That cold intonation of his wounded her even more. ‘Maybe I’m more streetwise than I look.’ Hurt and bitterness rose like a tide inside her, and she stole a burning emerald glance at him. ‘Maybe I want to take my chance at becoming a model!’
Her mouth ran dry as she met the smouldering gold of his appraisal. Anticipation coursed through her in a wicked helpless surge: she felt as though her heart was in her throat, choking her with its accelerated beat. A dam-burst of tension was pooled up inside her, like oil waiting for a flame to ignite it.
‘Naturally that must be your decision.’ And with that unemotional assurance Shahir opened the door for her departure.
As a victory it rang hollow for Kirsten. She bent her head, her hands clenching in on themselves with unbearable tension, her emotions erratic. She dimly understood that in teaching her to want him he had destroyed her peace of mind. By making her crave what she could not have he had made her vulnerable to pain and dissatisfied with what she had. Even being polite to him was a challenge for her. Indeed, something very like hatred powered the deep sense of rejection she was experiencing. Never in her life had she felt so bereft. But she walked away with her head held high.
On the way out of the building she checked her pigeonhole and found a magazine. Brand-new, and still sealed in its wrapper, it was the same publication that Shahir had found her reading on the hill. She did not know how, but she was immediately convinced that he was responsible for the anonymous gift.
Just as quickly she found that she was able to see their recent encounter in another light. He had been worried about her. She might not have appreciated the way he chose to express his opinion, but the very existence of his concern touched her. Her anger evaporated. Suddenly the world no longer seemed such a cold and hostile place. His indifference would have wounded her intolerably. But the mysterious arrival of the magazine allied to his attempt to protect her felt comforting. In that lighter mood, she headed home.
She knew something was wrong the instant she entered the kitchen. Her father was seated alone at the table, his weathered face set like granite. ‘You’re late. What have you been doing?’
‘I was held up at work.’ Uneasily conscious of the older man’s accusing stare, Kirsten struggled to behave normally. ‘That’s all.’
‘Don’t lie to me!’ Angus Ross slammed a clenched fist down on the worn table and made her jump. ‘That man Judd was here!’
Wholly unprepared for that announcement, Kirsten stared at her father in bewilderment. ‘Mr Judd came…here?’
‘Thanks to you, he brought his dirty suggestions into my home.’ Kirsten flinched back a hasty step as the older man reared upright and came towards her. ‘What have you to say about that?’
‘I had nothing to do with him coming here,’ she protested in a nervous rush, appalled by the news that the photographer had been foolish enough to approach her father in the hope of winning his support. ‘I have no idea why he would have done such a thing—’
‘He thought he could fool me into letting you go down to London with him!’ the older man snarled. ‘He showed me pictures of shameless half-naked women. He defiled a God-fearing household with his filth.’
‘I’m sorry he upset you, but he’s just a pushy man with silly ideas. He doesn’t know anything about me.’
‘You’re lying, girl. He knew where you lived. You told him you’d need my permission to leave home. You put him up to it, didn’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t. He must have asked someone where I lived. I told him I wasn’t interested inbeing photographed. I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you—’
‘It’s you who’s insulted me! You must’ve encouraged him!’ His rage was unabated by her efforts to calm him down.
‘But I didn’t!’
‘You’re lying to me and I won’t stand for it!’
With that roared declaration, Angus Ross raised a fist the size of a sledgehammer and thumped her.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE next morning Kirsten would have avoided going into work if she could have done. Her cheekbone was bruised and swollen, and she knew that someone was sure to ask what had happened. She also knew that unless she was prepared to report her father to the police she would have to lie.
Had she not turned her head, so that the main force of the blow was deflected, her nose might easily have been broken. She was equally conscious that, having hit her once, her father might just as easily hit her again. Her tummy flipped when she recalled the older man’s intractable fury. He hadn’t cared that he had hurt her, and he hadn’t been ashamed either.
Hearing Kirsten cry out, Mabel had rushed downstairs, and had seemed very much shocked by what she found there. Yet within an hour of that distressing episode Mabel had been laying the blame for Bruno Judd’s visit and her husband’s violence at Kirsten’s door.
Her eyes were hot and scratchy from the silent tears that had seeped under her eyelids the night before. Her father had never been a soft man, but he had not been a brutal one either. In fact he had once been reasonably well-respected in the community and she was deeply ashamed that he had struck her.
Evidently Jeanie had been right to be cynical about the prospects of Kirsten managing to leave home with her father’s approval. But the need for her to move out was now a matter of greater urgency, and it was obvious that she would have to plan a secret departure. Unfortunately her cash reserves were still pitifully low. She decided that she would put her name down to work extra hours whenever possible.
‘My word…what happened to your face?’ Pamela Anstruther asked in a hushed tone of enquiry within minutes of Kirsten’s arrival.
‘I tripped and hit myself on the edge of a table…I was lucky not to break anything,’ Kirsten stated with an uneasy shrug.
The brunette gave her a sympathetic look that was reassuringly empty of suspicion. ‘Poor old you. Look, I only need you for an hour this morning. You can tidy my bedroom and then go back to your usual duties when we’re done.’
Kirsten repressed a stab of disappointment and resentment. So this was to be yet another day when she did not get to help with the party arrangements. She had always liked to think of herself as ready and willing to turn her hand to most tasks. But the brunette had taught her that there were tasks…and tasks. Pamela always left her room like a rubbish tip, and Kirsten really disliked being used as her personal maid.