glory of being with the most beautiful girl in the restaurant. ‘And he has that very, very upper crust accent. Money, too, I’ll bet. Those clothes didn’t cost anything less than a small fortune, and he wore them as casually as if he was well used to them. When are you meeting him again?’

  ‘Tomorrow, at lunchtime.’ Arminel blushed. ‘O.K., so it’s not like me, but he really is different, Karo.’

  ‘For your sake I hope so.’ Karen often assumed a mask of cynicism, but this time she was fervent. You’ve had rather bad luck with your men, haven’t you?’

  ‘The nice ones are frightened of this stupid face,’ Arminel said wearily, ‘and the others seem to see me as a face and a body, nothing else.’

  Karen smiled. ‘I used to wish that I was a raving beauty, but I’m rather glad that I’m not. It doesn’t seem to make for happiness. Why don’t you exploit it? Go modelling, or something like that.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it, but I enjoy what I’m doing. I know life in a lawyer’s office doesn’t sound like any young girl’s dream, but it’s interesting, and I’m good at it. I like it.’

  ‘Yes, it seems a pity you’ve got brains as well,’ Karen murmured. ‘You’d probably find things easier if you didn’t think so much.’

  In the light of what followed this was ironically amusing, for Rhys Beringer insisted on meeting her at lunchtime and every night, and made her laugh and teased her and treated her with the kind of gallantry which soon persuaded her into relaxing her guard. Not all at once, for she hadn’t really trusted a man since that first frightening experience when she was sixteen, but before his three weeks’ holiday was up she knew that she was going to miss him unbearably when he went back.

  ‘Why don’t you come over?’ he suggested the night before he was due to leave. When she hesitated, torn between a singing delight and the knowledge that holiday romances rarely grew into anything more permanent, he urged, ‘It’s time you saw a little bit of the world, and there’s no one but yourself to think about. I know you have no relations here.’

  ‘As far as I know, none anywhere,’ she said. Her parents had been English immigrants, and when her mother ran away with another man her father had been forced to put her into care. After a while he, too, had drifted away, leaving her to all intents and purposes an orphan. Not that it had been too bad. She had been happy enough in the large house with pleasant foster-parents and a big ‘family’ of other children in similar situations. She still kept in touch with several of them; Karen was one. But those early rejections, and the effect of her physical beauty on men, had forced her to strengthen the skin she had grown over her emotions, the skin which Rhys had penetrated so easily.

  Now she stirred in his arms, her body suffused with the warm sweetness his kisses caused. ‘Oh, Rhys, this has been a fairy story,’ she said huskily. ‘It wouldn’t be the same in the cold light of day.’

  ‘Not for you, perhaps, but I know how I feel,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I’m sure that if you let yourself you’ll feel the same way.’ His voice deepened persuasively as he whispered in her ear, ‘Give it a try, Arminel. It’s not as though it’s on the other side of the world. It’s only twelve hundred miles across the Tasman Sea.’

  She was tempted, oh, how she was tempted, but as well as twelve hundred miles of sea there was also the matter of plane tickets, although she had enough money saved to pay for those, and if it didn’t work out she could always call it a holiday. And that was the rub, for it wouldn’t be a holiday; she had just had one, so she would have to resign from her good, well-paid job, and with the economic situation the way it was, positions like that were no longer as easy to find as they had been.

  ‘Of course you’d stay at Te Nawe,’ he coaxed, kissing her ear.

  ‘Te Nawe? What’s that?’

  He laughed as her tongue tripped over the unfamiliar syllables. ‘It’s where I live. It’s a station in the north of New Zealand, not too far from the sea, not too far from a town and not too
far from the mountains. You’ll like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ she returned drily, pulling away as the familiar desolation washed over her. ‘You know I can’t do that, Rhys. It might not matter in New Zealand, but that sort of behaviour gets you talked about here.’

  He grinned down at her, his hand clasping hers. ‘Idiot! I have a perfectly good mother tucked away there, as well as a big brother. Think you’d be safe enough?’

  Sudden laughter bubbled up in her throat, laughter sweetened by relief and a burgeoning hope that at last she might have met a man who could see beyond the deceptive allure of her physical attributes. ‘I like the sound of the mother,’ she said gaily, ‘but I’m not too sure about the brother.’

  ‘Just keep it like that,’ he said meaningly. ‘I’m very fond of Kyle, but he does tend to have a devastating effect on women, even mine, who should know better.’

  ‘He does,’ she teased, squeezing his fingers. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m in a very minor league compared to Kyle.’ He sounded rueful and perfectly serious. ‘You know the sort of thing. Dad died when we were kids and as Kyle is the oldest he’s had to take on the responsibility, and there’s plenty of that. As well as Te Nawe there are other stations, and an assortment of related businesses. Kyle is big enough to cope, but too much too soon made him a hard man. There’s no way I could measure up to Kyle, and normally I’m happy enough to have it like that. I get the fun and he gets the kudos.’

  Arminel moved a little closer to him. ‘He sounds rather forbidding.’

  ‘I suppose he is.’ He tugged gently at her hand, urging her along the beach. It was late, but there was the light of a large moon to show them the way. They had dined well, drunk champagne, and now neither of them wanted to end the evening, even though Rhys left early the next morning.

  Some yards down the yielding sand he resumed, ‘Oh, he’s forbidding, and tough as granite, but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that women tend to lose their heads over him. It’s that air of leashed power, I suppose. One look at Kyle and you know that there’s nothing in this world that he can’t cope with. That’s what women like, isn’t it? Security?’