A Bewitching Compulsion Read online

  A Bewitching Compulsion

  By

  Susan Napier

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I promised myself I wasn't going to touch you."

  David's hands moved up stiffly to cup her shoulders. "Why didn't you refuse me?" he demanded thickly.

  "I wanted it, too." Clare admitted breathlessly.

  "You shouldn't," he told her, watching helplessly as his hands moved down to the curve of her breasts. "You know what I am, what my life is like." His eyes narrowed. "Or is that precisely why you're inviting me to make love to you. Because you know I won't be here in a week, someone who won't cause complications afterward?"

  Oh, if only he knew! Clare wanted to say "I'm doing this because I love you." But the worldly, sophisticated musician had already known the great love of his life. No living woman could ever match that perfect memory...

  SUSAN NAPIER was born on Valentine's Day, so perhaps it is only fitting that she should become a romance writer. She started out as a reporter for New Zealand's largest evening newspaper before resigning to marry the paper's chief reporter. After the birth of their two children she did some free-lancing for a film production company and then settled down to write her first romance. "Now," she says, "I am in the enviable position of being able to build my career around my home and family."

  Books by Susan Napier

  HARLEQUIN PRESENTS

  885—SWEET AS MY REVENGE

  924—THE COUNTERFEIT SECRETARY

  940—THE LONELY SEASON

  1051—TRUE ENCHANTER

  1093—REASONS OF THE HEART

  1211—ANOTHER TIME

  1252—THE LOVE CONSPIRACY

  HARLEQUIN ROMANCE

  2711—LOVE IN THE VALLEY

  2723—SWEET VIXEN

  Harlequin Presents first edition July 1990

  ISBN 0-373-11284-X

  Copyright © 1989 by Susan Napier.

  CHAPTER ONE

  'I'm very sorry, Mrs Malcolm, but I had no idea that you'd have such strong objections. I thought you'd be pleased. After all, it's quite an honour.'

  It was difficult to smile when you were shaking with anger, but Clare .managed it fairly credibly. The woman was obviously bewildered and upset, and who could blame her? Of course she'd had no idea, the person who was to blame had made very sure of that!

  'It's all right, Mrs Carmen, what's done is done. But in future I think you might be wise to check with the child's parents before undertaking such an ambitious scheme,'

  'But I thought I had. I mean, Mrs Malcolm… Mrs Malcolm senior said…' The unfortunate woman trailed off, looking from Clare's angry face to the proudly set one of her mother-in-law.

  'I can imagine,' Clare clipped grimly, giving Virginia Malcolm a fulminating stare.

  'I really am very sorry,' stuttered Mrs Carmen, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the shabby gentility of the small room. She was obviously longing to be gone, and Clare's anger suddenly drained away in sympathy. She, too, longed to escape the tensions that Virginia was a genius at creating.

  'I know you meant well,' Clare managed another smile, 'and I appreciate the thought behind the action. It's just that I think Tim is a little young for the kind of pressures that performing in public bring.'

  'Oh, but he enjoyed it. He wasn't nervous at all. Excited, yes, but not frightened. And a Master Class isn't really a public performance—'

  'As I said, I appreciate the thought,' Clare cut her off firmly. She knew all the arguments—Virginia trotted them out with aggravating regularity. 'But at the moment I'm content for him just to have his regular lessons. I hope he thanked you for the outing…?'

  Mrs Carmen allowed herself to be guided to the front door of the compact townhouse, relief mixing with her flustered embarrassment over the awkward situation. 'He did, and very nicely too. He's a lovely little boy, Mrs Malcolm.'

  And I want him to stay that way, the thought drifted across Clare's mind as her mouth tugged down wryly. 'I only wish his schoolteachers thought the same. If he paid as much attention to his work as he does to his music and manners, I'd be charmed myself.' She dredged up sufficient small-talk to see the woman off pleasantly, to indicate that she was forgiven, but when she sought out her mother-in-law a few minutes later she felt anything but forgiving.

  Virginia was making tea in the narrow kitchen which overlooked her small, well-tended garden.

  'How could you, Virginia? How could you do such a thing without asking me first?'

  'I knew you'd say no,' Virginia said with a smugness she must know was irritating. Clare's mouth drew into a tight line as. she stared at her mother-in-law. Virginia was smartly dressed and made-up, her short hair with its elegant grey rinse set in a flattering style. She carried her years well. Anyone looking at her would think that here was a kind-hearted, contented woman with a very positive approach to her declining years. In many ways she was exactly what she appeared to be, but there were other, less attractive forces at work that had caused much conflict within her family. Her stubborn, 'mother knows best' attitude towards her son, and her refusal to accept him for himself, had led to Lee's virtual estrangement from his parents for several years after his marriage to Clare. After his father's death from a heart attack the breach was healed, but after Lee's own death Clare often had cause to regret that Virginia hadn't kept to her original intention of washing her hands entirely of any responsibility for her son or his family. Having been independent herself from the age of sixteen, when her widowed mother had died, Clare found it tough to try to live up to the maternal expectations of someone to whom she had no ties but those of duty.

  'And you knew why I'd say no. We've been over and over this, Virginia—'

  'Well, you must admit you've got a blind spot about this, Clare—'

  'I've got a blind spot?' Clare was torn between anger and amusement.

  'Yes. Just because Lee turned his back on his classical training to take up with that awful band.' His mother shuddered at the memory of the group which Lee had formed and performed with as lead guitarist and vocalist. The fact that Kraken had been a raging success made no difference to her. Virginia was an accomplished pianist with very narrow classical tastes. Any other form of music wasn't worth considering, especially the 'noise' that modern rock bands turned out. '—doesn't mean that you shouldn't give his son a chance to exercise his talent.'

  'Tim isn't even seven yet!' Clare was on familiar ground. Virginia's arguments were as narrow as her musical tastes. 'He has two lessons a week and he practises every day. On top of that he has all his normal schoolwork. He's not ready to cope with the kind of things you want to throw at him.'

  'If you didn't live in that God-forsaken place Tim could have proper lessons and I wouldn't have to go behind your back to give him the opportunities he deserves.'

  There it was. The 'mother knows best' argument. Only in this case Clare was the mother, and she didn't take her responsibilities lightly.

  'Rotorua is hardly a wilderness, Virginia. It's one of New Zealand's foremost tourist centres—'

  'Tourists!' Virginia sniffed disparagingly as she arranged the tea-tray and handed it to Clare to carry through to the lounge. 'If you lived here in Auckland you'd have access to the best violin teachers and the best facilities. And I could see a bit more of the only family I have left…'

  One reason why Clare chose to live two hundred and fifty kilometres away!

  'Cheryl Tyson is a very good
violinist in her own right, as well as being a very experienced teacher,' she said, setting the tray on the coffee-table, trying to remain patient. They had the rest of the weekend to get through before she and Tim returned to the lodge and she'd rather spend it reasonably amicably. At least Virginia had the decency not to involve Tim directly in their 'discussions', as she called them, about his future. Except for today. Today was unforgivable.

  'Tim needs more than just a good teacher, he needs the best. He's not just gifted, Clare, he's blessed. He's…he's a wunderkind. He could be another Heifetz! Did you know that Heifetz played the Mendelssohn Concerto when he was only six?'

  Of course Clare knew. Virginia never passed up the opportunity to thrust another musical autobiography or book about gifted children on her daughter-in-law. Clare had long ago faced the fact that her son was exceptional, but she was a more critical reader than Virginia— she absorbed the cons as well as the pros of childhood exploitation. Her first consideration must always be Tim's health and happiness, not her own or her mother-in-law's ambitions for him.

  'Let's just agree to disagree, shall we? I'm Tim's mother, and ultimately I make the decisions—about where we live and what sort of education he has. If you can't accept that, I'm sorry, but I won't have you interfering the way you did today. If you do, then I'm afraid Tim and I won't be able to come and stay any more. I won't have my parental authority undermined or disregarded, however strongly you feel you have a valid motive.'

  Virginia's face was stiff with offended pride, but she didn't misjudge her daughter-in-law's quietness. It was when she was quiet that Clare was at her most serious. In fact, she was very well-named—there was a cool clarity, a stillness about Clare that misled people into thinking that she was easy to read. But, like a clear pond of water, she had an uncanny knack of reflecting one's own thoughts and feelings without revealing her own. And yet with some people—Tim for one—she possessed a passionate warmth and humour that left the onlooker feeling subtly deprived. It was an aggravating feeling, and one that Virginia had to strive not to resent. Whatever their differences of opinion, there was no arguing that Clare was a conscientious and loving mother.

  'I thought that Tim would enjoy seeing Deverenko in action,' she said placatingly.

  'I'm sure he did, but that's not the point. Getting tickets to attend a Master Class is one thing, participating is quite another,' Clare pointed out drily. 'It must have taken a considerable amount of manoeuvring to achieve… since the students for these things are usually selected weeks in advance, and are supposedly all from the University School of Music.'

  Virginia shook her head, 'This was one of a series for all ages and levels that Deverenko has been holding around the country. It was Just a matter of auditioning.'

  'But Tim didn't audition!'

  'I gave Mrs Carmen that tape you sent me… of Tim doing the Fantasie Pastorale,' Virginia admittedly uncomfortably, revealing the secret she had been nursing for a month. 'She was really excited at the thought of bringing him to Deverenko's notice, and as she's a violin tutor at the School of Music, her recommendation carries a lot of weight.'

  'I see.' Clare made a mental note that in future Virginia would have to keep up with Tim's progress on the violin second-hand, by letter, rather than the tape recordings that Clare had been obligingly posting off every month.

  'No, you don't see, Clare. If only you had been there!' Virginia conveniently forgot that that had been the last thing she had wanted when she'd made her furtive plans. 'Deverenko was really impressed, with Tim's whole demeanour as well as his playing. You should have seen the way he watched him, the way Tim blossomed under the attention! And he talked with us…Mrs Carmen and I… for quite a long while afterwards. He thinks that he has a place for Tim at his school!'

  'I told you, I'm quite satisfied with his progress—'

  'But this is something else. He'd be one of the famous David Deverenko's protégés! Think of the doors that would open to Tim. His school is very select—he only has about twenty-five children there—and imagine Tim being taught by one of the world's greatest violinists!'

  'I don't suppose that Deverenko does much of the actual teaching,' said Clare dampeningly. 'He has a fairly full concert schedule, performing all over the world. I don't think he's ready to retire into teaching just yet, do you?'

  'But he helps shape the programme, and they regularly invite famous musicians to conduct guest classes. Oh, Clare, how could you turn down a chance like this? It might never come again!'

  'If Tim is as good as you say he is, it'll come again— in a year or so, when he's better able to handle it. Besides—the Deverenko school is a boarding-school, isn't it? And there's the question of fees—'

  'They waive them in special cases—Deverenko told me himself. For that matter, Clare, I'd sell this place if it meant that Tim could have his chance—'

  The sobering thing was that she meant it. Any sacrifice was worth launching her grandson on the career that had been denied herself, through family obligations, and her son—through Lee's own curtailing of a promising career as a classical guitarist.

  'No, Virginia.'

  'At least talk to the man. He's going to get in touch—'

  There's no point, Virginia. Not for another year at least. Now, the subject is closed…' Again the quiet implacability that it was unwise to ignore.

  It was a pity that Clare couldn't use the same tactics on her son. When Virginia called Tim down from the small upstairs bedroom that he and Clare shared when they came to stay, he was full of his news.

  'Hey, Mummy, guess what I did while you were out shopping?' He looked very pleased with himself as he helped himself to the afternoon tea that had lured him away from his quiet absorption in a book. Tim's concentration was fearful. Whether he was playing his half-sized violin, or reading, or just thinking, he displayed a deafness to distraction which was both the joy and the bane of his teachers' existences—and his mother's. Only food could penetrate his mental shell, although one would never know it from his thinness. Tim had inherited his mother's tallness and pale blonde hair, but not her build. Clare wasn't fat, but her curves could get away from her if she didn't watch herself. Lee had been inclined to plumpness, but all he seemed to have bequeathed to his son was his brown eyes, and the lightning flashes of humour that sometimes made them dance with mischief.

  'Your granny has just been telling me,' Clare said, watching him devour the biscuits on his plate with ruthless efficiency.

  'The maestro said I had an instinct.'

  'Did he?' Damn the maestro.

  'Yes, he said I could make the violin speak.'

  'Did he?'

  For Tim's sake she showed an avid interest as he repeated every single thing that the awe-inspiring maestro had said about his playing, both good and bad—there seemed to be a fairly even mix of both, and Clare detected in Tim a faint air of chagrin. Most people were so astounded by his virtuosity in relation to his age that they heaped praise upon him. Perhaps the experience would be of value after all.

  'And he's going to send us some tickets to his next concert in Auckland. It's next week. Can we go, Mummy? Can we go and see him play? I've heard him on the radio and on tapes, but that's not the same as seeing him.'

  Clare felt a pang at the sight of the shining adoration on the small face. David Deverenko had certainly made an impression on her son, for better or for worse. Tim was a fairly biddable boy, except where music was concerned. There he was quite fierce, and he was quite capable of making life a misery for a long time to come if she didn't grant this perfectly reasonable request.

  'We'll see,' she temporised lamely, and he grinned hugely, showing the gap where a front tooth was coming through. He knew that resigned tone of voice… a little boy with perfect pitch could scarcely miss it. They would go to his concert!

  She took him out for a walk in a nearby park during the evening. It was a struggle to get Tim to take any form of exercise—other than with his bowing arm!— but C
lare insisted on a certain amount of fresh air and tried to make it palatable for him by making it 'their' time of the day. In her job as receptionist-manager for a secluded hotel on the shores of Lake Rotama she was usually kept busy from dawn to dusk, and making time for her son was very important for both of them.

  This evening, however, she curtailed the walk when every conversation worked itself around to the wonderful David Deverenko—how he was ten feet tall and had the face of a god and the voice of an angel and magical powers over everything musical… or that was how Tim's artless description sounded to Clare. She didn't mind Tim having heroes—and ever since he had been old enough to turn on the radio they had been musicians—but a super-hero was tough to compete with. Mere mums didn't stand a chance!

  Fortunately Virginia knew when to hold her tongue, and didn't add her enthusiasm to Tim's over the dinner-table, or Clare might very well have made a tart observation about the earthly origins of the World's Greatest Living Violinist that would have shattered her credibility for some time to come in her son's hero-dazzled eyes.

  Half-way through dessert, the telephone rang. The two women looked at each other across the table. Virginia half rose.

  'I'd better get it,' she said reluctantly.

  Clare sighed. 'No, I will.' She went out into the kitchen and picked up the phone. When she re-entered the dining-room her face was tight with annoyance.

  'Who was it?' asked Virginia cautiously, glancing sideways at Tim's blond head, bent deliriously over his favourite pavlova.

  'A newspaper. Wanting a photograph.' 'Oh.'

  'Yes, oh.' Clare spoke calmly, so as not to alert Tim. 'Just the thing I wanted to avoid. Someone thought they'd be interested in a 'new phenomenon'. They even,' she added, voice quivering with annoyance despite her restraint, 'had some kind of comment from a certain prominent person in the field.' Her grim tone explicitly indicated who that prominent person was.