Storm Force Page 6

  She whispered into the unresponsive silence, ‘What’s the matter with me? What’s happening to me?’

  But none of the answers which forced themselves to the surface of her confused emotions were any comfort at all.

  It was all to do with her disappointment over the trip to Mauritius, she told herself forcefully. It had to be that. She had looked forward to being with Robin—belonging to him at last—and it had made her vulnerable.

  She shivered a little, trying to visualise Robin and herself alone together, sharing all the intimacies of lovers. She had assumed their feelings for each other would have smoothed out any difficulties or awkwardness, but now she wasn’t so sure it would have been that easy. She attempted to envisage them taking a bath or a shower together, but failed. In fact, she couldn’t even imagine Robin suggesting such a thing. He had fairly strict views on hygiene, she recalled unwillingly.

  But then her own outlook had been pretty conventional too—before the hurricane. Before her entire world had been turned upside down.

  She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly together in her lap. She supposed she should think herself lucky that Jay hadn’t followed her—tried to persuade her in some way—pressured her even. She would have only had herself to blame, gazing at him like that—remembering.

  A kid in a candy store. That was what he had called her, derisively, and it was totally humiliating to have to admit that the remark held a certain amount of justice.

  But was she wholly to blame? One of the things that made Jay Delaney a top-rated TV star was his dynamic appeal to women’s sexual fantasies. And off-camera, as she was discovering to her cost, his magnetism was even more potent.

  Oh, damn him, she wailed inwardly. And damn the storm which had swept them inexorably together.

  The brief tap on her door nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  ‘Yes?’ To her annoyance, her voice sounded very young and breathless.

  ‘It’s all yours.’ His tone through the stout wooden panels was laconic, and he made no attempt to gain admittance. She heard him move away, and the other door close. There was an odd finality in the sound, as if he was trying to tell her, without words, that she had nothing to fear.

  She collected her toilet bag and towel, and stepped out on to the landing.

  Although there was still no excuse for the Debbie Burrows incident, she could begin to see how it might have happened.

  Probably the girl had been carried away by his undoubted glamour and powerful sexual charisma, she thought, biting her lip, and found too late that the point of no return had been reached, and passed. He wasn’t innocent, she decided, but perhaps he wasn’t totally culpable either.

  When she got down to the living-room, she found that Jay had refilled the tub for her. She added a capful of scented essence to the gently steaming water, and swirled it round with her hand.

  It was a kind thing for him to have done, she thought, but, like the closing door, it could also be a way of distancing himself—of denying that those few fraught moments between them had ever existed.

  Maybe he was remembering Debbie Burrows too—and the fact that in his position he couldn’t even contemplate taking a similar risk.

  In a way that should have been reassuring, but as she undressed she found she was constantly stopping to listen for sounds of movement overhead.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, she adjured herself derisively. What are you expecting him to do? Pace up and down in frustration—like a caged lion or something? Stop being paranoid.

  She scooped her hair up on top of her head, secured it with a couple of combs, then slid into the water with a little sigh of pleasure. She let herself relax for a few moments, then began to soap herself all over. She had colour-polished her toenails to match her fingers, all ready for Mauritius, she thought ironically, lifting one slim foot out of the water, and she had had her legs waxed. All this unaccustomed body pampering for a romantic vacation which had never happened. She supposed she should remove the bright coral varnish. It seemed out of place at the cottage, and would soon chip anyway.

  She paused again, listening intently, aware of a vague unease, but there was still nothing but silence from the room above. However, she wouldn’t push her luck by staying in the tub for her usual leisurely soak, she decided. There was supper to get, even if it only meant heating up Mrs Grice’s pie and cooking the vegetables to go with it.

  Besides, she suddenly felt uncomfortable for some reason. Surely it couldn’t just be the fact of Jay’s silent presence upstairs which was making her feel so edgy—so overlooked. Ridiculously, she found herself glancing up at the ceiling, checking if there were any convenient cracks in the plaster through which he might be watching her, but there were not, as she knew perfectly well.

  But she still wasn’t going to linger, she told herself, lifting herself gracefully out of the water and reaching out a hand for her towel.

  And saw, out of the corner of her eye, her movement matched by another in the gathering darkness outside the window she hadn’t thought to curtain. Saw it and recognised it as the hidden watcher’s sudden shift in position to get a better view of her revealed nakedness.

  ‘What …?’ The words came out of her throat as a scream. ‘Oh, no.’ She grabbed the towel, panic making her clumsy, only to see it slither into the water.

  Sobbing with fright and outrage, she sank down on her knees, trying frantically to cover herself with her hands, dragging at one of the kitchen chairs to use as a barrier—anything to prevent those eyes in the darkness seeing any more than they had already.

  And heard, with incredulity, Jay’s door crash open above her, the clatter of his feet coming downstairs at breakneck speed.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter?’ His voice was hoarse. He stared at her crouching beside the tub. ‘Have you fallen—hurt yourself?’ He took a quick step towards her, and she flinched away.

  ‘No. There’s someone—out there—spying on me.’ The words were torn out of her. ‘I saw him move—a face at the window.’

  Two strides took him to the door. He flung it open and cold, rain-washed air flooded into the room. Maggie stayed where she was, on the floor, shivering, fighting the sobs rising in her chest. He was only gone a few minutes.

  ‘There’s no one there now,’ he said, as he latched the door. ‘Are you certain you saw someone?’

  ‘Quite certain.’ There were shocked tears on her face, scalding her chilled flesh.

  ‘Well, he must be a determined bastard,’ Jay said grimly. ‘This place is about as remote as you can get, and the weather conditions aren’t ideal for playing Peeping Tom either. Have you any idea who it could be?’

  I thought it was you.

  She didn’t have to say the words. They hung in the air, unspoken, between them, as cold and as heavy as stones, and she saw Jay’s face harden into anger.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said harshly. ‘But peering through windows, or keyholes, has never been my bag. You must have another admirer, darling.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Her voice cracked.

  Jay sighed, raking an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, but your dogged insistence that I’m some kind of pervert gets to me sometimes.’ He glanced at the windows. ‘If you don’t like being the floorshow, perhaps you should start drawing the curtains.’

  ‘I never thought,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I’m just wondering how many other times—oh, I feel sick.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Jay said curtly. ‘You’ve had a lousy experience, and you’re shocked, but it’s all over now, so there’s no need to be sick or faint, or even cry any more. And he won’t be back—not now he knows you’ve spotted him, and probably told the police.’ He paused. ‘So I suggest you stop trying to burrow through the flagstones, and put something on before you catch pneumonia.’

  ‘Oh.’ If she had been shivering before, she was burning now, as it occurred to her what kind of picture she was presenting. She wrapped her arms even
more tightly round her body, and stared down at the floor, dying of mortification.

  ‘Where’s your towel?’

  ‘I dropped it in the bath,’ she said in a muffled voice.

  ‘It just isn’t your day, lady.’ She didn’t have to look at him. She could hear the grin in his voice. ‘Wait there, and I’ll fetch you a robe.’

  She didn’t think she was capable of moving. She just wanted to vanish—to dematerialise, so that she would never—ever have to face Jay Delaney again, she thought, suppressing another sob.

  He was back almost at once with her robe, which he draped round her shoulders.

  He said casually, ‘If it’s any consolation, I doubt whether Peeping Tom or I saw any more than you’d have shown on the beach on Mauritius.’

  She huddled into the robe, fastening its sash with fingers that shook. ‘I’m—not a very daring sunbather.’

  ‘Then you should change your policy.’ Jay filled the kettle and set it to boil. ‘The more you take off, Ms Carlyle, the better you look. And I apologise for calling you “underdeveloped”,’ he added.

  ‘Thank you,’ Maggie said between gritted teeth. ‘If this is supposed to make me feel happier about what happened, it’s wide of the mark. I can do without your sexist garbage.’

  He gave her an amused glance. ‘Said with all your old bite. Cowering on the floor isn’t your style at all, Maggie. You should have given Peeping Tom one of your looks—made his dirty mac burst into flames.’

  She had not expected to smile again, but somehow, briefly and unwillingly, she did. And somehow, too, Jay had cleared the bath away, and she was sitting in the rocking chair warming her hands on a mug of coffee.

  She waited until he picked up his own beaker and sat at the kitchen table with it, then said, slowly, ‘Jay—I’m glad I wasn’t alone here—for that.’

  ‘You’d probably have been safe,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Lookers aren’t always touchers.’

  They are sometimes. Memories, rigorously suppressed, rose to the forefront of her mind. She clamped her teeth on the beaker to stop them chattering.

  ‘Have you had any further thoughts on the guy’s identity?’

  She hesitated. ‘There’s a man at the farm who’s a bit of a nuisance sometimes. He brought the supplies down earlier. But I wouldn’t have thought …’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was easier to think I’d be prepared to risk life and limb shinning down some drainpipe for a quick drool. Your resident pervert.’ There was real bitterness in his tone, and she looked at him in swift surprise.

  She began, ‘I’m sorry …’ but he cut across her.

  ‘Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we? I don’t give a damn whether you believe this or not, but I did not rape Debbie Burrows. In fact, I never laid a hand on her. And I’m not going to rape you either, Ms Carlyle. If you want anything from me, lady, you’re going to do the asking. You may even have to go down on your knees and beg me.’

  Maggie set down her mug. ‘I think you must be out of your mind,’ she said hoarsely.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not. Why don’t you start being honest, Maggie—with yourself as well as with me? There’s been something there from the moment we met, and you know it.’

  ‘I think you’re getting real life confused with a script from one of your television shows.’ She could hear the shake in her voice, and strove to sound calm. ‘Our paths have happened to cross, that’s all. But as soon as the roads re-open, and we can get out of here, we’ll be going our separate ways, and it can’t be too soon for me.’

  ‘Yet who can say when that happy day will be?’ Jay drawled. ‘I imagine clearing a way to this rustic retreat will be well down on the list of national priorities.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Mr Grice knows I want to get away urgently. He won’t leave me trapped here.’

  ‘So you regard this little ivory tower of yours as a trap now? That’s interesting. So where do you plan to take refuge next?’

  ‘I have a life in London,’ Maggie said with dignity. ‘And a boyfriend whom you seem to have forgotten about.’

  ‘The guy with the ailing mother?’ Jay’s lip curled. ‘I’d say he’s forgotten about you—wouldn’t you? Don’t rely on finding sanctuary with him. And the fact that you call him your boyfriend says a hell of a lot too. You don’t need a boyfriend, Maggie. You need a man.’

  ‘How dare you? You know nothing about Robin …’

  ‘I know that he’s started using his mother as a shield against you, either consciously or unconsciously—and with her full connivance,’ Jay said flatly.

  ‘That’s not true …’

  ‘Then why are you here with me, instead of Mauritius with him?’

  ‘Naturally I was upset when our trip was cancelled,’ she said coldly. ‘I wanted to get away by myself for a few days—work some things out in my head.’

  ‘So did I. Only the forces of nature screwed things up—for both of us,’ Jay said mockingly. ‘Now drink the rest of the coffee, and tell me what we’re having for supper. I’ll get it ready.’

  ‘Use whatever food you want. I’m not hungry.’ Maggie concealed the fact that her hands were trembling in the folds of her robe.

  ‘Dishonest, and stubborn too.’ Jay shook his head sadly. ‘And I always understood adversity brought out the best in people.’

  ‘Oh, leave me alone,’ Maggie shot at him. ‘This has been the worst twenty-four hours of my life. I missed out on my holiday, my car’s been wrecked, and I’ve been spied on by some lecherous creep.’ She swallowed an angry sob. ‘And all you can do is wind me up.’

  ‘That,’ Jay said evenly, ‘is all you’ll allow me to do.’ He discovered the pie, waiting on a work surface, and held it up. ‘Do you want to eat this hot or cold?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I don’t want anything.’

  ‘Tough,’ Jay said pleasantly. ‘I didn’t let you have hysterics earlier, and I’m not allowing you to starve yourself either. You’ll eat, even if I have to stuff every mouthful down your throat personally. Do I make myself clear.’

  ‘Oh, very macho,’ Maggie hurled at him furiously. ‘Very Hal McGuire.’

  ‘Wrong,’ he said. ‘He’s fiction, and I’m fact. As a publishing lady, I’d have thought you knew the difference. And McGuire wouldn’t be standing here arguing the toss with you either,’ he added with a touch of grimness. ‘He’d be sorting out your problems in bed, right now.’

  ‘Sex as a panacea for all ills? Now there’s an original thought.’ Maggie gave a small strident laugh.

  ‘And how would you know?’ Jay’s eyes met hers with steely steadiness. ‘All the evidence so far suggests it’s a form of treatment you’ve never tried, and have never been seriously tempted to try, not even with good old Robin, so don’t knock it.’

  ‘How dare you …?’

  ‘You’re starting to repeat yourself, Maggie.’

  ‘I refuse to go on with this conversation.’ She got hurriedly to her feet, stumbling a little, to her annoyance, over the hem of her robe. ‘I’m going to my room.’

  ‘To dress for dinner, I hope.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because we both know that you’re naked under that robe, sweetheart, and before the evening’s over I might find that an irresistible challenge.’

  Swift colour stung at Maggie’s cheeks, but she managed a scornful laugh. ‘So much for your stern resolution. I thought you said I had to make the running from now on.’

  ‘So you do,’ Jay said pleasantly. ‘But I don’t discount a little—friendly persuasion on my part.’ He turned away to adjust the oven control on the Aga. ‘I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.’

  Maggie was shaking from temper mingled with genuine alarm when she got to her room. She was sorely tempted to turn the key in the lock and defy him, but although her door was solid, its hinges had seen better days. One good push from a determined shoulder might be all that was needed, she realised with trepidation. Jay mi
ght claim that the more muscular side of his McGuire role was performed by stuntmen, but his own physique left nothing to be desired, and he was certainly determined, she thought, biting her lip.

  It seemed her best course of action was to get dressed in the most anonymous and asexual set of garments she could find, and try to get through dinner with him without further arguments or major confrontations.

  And, after that, start praying that deliverance would come soon.

  She gave a soundless sigh, and began to rummage through her limited wardrobe. Clean jeans, she thought, and a woollen shirt, topped by a Shetland sweater that she normally wore only for gardening because it had stretched. Just let him try and find anything seductive about those.

  She dressed, then brushed and divided her hair into two braids which she pinned on top of her head.

  I look like hell, she decided with gloomy satisfaction.

  Jay had said he would call her, but she felt it would be better to take the initiative and join him downstairs, rather than skulk about in her room, as if she were afraid of him.

  When she got to the foot of the stairs she halted, staring round her in disbelief. The curtains had been drawn, music was playing softly from her small radio, and the room’s only illumination came from candles glimmering on the neatly set table. Jay was standing with his back to the stove, glass in hand.

  Maggie was just about to say something acid about cliché situations when it occurred to her just in time that he was waiting for precisely such a remark, and undoubtedly had his comeback prepared.

  She schooled her face hurriedly to appreciation. ‘How nice it all looks.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said courteously.

  ‘And I’m starving,’ she went on brightly, for good measure.

  ‘I wish I could offer you a drink,’ he said. ‘But apart from my scotch, which you don’t care for, there seems to be a dearth of alcohol in this place.’

  ‘I hardly ever drink,’ Maggie said, dismissing from her mind the several bottles of wine she knew were lurking at the back of a cupboard in the cavernous dresser. She needed to keep her wits about her, unblurred.