Читать книгу In Her Rival's Arms - Алисон Робертс - Страница 9
ОглавлениеHE HAD NO IDEA, did he, how much could be revealed in a reading? He was drinking his wine, leaning back in his chair and watching curiously as Zanna went through the ritual of lighting the five fat candles on the arms of the candelabra and opening a drawer to extract a tiny bottle of lavender oil that she sprinkled on the black velvet square.
‘To cleanse the space,’ she explained.
‘Right...’ The corner of his mouth quirked but his gaze had enough heat that she could only handle the briefest contact.
Was it what she was doing that had captured his attention so intently or was he watching her? Adding the impression to wondering what she was about to find out about him made her feel oddly nervous. She needed another mouthful of her wine.
‘The first thing I need to do is pick a card to represent you as the significator.’
‘The what?’
‘Significator. The querent. The seeker of knowledge.’ This was good. She could hide her nerves by doing something she knew she was good at. She spread the cards, face up, in front of her. The sound Nic made was incredulous.
‘But they’re beautiful... They look like artwork reproductions.’
‘This set is based on one of the oldest known packs. Tarot cards have been around for five hundred years. The first known cards were painted in Italy during the Renaissance. Back around the second half of the fifteenth century.’
Was he impressed with her knowledge? Why did she want him to be? Zanna glanced up but Nic was staring at the cards. Many pictures depicted people and each card had a title.
‘I don’t like that one,’ he muttered. ‘I hope Death isn’t going to appear in my line up.’
‘The meaning isn’t necessarily literal. The death card means that something must come to an end. Whether or not it’s painful depends on the person’s capacity to accept and recognise the necessity for that ending.’ The words came easily because they’d been learned many years ago. ‘Sometimes you have to let go of an old life in order to take the opportunity of a new and more fulfilling one.’
‘That’s very true.’ Yes, he was impressed. ‘Something I’ve always lived by, in fact.’ There was a question in his eyes now. Or was it an accusation? ‘Do you?’
Zanna blinked. This wasn’t supposed to be about her. She retreated into card lore as she looked away. ‘The cards are designed to portray a story. Kind of the rites of passage of an archetypal journey through life. Everybody faces the same sorts of challenges and problems—the same as they did five hundred years ago. People don’t change and it’s often a surprise to find how similar we are to those around us. Every situation is different but the challenges can be the same.’
‘You don’t really believe you can predict the future, do you?’
This time, Zanna was able to hold his gaze. ‘I believe that particular choices and situations have led to where one is in life and the response to that position presents future choices and situations. Understanding why and how some things have happened is the best way to cast a more conscious influence on the future.’ She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Are you over forty years of age?’
That made him blink. ‘Do I look like I’m over forty?’
A bubble of laughter escaped. ‘You could be a well-preserved specimen. How old are you?’
‘Thirty six. How old are you?’
‘That’s not the least bit relevant. You’re the one I need to find a card for.’
‘Hey...I answered your question.’ There was an unguarded tone in his voice. A peep at a small boy having a playground conversation perhaps. It gave her a soft buzz of something warm.
‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she relented. ‘Oh, yes...This is definitely you.’ She picked up the card. ‘The King of Pentacles.’
‘Why?’
‘He represents a strong, successful individual with a gift of manifesting creative ideas in the world. He also represents status and worldly achievement and has the Midas touch.’
He looked taken aback. Did he think that wearing well-worn leather and jeans would disguise his obvious lack of any serious financial hardship? That jacket had been expertly tailored to fit so well and the nails on the ends of those artistic fingers were beautifully manicured. His casual appreciation of the special wine she had chosen had been another giveaway. She placed the chosen card on the centre of the black cloth. Then she scooped up the rest of the pack and began shuffling the cards.
‘That’s a lot of cards.’
‘Seventy-eight.’ Zanna nodded. ‘The major Arcana that is the depiction of the journey and then the minor Arcana. Four suits of Cups, Wands, Swords and Pentacles. They represent elements and experiences.’ She spread the cards in a fan shape in front of Nic, facing down this time. ‘Formulate your question or think about a problem you want clarified,’ she invited. ‘You don’t have to tell me what it is. Then choose ten cards and hand them to me in the order selected.’
She placed the cards in set positions in the form of a Celtic cross. ‘This card over yours is the first one we look at. It’s the covering card. Where you are at the moment and the influences affecting you.’ She turned it over. ‘Hmm...interesting.’
He was sitting very still. He might think this was a load of rubbish but he was unable to stop himself buying into it.
‘Why?’
‘Page of Wands. It suggests that it’s time to discover a new potential. Also suggests restlessness at work. Something’s not going the way you want it to.’ She touched the card at right angles to the one she’d just read. ‘This is the crossing card. It describes what is generating conflict and obstruction at the moment.’ She turned the card face up.
The oath Nic muttered was in French but needed no translation.
‘You’re taking the pictures too literally,’ she told him. ‘The Hanged Man is a symbol. It suggests that a sacrifice of some sort might be needed. Maybe there’s something that would be difficult to give up but it needs to go because it’s blocking progress.’
He was giving her that odd look again. As though he was including her in whatever thought processes were going on.
‘This is the crowning card,’ she continued. ‘It represents an aim or ideal that is not yet actual.’
‘The future?’
‘Potentially.’
‘What’s the Queen of Wands?’
Should she tell Nic that the Queen of Wands was the card that had always been picked as the significator for her own readings?
‘She’s industrious, versatile, strong-willed and talented.’ Zanna kept her eyes firmly on the card. ‘She’s also self-contained and stable. She holds her great strength and energy within, devoting them to the few things to which she chooses to give her heart.’
The moment’s silence was enough to make her realise that she didn’t need to tell Nic about her own relationship to this particular card. He was joining the dots all by himself.
‘It may not mean a person, as such,’ she added. ‘It could mean that it’s time to start developing her qualities yourself. Things like warmth and loyalty and being able to sustain a creative vision.’
He wasn’t buying that. He’d made his mind up, hadn’t he, and she could sense his immovability when that happened.
The card depicting the immediate future suggested a dilemma to be faced with either choice leading to trouble and the card representing the kind of response that Nic could expect from others was one of her favourites—the Lovers.
Nic clearly approved of it, too. ‘Now, why didn’t that one show up for my immediate future?’ he murmured. ‘That would have been something to look forward to.’
The tone of his voice held a seductive note that rippled through every cell in Zanna’s body like a powerful drug. She hadn’t felt this alive for so long.
Maybe she never had.
Had this man come into her life to teach her to feel things she didn’t know she was capable of feeling?
What would she do if he touched her with the kind of intent that tone promised?
Could she resist? Would she even try?
Maybe not. Zanna did her best to quell the curl of sensation deep in her belly. The anticipation. ‘You’re being too literal again. This card is the view of others. It could be that you’re doing something to make them think as they do.’
She could sense his discomfort and it was disturbing.
He may not be who he seems to be. Take care...
She knew he might be dangerous. It was reckless to be taking pleasure from his company. From this anticipation of what might be going to happen, but maybe that was what was making this such a thrill. Adding something wild and even more exciting to this chemical attraction.
It was an effort to keep her voice even. ‘This particular card might mean that you have to make a choice and it probably concerns love. It might be choosing between love and a career or creative activity. Or it could be that you’re involved in a triangle of some sort. Or that someone’s trying to get you to marry in a hurry.’
He was shaking his head now. ‘I never have to choose between love and my career. I’ve never even thought about marriage and I avoid triangles at all costs.’
He walked alone, then? He was unattached?
The thought should have made him seem more attractive but something didn’t feel right.
Zanna read a few more of the cards before she realised what was nagging at the back of her mind. It was too much of a coincidence that she felt so involved with every interpretation he was making. For whatever reason, Nic had included her in the question or problem he had brought to this reading.
Why?
‘This card represents your hopes and fears.’
‘The Fool? Who isn’t afraid of making a fool of themselves?’
‘The fear might apply to the fact that a risk of some kind is required. It suggests that a new chapter of your life might be about to begin but it needs a willingness to take a leap into the unknown. It fits with a lot of other cards here.’
‘What’s the last one?’
‘That position is the final outcome. It should give you some clues to answer the question you brought into the reading.’ Her own heart picked up speed as she turned it over. ‘Oh...’
The tension was palpable. Nic didn’t have to say anything to demand an explanation.
‘The Ace of Swords means a new beginning,’ she told him quietly. ‘But one that comes out of a struggle or conflict.’
He drained his glass of wine. It was all rubbish. So why did it feel so personal? It was obvious that Zanna was part of his immediate future. That it was going to be a struggle to get what he wanted. But did she really need to be sacrificed?
The thought was disturbing. She was part of this place and it felt like a home. A kind of portal to those memories buried so far back in his own story. Nic looked away from the table, his gaze downcast. It was the first time he’d noticed the floor of this space. A background of grey tiling that resembled flagstones had been inset with mosaic details. Starburst designs made up of tiny fragments of colour that dotted the floor at pleasingly irregular intervals.
‘It’s not original, is it?’ he queried. ‘The floor?’
‘Depends what you mean by original.’ Zanna was refilling his glass. ‘The old floorboards became unsafe because they were rotten. Maggie and I have always considered our creative efforts pretty original, though.’
‘You made this floor?’
‘Yes.’ She topped up her own glass. ‘Took ages but we loved doing it. In fact, we loved it so much we did flagstones for the garden, too. And a birdbath.’
Nic shook his head. Extraordinary.
‘Maybe it’s something to do with gypsy blood. Making do with what you find lying around. We dug up so much old broken china around here that it seemed a shame not to do something with it so we broke it up a bit more and used it for mosaic work.’
‘Taking an opportunity, huh? Dealing with a problem.’
‘Yes.’ She was smiling at him as if he’d understood something she’d been trying to teach. The sense of approval made him feel absurdly pleased with himself.
‘So you really do come from a gypsy bloodline?’
‘Absolutely. It’s only a few generations ago that my family on my father’s side was travelling. Maggie was my dad’s older sister. My great-grandfather was born in a caravan.’
‘Where does the name Zelensky come from?’
‘Eastern Europe. Probably Romania. That’s where my aunt Maggie’s gone now. She was desperate to find out more about her family before she’s too old to travel.’
The smile curled far enough to create a dimple. ‘What’s funny?’ Nic asked.
‘Just that Maggie’s got more energy and enthusiasm than most people half her age have. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever known and I never fail to feel enormously grateful that she was there to rescue me when I got orphaned.’
Suddenly Nic wanted to change the subject but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded that she was vulnerable. That she’d been a frightened child. That this place was her home. Her refuge. Because it would give her an advantage in the conflict he knew was coming?
That was weird in itself. Nic didn’t let emotions sway business decisions.
This was hardly a business decision, though, was it? It couldn’t be more different from the luxury resorts he’d become known for designing and developing in recent years. And the impulsive decision to buy into Rata Avenue had unleashed so many personal memories. This had nothing to do with business, in fact. This was deeply personal. A step back in time to where he’d spent the most vulnerable years of his own life.
Was that why this house felt so much like home?
He cast another glance around the kitchen. No, this was nothing like the fragments of memory he still had. The kitchen in the cottage had been tiny and dark and it had taken a huge effort from Maman to keep it sparkling clean. There was something about this space that tugged hard at those memories, however. Some of those old utensils, perhaps—like the metal sieve that had holes in the shape of flowers? He dropped his gaze to the floor. To the fragments of the old china embedded in the tiles.
Blue and white were prominent but many had small flowers on them. Like that one, with a dusty pink rose. He almost didn’t recognise his own voice when he spoke.
‘Where did you say you got all the china?’
‘We dug it up. Some of it was in our own garden but most came from next door where the park is now. There was a cottage there that was even older than this place. The council acquired the land and demolished the cottage before I came here but it was a long time before the site was cleaned up so it was like a playground for me. I knew I wasn’t allowed to go too close to the river but once I started finding the pretty pieces of broken china, I didn’t want to. It was like a treasure hunt I could keep going back to. I think that was where my love of flowers came from.’
But Nic wasn’t listening to her words. He wasn’t even thinking of how musical that lilt in her voice was. He was thinking of a china cup that had pink rosebuds on it and a gold handle. He could see his mother’s hands cradling it—the way she had when she’d become lost in her sadness. He could see the look in her eyes above the gold rim of the cup that matched the handle. He could feel the sensation of being so lost. Not knowing what to do to make her smile again. To bring back the laughter and the music.
‘When I’m big, Mama, I’ll be rich. I’ll buy that big house next door for you.’
How could grief be so sharp when it had been totally buried for so many years?
Maybe it wasn’t Zanna’s vulnerability he needed to worry about at all. It was his own.
The pain was timely. He was here for a reason—to honour his parents—and he couldn’t let anyone else dilute that resolution. No matter how beautiful they were.
‘I should go.’ He glanced at his watch. How on earth had so much time passed? ‘It’s getting late.’
‘But didn’t you want to see the house?’ There was a faint note of alarm in Zanna’s voice. ‘There’s still time before it gets dark.’
‘Another time perhaps.’ Except the words didn’t quite leave his mouth because Nic made the mistake of looking up again.
The sun was much lower now and the light in the room had changed, becoming softer and warmer. Shards of colour caught in his peripheral vision as the light came through stained-glass panels and bounced off cut crystals that were hanging on silver wires.
It made that amazing colour of Zanna’s hair even more like flames. Glowing and so alive—like her eyes and skin, and that intriguing personality.
There was no point in seeing the rest of the house but he didn’t want to leave just yet. He might not get another time with her like this. Before she knew who he was or what he wanted. And being with her—here—might be the only way to get more of those poignant glimpses into his own past. As painful as they were, they were also treasure. Forgotten jewels.
Was it wrong to want more?
Quite possibly, but—heaven help him—he couldn’t resist.
‘Sure,’ he heard himself saying instead. ‘Why not?’
* * *
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to give Nic a tour of the house.
It might have been better to let him wander around by himself. But how could she have known that he would pick out the features she loved most herself? That the feeling of connection would gain power with every passing room?
He commented on the graceful proportions of the huge downstairs rooms, the ornately carved fireplaces and the beautiful lead-light work of the stained-glass fanlights. He knew more than she did about old houses, too.
‘Those ceiling roses were more than a decorative feature.’ With his head tilted back to inspect the central light surround, the skin on his neck looked soft and vulnerable. Zanna could imagine all too easily how soft it would feel to her fingers. Or her lips...
‘They’re actually ventilators. Those gaps in the plasterwork were designed to let out hot air.’
‘Useful.’ Her murmur earned her a glance accentuated by a quirked eyebrow. Could he feel the heat coming from her body?
No. It definitely hadn’t been such a good idea to do this. Zanna froze for a moment at the bottom of the staircase. The rooms on the next level were far more personal. What would he say when he saw more of her handiwork? Could it take away that sweet pleasure that his reaction to the sunflower painting had given her?
He hadn’t stopped moving when she did so his body came within a hair’s breadth of bumping into hers. Her forward movement was an instinctive defence against such a powerful force and there was only one way to go.
Up the stairs.
Maggie’s room was safe enough. So were the spare bedrooms but the bathroom was next and she stood back to let Nic enter the room alone. Folding her arms around her body was an unconscious movement that was both a comfort and a defence.
* * *
So far, the features of this house had been expected. Period features that were valuable in their own right. Things that could be salvaged and recycled so they wouldn’t be lost and he wouldn’t need to feel guilty about their destruction.
But this...
Nic was speechless.
The fittings were in keeping with the house. The claw-foot bath, the pedestal hand basin and the ceramic toilet bowl and cistern with its chain flush, but everything had been painted with trails of ivy. The tiny leaves on the painted vines crept over the white tiled walls from the arched window, making it appear as though the growth had come naturally from outside the house. The floor was also tiled in white but there were small diamond-shaped insets in the same shade of green as the ivy. The interior of the antique bathtub was also painted the same dark green.
‘C’est si spécial...’
Reverting to the language of his heart only happened when something touched him deeply but he didn’t translate the phrase as he walked back past Zanna. She didn’t move so he kept going towards the last door that opened off this hallway.
Directly over the shop, this room shared the feature of a large bay window but here it had been inset with a window seat that followed the semi-circular line. A brass bed, probably as old as the house, had a central position and the colours in the patchwork quilt echoed those of the tiles in the nearby fireplace.
The walls were lined with tongue-and-groove timber that had been painted the palest shade of green. Dotted at random intervals, but no more than a few centimetres apart, were reproductions of flowerheads. Every imaginable flower could be found somewhere on these wooden walls. From large roses and lilies to pansies and daisies—right down to the tiniest forget-me-nots.
‘The hours this must have taken...’ Nic murmured aloud. ‘It must have cost a fortune.’
‘It was good practice.’
Startled, Nic turned to find he wasn’t alone in the room any longer. That feeling he’d had earlier of being potentially out of his depth had nothing on the way the ground had just shifted beneath him.
‘You painted these?’
The shrug was almost imperceptible but the modesty was appealing. ‘Maggie gave me an encyclopaedia of flowers for my twelfth birthday. I added one almost every day for years.’
‘And the ivy in the bathroom?’
‘That was a wet May school holiday.’ Another tiny shrug came with the hint of a smile. ‘Maggie said it would keep me out of mischief.’
He stared at her. ‘Do you know how extraordinary you are, Zanna Zelensky? How talented?’
She simply stared back at him. As though he’d said something wrong and she was trying to decide what to do about it. The moment stretched but Nic couldn’t break the silence. The air hummed with a curious tension but he had no clue as to what might have caused it.
Finally, she spoke.
‘There’s one room you haven’t seen yet.’
His nod was solemn. His mouth felt dry and he had to lick his lips.
The turret. The one room he’d wanted to see inside for as long as he could remember. The child buried deep inside was about to have his dearest wish granted. But...what if it was a disappointment? If it was nothing more than, say, a storage area?
He forced his feet to start moving. To follow Zanna up the narrow, spiral staircase that led to the secret room beneath the witch’s hat of the turret. If it was less than he hoped for, he’d cope. He had with every other childish hope and dream that had been crushed, hadn’t he?
Opening the small door at the top of the stairs, Zanna walked ahead of him. She said nothing. She didn’t even turn around as she walked over to one of the arched windows and stared out as if she was giving Nic some privacy.
