Page 6 of Yesterday's Scars

'That wouldn't have done at all. You see, I know you, Hazel, you wouldn't have believed it unless Rafe told you so himself. I gather he did tell you?'

'Yes,' came her reluctant reply.

Celia smiled cattily. 'Then I hope you take his advice. You've been an intrusion in our lives far too long now, and the sooner you remove yourself the better.'

'Don't worry,' Hazel told her angrily. 'I don't intend staying anywhere where I'm not wanted.'

'Then why have you stayed in our lives this long? Surely you must have realised when Rafe took you to the States that that should have been the end of it. We thought we'd finally got rid of you,' Celia gave a harsh laugh. 'But oh no, you had other ideas about that. Every month you wrote to Rafe, short letters, but just enough to make sure he didn't forget you. Why was that, Hazel? Haven't you had enough out of us the last eleven years without coming back for more?'

'You're a bitch, Celia, nothing but a bitch!' Tears gathered in Hazel's huge brown eyes. 'But don't worry.

I'll get out of your hair quite soon.' Oh, this woman hated her much more than she had ever realised! 'Perhaps Rafe will let James take me back to the airport tomorrow. I no more have any wish to stay here when I'm so unwanted than you have to have me here.'

'Rafe will insist you stay until after your birthday, so don't make it any more difficult for us than it is already. Rafe can do without your having tantrums and demanding to leave. Just stay out of his way.'

'I intend to!'

'For God's sake, you two!' Without either of them realising it Rafe had opened the door to his study and was now glaring furiously at the pair of them, his face almost satanic with its deep scarring. Hazel looked at him guiltily. How much of their heated conversation had he heard? 'Do you realise your voices are carrying all through the house! If you have to squabble and bitch at each other like a couple of children at least keep your voices down!'

Celia moved to her brother's side; petite and beautiful, she smiled up at him. 'We weren't arguing, Rafe, merely talking loudly because Hazel is halfway up the stairs.'

His deep blue eyes raked mercilessly over both of them, a certain harshness to his face. 'Don't take me for a fool, Celia,' he snapped abruptly. 'Hazel's only been back a few hours and already you're at each other's throats,' He looked at Hazel and pushed his study door open further. 'Come in here, I want to talk to you.'

'Now?'

'Right now.' His tone brooked no argument.

Hazel trudged wearily down the stairs, Celia's look of intense pleasure not escaping her notice as she passed the other woman. The study was just as she remembered it; wood-panelled walk, a huge mahogany desk, a couple of worn leather armchairs, scatter rugs on the polished floor, and well-worn books piled on the shelves along one wall, evidence of Rafe's continual usage of them. She sat down in the chair facing the desk, her long shapely legs smooth and golden.

Rafe sat opposite her, the shirt he wore fitting tautly across his flat muscular stomach and wide powerful shoulders. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, the continuation of those disfiguring scars clearly visible. The jagged scar edge showed up whitely against his naturally dark skin and although Hazel longed to know the full-extent of his injuries she knew he would not welcome her interest; his firm uncompromising mouth was evidence of that.

She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. 'Well?'

His snapping eyes flashed her a warning. 'Don't take that attitude with me!'

'Why not?' she answered defiantly. 'Is it only the prerogative of the Savages to be rude? If so, I apologise.’

Rafe sighed. 'No, you don't, we both know that. And must I remind you that you're a Savage?'

'Oh no, I'm not!' she denied vehemently. 'I'm a Stanford.'

'Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.'

She gave a reluctant smile. 'Fiery, huh?'

'Exactly,' he drawled with a grin.

In that moment he was the old Rafe., never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. 'Oh, Rafe, I've missed you!'

His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. 'You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.'

She shook her head. 'You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.'

'And you wrote often, I know.' He sat back. 'Did you enjoy America?’

'Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.'

'And boy-friends? Anyone upset by your return here?'

She thought momentarily of Josh, and then dismissed him. He had probably already replaced her, he certainly wasn't the constant type, and they had only been dating a few weeks. 'No one,' she replied clearly. 'Now that I'm back here I may as well see if I can get a job in London. I can't see any point in going back to America, Jonathan has already employed my replacement.'

'Then why not get a job locally? You could continue to live here then.'

Her eyes were wide. 'You—you told me to leave,' she said breathlessly.

'So? When did you ever do what I told you?'

Hazel gave a rueful grin. 'Most of the time. I found it easier to do so.'

'So you're going to leave here?' he persisted.

'I thought that was what you wanted.' She looked puzzled. 'You said so earlier.'

'I know that, but perhaps I was being a little hasty. You have as much right here as anyone. It was your home for eight years. Besides, I could do with your help,' Rafe added ruefully.

'You could?'

'I could. I've never liked all the paperwork running this estate entails. You could stay here and deal with that.'

'But Celia said------' Hazel broke off. What she had been about to say sounded too much like telling tales. She shrugged. 'It doesn't matter.'

Rafe shook his head. 'The two of you have never got on. I could never understand it.'

Neither had Hazel until a few hours ago when Sylvia Marston had explained Celia's reasoning. 'Just a clash of characters. It happens. It isn't important.'

He frowned. 'It is if your shouting can be heard all over the house,' his voice hardened.

'Look, Rafe,’ said Hazel, 'if you want me to go to London I will, but I'm not staying here on sufferance. I have some of that Savage pride you possess in abundance.'

'I've noticed.’ His mouth twisted with humour. 'Stay until after your birthday anyway. And think over what I've suggested.’

'I will.’

'Perhaps Celia could arrange a small dinner party for you here tomorrow evening,' he said thoughtfully. 'A sort of welcome home party, just a few close friends. I'll suggest it to her.'

‘Oh, not tomorrow,' Hazel said hurriedly. 'I—I already have arrangements made for tomorrow,' she admitted with guilt, although why she should feel that way she had no idea.

Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show surprise. 'You've been to the club this afternoon?'

She nodded. 'With Trisha. We had a game of tennis.'

'So you're going to the dance tomorrow evening?'

'Yes. We—um—we met Mark and Carl and they invited us to join them for the evening. It seemed like a good idea at the time,' she finished lamely.

Rafe ran his fingertips absently down the livid scar edge on the side of his face. 'You don't have to explain your movements to me.' He rose to his feet, leaner than she remembered but just as powerful. 'The dinner party can be arranged for another night. Now if you'll excuse me I think I'll shower and change for dinner.'

40 yesterday's scars

Hazel accepted his words for the dismissal they were, going up to her room. Dinner had always been a formal affair in the Savage household and she wanted to dress with more than her usual care for her first night at home with Rafe and Celia. Celia had found fault with enough to do with her for one day without giving her cause to criticise her choke of clothing too.

The dress she chose was an emerald green chiffon and floated down to her ankles in a cloud, adding a honey-gold colour to her blonde hair and giving luminous depth to her golden-brown eyes.

'I see your taste in clothing has improved,' Celia remarked bitchily as she came into the lounge for a sherry before dinner. 'You seemed to live in denims the last time you were here.'

'Not for dinner,' Hazel replied vaguely, unable to take her eyes off Rafe as he stood watching them with enigmatic eyes. He looked so attractive, dressed very formally in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, that it made her heart beat faster just to look at him.

'The velvet pants you wore were almost as bad. So masculine,' Celia wrinkled her nose delicately.

Rafe gave a wry laugh. 'Hardly, on Hazel. She's too shapely to ever look anything but completely feminine.'

'Really?' His sister arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. 'I wasn't aware that you'd looked at her that closely.'

He gave her a cold look. 'Well, now you know I have.'

'I see.’ Celia bit her lip before looking at Hazel. 'When do you intend leaving?'

'Celia!' Rafe's glass slammed down on the drinks cabinet. 'You're being rude,' he said darkly.

'It's all right, Rafe,' Hazel began. 'I------'

Celia's blue eyes glared her dislike. ‘I don't need any help from you! I'm perfectly capable of making my own explanations—when I think them necessary.'

'I think one's due now,' Rafe said tightly. 'Your rudeness is inexcusable.'

'I don't consider my question rude,' she told him tightly. 'I merely enquired when Hazel was leaving.'

Rafe was in the process of pouring himself another drink and so Hazel thought she had better make some effort to stand up for herself, hard as that was turning out to be against the dominant Savage family. Once again she felt herself to be overwhelmed by their forceful personalities.

Before she could utter a word Rafe was speaking again. 'She isn't leaving.'

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