Read Man of the Trees for Free Online Page B

something wrong within herself?
    But in spite of his injunction to enjoy the rest of the dance, this proved impossible as the floor was so crowded.
    She was not sorry when it was over and he led her back to their table. Gareth glanced at her keenly.
    ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured.
    ‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask?’
    ‘You look—sort of put out, that’s all.’
    She put her lips close to his ear. ‘I don’t want to dance with him any more.’
    Jill’s voice came from across the table. ‘What are you whispering about, you two? Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to whisper in company?’
    Gareth put his arm across Ruth’s shoulders and smoothed her bare arm.
    ‘You don’t suppose we’re going to tell you, do you? It’s our secret, isn’t it, Ruthie?’
    She nodded. Gareth could play up very well at times. She was aware of his hand smoothing the roundness of her upper arm, and though it was a pleasant sensation, she felt no other emotion.
    ‘Let’s dance, shall we?’ he said as soon as the music started again.
    Ruth should have been pleased that Ross Hamilton did not ask her to dance again for the rest of the evening. Indeed, she had quite made up her mind that if he did, she would refuse him, so it was quite aggravating when he did not. He danced with Linda most of the time and with Jill once or twice. Jill, Ruth noted, looked predictably pink-cheeked and excited after her dances with him and exclaimed, out of his hearing, what a wonderful dancer he was. Linda Appleton managed to keep cool and aloof when she was sitting at the table with them all, but when she was dancing it was a different matter. Then, she looked pliable, and once Ruth saw her hand caress the back of Ross’s neck. Perhaps that was what he liked, Ruth thought contemptuously—women to make a fuss over him.
    She was not really sorry when the last, sentimental waltz had been played and she was on her way home. Jill asked her back to her home for a coffee and a sandwich, but Ruth pleaded tiredness. Yet afterwards, she wished she had accepted, the house was so quiet and empty when she arrived home. But she told herself that whatever time she came home it would be the same. She sighed. How tempting it was to marry Gareth! She did not think she could stick this loneliness much longer. Or did one become accustomed to it in time? She supposed she would marry some day. Most people did. But to Gareth? Not at the moment, anyhow.
    She slept late the next morning, and decided to have a lazy day—something like the ones she and her father used to have when things were normal. The Sunday papers, some music, maybe a little gardening—that sort of thing.
    First, she played some cassettes, drank several cups of tea and had a glance at the papers. Then she had a long, leisurely bath, and still clad in a long white bathrobe, she went downstairs, discovered it was a lovely spring morning, opened wide the patio windows and sat down just as she was and began playing the piano. She must have been playing for about ten minutes and had just brought down her hands on a series of final fortissimo chords when a voice said:
    ‘Bravo—very well done!’
    She swung round to the window to see Ross Hamilton standing there giving her a little applause.
    She drew in a sharp breath and clutched the neck of her robe with one hand and drawing it back over a long bare leg with the other.
    ‘Do you usually sneak up on people like that?’ she demanded.
    He grinned. ‘You told me to come any time—that the door was always open,’ he reminded her.
    ‘Have you come to see over the house?’ she asked, rising to her feet and still clutching her robe.
    He inclined his dark head. ‘It seemed like a good idea—lovely morning and all that. But don’t let me disturb you. Do go on playing. I can quite easily wander around on my own. That is, if you have no objections.’
    His lean figure was silhouetted against the morning sun. How on earth could she be expected to