Wild Melody
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘LASSIE, are you sure?’ Mrs McGregor, her ample form wrapped securely in a flowered pinny, paused in her task of kneading dough, and stared at the slight figure on the other side of the big kitchen table.

‘Quite sure,’ Catriona Muir said, with a firmness she was far from feeling. ‘I—I simply must get away. The Mackintoshes want vacant possession as soon as possible, and now the house is sold, I feel as if I don't belong there anyway.'

‘Don't belong?’ Mrs McGregor attacked the dough with renewed vigour. ‘Away with you! In your own aunt's house where you were brought up as a bairn?'

‘The Mackintoshes own it now,’ Catriona reminded her with a pang. It still hurt to think of it. The big grey house standing back from the road had been home as long as she could remember. Ever since, in fact, the parents who were just vague pictures in her mind had been killed in a car crash and Auntie Jessie, her father's unmarried sister and Catriona's only living relative, had descended on her and carried her back to the tiny village of Torvaig on the west coast of Scotland.

Now, eighteen years later, Aunt Jessie too was dead, and Muir House—surely, as she herself had ruefully said, the most unsuccessful guest-house in Scotland—had been sold to a Glasgow couple.

‘Aye, they own it,’ Mrs McGregor retorted. ‘But for how long?’ She dropped the dough back into its bowl. ‘If a fine woman like Jessie Muir couldn'a make the place pay, then it's no likely that painted besom and her man will do any better. This is the wrong place for summer boarders, my dear, and that's the truth of it. We're too far away from Fort William and the Islands and the things folk come to see. It's a family house, that. It's crying out for bairns and laughter, and it'll no take kindly to that one and her—improvements.’ Mrs McGregor invested the last word with incredible scorn. ‘A discothèque in the basement! Have you ever heard such nonsense?'

Catriona smiled unhappily. ‘I think she's being a little unrealistic.'

‘And so are you.’ Mrs McGregor folded her arms and gazed at Catriona sternly. ‘Chasing off to England after some laddie that's never given you a thought all year.'

Catriona flushed and her green eyes grew stormy.

‘That's not true,’ she protested. ‘Jeremy didn't come this spring, I know, but he has written to me.'

‘Not for several months he hasn't,’ retorted Mrs McGregor with all the calm assurance of the sister of the village postmistress. ‘And don't jut that Muir chin at me, my lass. There's no one in this village with anything but your good at heart, and they'd all tell you what I'm telling you now. A few moonlight kisses by the sea-loch don't make a marriage.'

She nodded emphatically at Catriona, whose cheeks were flaming.

‘Och, we've all been through it, lassie,’ she went on kindly. ‘First love's a grand thing, but it doesn't last. When it's real love, you'll know, just as I knew with Mr McGregor.'

Catriona looking at the round plump face with its coronet of wispy grey hair and visualising the balding taciturn Mr McGregor had to repress a desire to giggle, in spite of her annoyance. What did Mrs McGregor know of the sweet and tender secret she and Jeremy had shared in that magical few weeks the previous year when he had come to Torvaig on a walking tour and stayed and stayed until his time was up, and he had to return to university?

Thinking of Jeremy with his crisp dark hair and laughing blue eyes brought a tightening to her throat and a mistiness to her eyes. They had shared so much. They had walked, sailed and swum during those golden days that seemed as if they would last for ever.

One night they had attended a ceilidh in a neighbouring village. Catriona, who played the guitar and sang folk songs in English and Gaelic, had been one of the star turns, and later as they drove home in the back of Angus Duncan's van along the narrow single track road with the clumps of grass growing in the centre which was Torvaig's only means of access with the outside world, Jeremy had drawn her close.

‘I never knew you could sing like that,’ he whispered, his lips against her ear.

Catriona, more used to her aunt's affectionate bluntness and the villagers’ forthrightness, had blushed.

‘Oh, it's nothing,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Nothing!’ Jeremy cast his eyes to heaven. ‘My love, in London you'd be a hit. You've got real talent, and you don't even know it. The record companies are always crying out for something new, and those songs you sang in that outlandish language …'

‘The Gaelic is not outlandish!’ Catriona flared. ‘And I wish I could speak it properly instead of just being able to sing a few songs in it.'

‘Okay, okay,’ Jeremy said placatingly. ‘But it does sound strange when you're not used to it. I think that with the proper backing and promotion you could be Scotland's answer to Nana Mouskouri.'

‘I'd be more flattered if I knew who she was,’ Catriona said, resting her head sleepily on his shoulder.

‘Seriously, Trina,’ he put his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, ‘you shouldn't waste yourself in this wilderness. You'd have far more chance in London.'

‘Wilderness?’ Catriona faced him bewilderedly. ‘But, Jeremy, I thought you liked Torvaig.'

‘I do like it,’ he said. ‘But I like it because you're here. Without you, I wouldn't have spent a second day here. It's too quiet for me. I like some action.'

Remembering this now in the homely warmth of the McGregor kitchen, Catriona felt her spirits plummet. It was the only difference they had ever had. When he had finally gone back to London, he had promised to return the following spring, if he could. But Easter had come and gone and no sign of him, and then shortly before Whitsun, Aunt Jessie's ill-used weak heart had finally given way, ironically enough as she sat watching one of her beloved sunsets over the western sea.

It was Jeremy's parting words that Catriona had remembered in the bewilderment of grief, when she had realised that the house would have to be sold to pay off various creditors, as well as the mortgage which she did not feel capable of shouldering.

‘Here's my address.’ He gave her a folded piece of paper. ‘Keep it safe. If you ever need me, that's where I'll be.'

They had kissed and she had clung to him, her face wet with tears, promising to wait for him. At first his letters had come often and hers returned as eagerly. Then the frequency began to falter, although he still talked of the time when they would be together always. Now, if she faced it, five months had gone by with no word. Catriona had salved her pride by telling herself that Jeremy was busy with his studies and that he had important exams coming up, which, as he'd said in an early letter, could make all the difference to their future together. It was this, and the address carefully treasured in her trinket box at home, that had decided Catriona on her next course of action, now that she was alone.

She looked up from her reverie and found Mrs McGregor watching her concernedly. She smiled back at her.

‘It'll be all right,’ she said. ‘I know it will. I can't bear to stay here with Auntie—and the house—gone like that. And I can't bear to see what the Mackintoshes are going to do with the place either. Besides, London will be an adventure, and Jeremy will be there.’ She smiled again, more gaily. ‘I'll send you a piece of wedding cake.'

‘So I should hope—when you find a husband,’ Mrs McGregor said a trifle caustically.

She confided her misgivings to her husband over supper that evening.

‘But she's set on it,’ she added, and sighed. ‘London's a gey long way to go, just to have your heart broken. I doubt yon poor lassie knows what she's getting herself into.'

A week later, standing completely bewildered in the bustle of Euston, Catriona was wondering exactly the same thing. The noise from the loudspeakers, the roar of the traffic outside, and the shouting and banging on the station itself as trains arrived and departed filled her with unreasoning panic. After the silence of Torvaig, where the hum of the telegraph wires was often clearly audible even in the middle of the day, she felt as if her eardrums would burst. What was worse, everyone but her seemed to know exactly where they were going. She followed the crowd to the barrier and gave up her ticket.

Outside in the sunlight, she felt even more uncomfortable. Jeremy's address was tucked safely in an inside pocket of her leather shoulder bag, but she had no idea how to get there. Awkwardly she shifted her rucksack on to her other shoulder and leaned her guitar case against a newsvendor's stand while she tried to take stock of her surroundings. Most of the money she possessed in the world—just under two hundred pounds—was safely locked up in a small cashbox in her rucksack, but she had kept a few pounds in her handbag for emergencies. Catriona decided ruefully that the first emergency was now. Picking up her guitar, she walked purposefully to the queue of people waiting for taxis. But when her turn came, she found to her astonishment that she was calmly elbowed out of the way by two smartly dressed men. She stood indignantly on the pavement watching the last cab draw away, and a certain grimness crept into her expression. As another cab pulled up, a fur-coated woman stepped forward, brushing Catriona aside. Catriona swung her rucksack and there was a startled yelp as its bulk encountered the fur coat. The woman tottered, momentarily off balance, and Catriona squeezed past. ‘Mine, I think,’ she said, pushing her guitar case on to the back seat. She sat back feeling a little guilty at her discourtesy, but at the same time faintly victorious. If this was how Londoners conducted themselves, then a Muir could do just as well!

‘Where to, ducks?'

‘Oh.’ Catriona produced Jeremy's slip of paper and pushed it through the glass partition. The driver looked at it and whistled. ‘It's quite a way.’ He turned and studied his passenger, from the attractive mass of curly dark hair on her shoulders down over the duffel coat and slim-fitting levis to the well-worn brogues. ‘It'll cost you.'

‘I have money.’ Catriona lifted her chin at him.

‘Suit yourself, love,’ and he let in the clutch.

By the time the journey was over, Catriona was too sick with nervousness to worry over-much about the amount on the meter, although one corner of her thrifty soul registered a momentary squeal of outrage as she handed over the fare and added a generous tip.

‘Shall I hang on?’ asked the driver, apparently moved by the unexpected gesture.

Catriona looked up at the house where the cab had halted. It was not quite what she had envisaged, being a narrow terraced building with peeling stucco. The paintwork needed renewal, and the front garden was untended. Almost unconsciously Catriona's nose wrinkled. It was not the rendezvous she would have chosen for an ecstatic reunion with Jeremy. She bit her lip uncertainly. She wished now she had written to him in advance telling him that she was coming. She acknowledged now, standing in the dirty street, that she had been secretly afraid that he might try to deter her. For a moment she found it hard to remember even what Jeremy looked like, and again that odd sense of panic gripped her. She turned to the driver hesitantly.

‘Perhaps—you would wait.'

She mounted the short flight of cracked steps and rang the bell.

‘Probably not working, love,’ the driver called. ‘Bang on the door instead.'

Catriona complied with his advice, and after an endless moment or two the door was flung open. She was confronted by a thin woman in a soiled blue nylon overall, her hair in rollers under a yellow chiffon scarf.

‘No vacancies,’ she snapped, and made to close the door again.

Catriona stepped forward with a determination that she was far from feeling.

‘I'm looking for one of your tenants, a Mr Jeremy Lord.'

‘Are you now?’ The woman's eyes appraised Catriona suggestively, lingering for a moment at her waistline. ‘Well, you're too late, dear. He's gone.'

‘Gone? Where?’ Catriona felt the world spin round her. This was one development she had failed to take into account in her planning. Jeremy had told her she would find him here and she had believed him. She fought to remain calm.

‘He left about three months ago. A nice Indian gentleman's got the room now.’ The woman waited for a minute. ‘Well, if that's all, dear, I must get on.'

Catriona moved impulsively. ‘Did he—was there any forwarding address?'

‘Now let me think. Some do, and some don't, of course. And there's a few who don't want to be traced.’ She gave Catriona a malicious smile. ‘But I'm sure that won't be true in your case, ducks. You wait here, while I see.’ She disappeared to the rear of the musty hall and went through a door.

Catriona, fighting her tears, stood forlornly on the step. What if there was no address? She supposed there would be a hostel somewhere she could go to for the time being. Perhaps the driver would know. He seemed kind. Yet at the back of her mind were all the warnings she had ever heard about trusting strangers in big cities. She had never felt more alone, even at Aunt Jessie's funeral, for there the unspoken sympathy of the rest of the village had been like a rock for her to lean on. Here there was no one and nothing if Jeremy could not be found.

‘Here we are, lovey.’ The woman was coming back, flourishing a piece of paper. ‘Mr Lord—11 Belmont Gardens. I thought I could recollect him saying where he was moving to.'

‘Oh, thank you.’ Catriona took the paper, realising that the woman's hand was remaining outstretched. For a moment she wondered if she was expected to shake hands, then she realised. Flushing, she dug into her shoulder bag and produced a pound note. Before she could say anything, it was gone from her hand and tucked away into a pocket of the nylon overall.

‘That's very good of you, dear, very good.’ The woman beamed at her. ‘Now, if you were wanting a room, my first floor front is giving notice this week.'

‘No,’ Catriona said quietly. ‘No, thanks. I must be going now.’ And she ran back down the steps to the waiting taxi. She gave the new address to the driver.

‘It's from the sublime to the gorblimey with you, girl,’ he commented, as the cab drew away. ‘Dead posh, Belmont Gardens.'

Catriona didn't find this piece of information particularly encouraging either. She realised for the first time how little she really knew about Jeremy and his background. She knew that he was an only child, and that both his parents were living, but little more.

It had never occurred to her during those happy sun-soaked days in Scotland to probe too deeply. Nor had she speculated too much while they were apart. She had preferred to remember the warmth of his kisses, and the glow in his eyes when he looked at her in that secret way that seemed to shut them off from the rest of the world even when others were there. These things were somehow more real than Jeremy's family, Jeremy's friends and the rest of his life in London in which as yet she had no part.

She realised of course that she would have to accept her part in them, but Jeremy had fitted so easily into her background that she had few doubts that she would slot as quickly into his. Now she was not so sure.

Looking out of the cab window, she realised the area they were in now was a marked improvement on the one where Jeremy used to live. Here the rows of houses were tall and spacious and trees edged the streets in neat lines.

The taxi turned right, swerving into a small square. In the centre of the square was a tiny railed-off park, with lawns, seats and flower beds. The houses that surrounded it were tall and elegant with delicately wrought iron railings in front of them. Many of them had window boxes filled with gay flowers, and Catriona could not help a little cry of pleasure and surprise.

‘Told you so,’ the driver commented smugly. He drew up with a flourish. ‘Here we are, ducks—number eleven. Shall I bring your gear up?'

‘I—I can manage, thank you.’ Catriona was feeling nervous again. As the taxi drew away and vanished round the corner, she felt almost as if she just lost a friend. Her palms felt moist and she wiped them down the sides of her jeans, before shouldering her rucksack and picking up the guitar case.

‘Here we go,’ she thought, gazing up at the white façade of the house. A scarlet front door confronted her and as she counted the six immaculate steps which led to it, she noticed a gleaming brass bell surmounted by a name-plate in the wall.

The stark black lettering on the card seemed to leap out at her. ‘J. Lord,’ she read with relief, and pressed the bell.

Almost immediately she heard steps inside the house, and her stomach muscles contracted. She licked her dry lips, controlling her instinct to run away as quickly as she could, now that the moment of truth was here.

But it was a small woman, neatly dressed in a dark frock and apron, who opened the door this time, and looked at her inquiringly.

Catriona tried to speak with an assurance she was far from feeling.

‘Mr Lord, please.'

‘Well, I don't know, I'm sure, miss.’ The woman looked at her searchingly, taking in the shabby coat and the rucksack. ‘Is he expecting you?'

‘Yes,’ said Catriona, mentally crossing her fingers. It wasn't really a fib, she told herself. Jeremy had said she could come at any time. ‘Please tell him Miss Muir is here.'

The woman held the door open and stood back to allow Catriona to enter. ‘Come in, Miss Muir. I'll tell Mr Lord. Perhaps you'd like to leave your luggage in the hall.'

Catriona felt almost embarrassed to do so. It was a spacious hall with a black and white tiled floor and gleaming white walls. A carved chest stood against one wall supporting a tall Chinese vase. She put her rucksack and guitar in a corner, where she hoped they would not be noticed, and followed the woman to a door on the right.

‘Will you wait here, miss?’ the woman asked, and Catriona nodded speechlessly. She had never seen such a room. The walls were covered in a heavy cream paper and this colour was repeated in the thick fitted carpet. The floor-length curtains and luxurious suite were in a matching fabric which combined shades of sapphire and jade, and Catriona, who had always been told by Aunt Jessie, ‘Blue and green should never be seen,’ gasped at the effect this produced. The few other pieces of furniture—some occasional tables and a rosewood cabinet—were obviously antique and a cream marble mantelpiece bore a collection of exquisite Chinese porcelain dogs.

Catriona began to feel bewildered. What had Jeremy to do with all this luxury? She had never thought that he might be rich, but what other explanation was there for a life-style which was beyond anything she could have imagined? The shabby chintzes of Muir House had never seemed so far away.

Desperately she stared around. Oh, why had she come? What a fool she had been! There was no place for her here. The contrast between her own near-pennilessness and her present surroundings was a humiliation. And worst of all, one of her shoes had left a dirty mark on the carpet.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she hurried towards the door, but almost simultaneously it was flung open, and Catriona halted with a gasp.

Regarding her was a tall man. He was wearing a dark silk dressing gown, and a towel was flung carelessly over one shoulder. His feet and legs were bare and one lock of damp-looking black hair hung down across his forehead. He put up a hand and brushed it impatiently away from the coldest grey eyes that Catriona had ever seen.

‘Who are you?’ she asked shakily. It was too much! The long journey, the lack of sleep, the first disappointment, and now this utter stranger looking her over as if she were an unprepossessing remnant on a bargain counter.

‘That's rich, coming from you,’ he commented, in a voice that matched his eyes. ‘According to you, Miss—er—Muir, I'm expecting you.'

Catriona fought back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her completely.

‘Not you—Jeremy,’ she said dolefully.

‘Jeremy?’ He gave her a long look, then closed the door behind him. ‘I suppose I should have known. And what brings you here?'

Catriona stared at him helplessly. ‘Doesn't—doesn't he live here?'

‘No, by God, he doesn't,’ was the forcible reply. ‘What gave you that idea? Did he? I'll break his damned neck if …'

‘No—oh, no. It was his landlady—his ex-landlady, that is. She said he'd left this as a forwarding address. And when I saw his name on the card at the door, I assumed …’ Her voice tailed away uncomfortably as he looked her over with a certain grimness.

‘Not his name, young woman. Mine. And this is my flat, and down the hall is my bedroom where I now propose to return now that this little misunderstanding has been cleared up. I did agree that Jeremy could have his mail sent on here for a short time, but that was over long ago.’ He opened the door and held it, waiting for her to pass through. ‘So if you'd be good enough to collect that weird clutter in the corner of the hall, we can go our separate ways.'

In spite of her distress, Catriona's temper began to rise. She had never been treated so summarily in her life before. Aunt Jessie wouldn't have behaved to a stray dog like this man was treating her, she thought furiously. Her first reaction was to do as he requested and stalk out of his house and his life without a backward glance. And yet he could obviously help her to find Jeremy, which at the moment seemed more important than salvaging her pride.

‘I'm sorry to have intruded,’ she began awkwardly. ‘If you would just give me Jeremy's present address, I'll be happy to leave you in peace.'

‘Out of the question,’ he said abruptly. ‘Good morning.'

‘What do you mean?’ Catriona faced him, openly indignant. ‘Are you saying you won't tell me where he is?'

‘Very perceptive,’ he said smoothly, and Catriona longed to slap him hard across that dark sneering face. ‘Now, on your way, my little orphan of the storm.'

‘I'm not——’ Catriona began to deny hotly, when it struck her with the suddenness of a blow that he was quite right. She was an orphan now. She looked at him mutely, unable to restrain her tears any longer.

‘Oh, for God's sake,’ he said bitingly. ‘Do you think I haven't had that trick tried on me a hundred times? Only it's never worked in the past, and it's sure as hell not working now, darling.'

‘I'm not your darling!’ Catriona rubbed her eyes vigorously with a scrap of handkerchief she had found in her coat pocket. ‘I think you're despicable!'

‘No doubt you do. But just remember, you got yourself in here under false pretences, so don't start complaining when the going gets tough.’ He gestured her towards the door.

‘It wasn't false pretences,’ Catriona protested. ‘I asked for Mr Lord. I thought it would be Jeremy.'

‘And instead it was me.’ He pushed his hair back from his forehead again, almost wearily. ‘A nasty shock for you, no doubt, and my advice to you is to go back where you came from as quickly as possible and get over it.'

‘I can't go back,’ Catriona said quietly. ‘What's more, I came here to find Jeremy and I won't leave until I've seen him. And he'll not be very pleased when I tell him how you've treated me,’ she added, a little vindictively.

But far from being perturbed, he merely smiled faintly.

‘I don't think I have much to fear from that quarter,’ he said. ‘Tell me, why do you want to see him so urgently?'

‘That's my business.’ Catriona tilted her chin defiantly.

‘On the contrary, you've also made it mine. Besides, his mother has been on at me for years to take a proper avuncular interest in the boy. Oh, I forgot,’ he added satirically, as Catriona's eyes flew startled to his face. ‘I didn't introduce myself, did I. I'm Jason Lord, Jeremy's uncle.'

‘I didn't know Jeremy had an uncle,’ Catriona said numbly.

‘Well, he didn't tell me about you either, so we're quits. Well, Miss Muir, I'm waiting.'

Catriona thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat to hide the fact that they were shaking. She met Jason Lord's scornful grey eyes with a flash of her green ones.

‘In that case he probably hasn't told you either that we're in love and going to be married,’ she said.

He had been lounging rather negligently against the door, but at that he stiffened instantly. His eyes went over her again, not with the same contempt as before, but assessing her, almost stripping her, while the colour rose in her cheeks.

‘You're going to marry Jeremy,’ he said slowly. ‘What in hell's name gives you that idea?'

‘He did. Last summer.'

‘Which was a long time ago.’ He looked at her wryly. ‘And where was this—er—troth plighted, may I ask?'

‘At Torvaig.’ He still looked blank, so she explained, ‘It's a little village on the west coast of Scotland. It's not very well known, but Jeremy found it while he was touring, and he stayed on.'

‘I'll bet he did!’ There was an almost savage note in the muttered words.

‘Now will you let me see him?’ she begged.

‘No.’ He spoke almost reflectively. ‘In fact I think it's even more imperative that you use the other half of your return ticket and take yourself back to Torvaig and forget you ever knew Jeremy.'

‘I'll do nothing of the sort!’ she raged. ‘I have a right to see him. I've come to London and I'm staying no matter what you say.'

‘Look,’ he came to stand in front of her and gripped her arms tightly, his eyes bleak as a winter's day, ‘I'm telling you for your own good. Forget him and go home. Can't you take my word for it that it's the best thing to do?'

‘I wouldn't take your word for what day of the week it was,’ Catriona said angrily, and his hands fell away from her so quickly that she swayed a little, feeling oddly dizzy.

‘What's the matter?’ he asked.

‘I—I'm sorry. It's so warm in here.'

‘Not that warm. Have you had anything to eat?'

‘I had a few sandwiches on the train.’ How long ago that seemed, she thought tiredly.

‘That must have been a great comfort,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Well, you'd better take that appalling coat off and come with me.'

‘To see Jeremy?’ she asked hopefully.

‘No,’ he said witheringly. ‘To have some breakfast before you pass out on me. I want you leaving here on your own two legs, not carried out on a stretcher.'

Catriona was just about to fling his insulting offer back in his face when it occurred to her how hungry she really was and how much better she would be able to continue the battle if she was fed. So more meekly than she felt, she allowed herself to be shepherded through the hall to the rear of the house and a large shiny kitchen.

It was a poem in gleaming ceramic tiles and stainless steel with gadgets Catriona had only ever seen before in magazine pictures. Remembering the old-fashioned sink and scrubbed wooden draining board back at Muir House, she felt a stab of envy. It seemed so unfair that Auntie Jessie had had to struggle with her work, while this unpleasant man had been living in the lap of luxury with hardly the need to lift a finger for himself.

‘Mrs Birch!’ he called, and the woman who had admitted Catriona came bustling in.

‘Can you organise some breakfast for this starving morsel?’ He indicated Catriona with a casual wave of his hand and she went hot with fury. ‘Bacon and at least two eggs, I think. Oh, and porridge of course. She's from Scotland.'

‘Porridge, sir?’ Mrs Birch gaped at him. ‘Well, I don't know if …'

‘No,’ Catriona interrupted hastily. ‘I don't eat porridge.'

‘Heresy,’ Jason Lord said solemnly, but he was laughing at her, she knew. ‘Well, grapefruit, then, and lots of coffee, Mrs B., and I'll have some as well.’ He turned to Catriona. ‘You'll be quite safe with Mrs Birch. I'm going to finish shaving and get dressed.'

Before Catriona could reply, he vanished.

Mrs Birch was setting out plates and cups and Catriona could already smell the bacon sizzling in the pan.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked shyly.

‘I can manage.’ Mrs Birch gave her a quick glance. ‘I should sit down before you fall down, lovey. You're as white as a sheet.'

Catriona complied shakily. ‘I—I've had rather a shock.'

‘Well, I wondered, though it's not for me to say. I could have told you he doesn't like seeing people so early in the morning. And when I saw that guitar I said to myself, Elsie, I said, she hasn't got a prayer, poor little soul.'

‘My guitar?’ Catriona echoed bewilderedly.

‘He doesn't do musical acts, lovey. It's all current affairs and documentaries. I thought you'd have known that.'

And as Catriona continued to stare at her in amazement, she tutted impatiently.

‘Well, you do know who he is, don't you?'

‘All I know is that he's Jeremy's uncle,’ Catriona admitted.

‘Lord above!’ Mrs Birch cracked the first of the eggs into the pan. ‘He's a TV producer, dear. He does Here and Now on a Monday, apart from anything else. And his documentary on alcoholics last year got an award.'

‘I'm afraid I've never seen much television,’ Catriona said quietly. ‘We didn't have a set at home.'

Mrs Birch was obviously as staggered by this as if Catriona had suddenly grown a second head.

‘Well, there's a thing,’ she said at last. ‘And there was me thinking you were pestering him for a job.'

Catriona coloured. ‘Oh, it's nothing like that,’ she said.

‘I'm pleased to hear it.’ Mrs Birch set half a grapefruit frosted with sugar in front of Catriona and lowered her voice confidentially. ‘You see, dear, the better known he's become, the worse it's got. A lot of girls just think he's the key to fame and fortune and heaven knows what. He knows so many people in television, you see, and one word from him can do all sorts. I'm glad you're not one of them.’ She beamed approvingly at Catriona, then turned back to the cooker. ‘Now you get started, because this is nearly ready.'

Catriona had almost finished her eggs and bacon by the time Jason Lord returned. In a silk-textured dark suit he looked even more forbidding, she thought, and had to fight an urge to flinch as he slid on to the stool next to hers at the breakfast bar.

‘That's better,’ he remarked coolly. ‘You're beginning to look more like a human being.'

Mrs Birch put two steaming cups of coffee down on the bar and hurried out of the kitchen to her other chores.

‘You've placed me under an obligation to you——'

Catriona began stiffly, but he interrupted.

‘Then repay it—please—by going home.'

‘I have no home.'

‘You just thought you'd move in with my nephew.’ His tone was glacial again.

‘No,’ she answered wretchedly. ‘I've told you—we're going to be married.'

He glanced meaningly at her ringless hands. ‘You're officially engaged?'

She hesitated miserably, unwilling to share even part of her precious secret with this man. Then, very slowly, she undid the top two buttons on her white shirt blouse and pulled out the silver chain she wore round her neck. There were two metal objects hanging on it—a small key and a silver ring set with a cairngorm. A cheap enough trinket, but Jeremy had bought it for her one day in Fort William.

‘Until I can afford a proper one,’ he had whispered as he put it on her finger and kissed her. She had thought she would die of happiness, and some of that remembered joy lingered in her face as she extended the ring to Jason Lord in the soft curve of her palm.

There was a long silence. Then, ‘I see,’ he said in a voice devoid of any emotion. She looked at him, puzzled, but his eyes were veiled as he looked down at the thin trail of smoke from the cigarette held lightly between his fingers.

‘You will let me see him, won't you?’ Her voice was pleading.

‘Yes.’ He stubbed the cigarette out with sudden violence. ‘Yes, Miss Muir, you win. I'll take you to him this evening.'

‘Not till this evening?’ She couldn't believe her victory, but at the same time this apparently unnecessary delay jarred on her. ‘Why not now?'

‘Because he's away. He'll be back this evening—his mother's giving a party. I didn't intend to go, but now I will and I'll take you with me.'

‘But I couldn't let you do that,’ Catriona said at once. It was not at all how she had planned to see Jeremy again, at a party against a background where she would be an interloper. ‘I'd be a gatecrasher. And besides, I haven't anything to wear.'

‘The eternal cry of woman, but in your case it could just be true,’ he said, his eyes flicking over her dismissively. ‘And you won't be a gatecrasher. You'll go as my guest. Marion always expects me to bring a girl-friend to her parties.'

Catriona felt a quick surge of revulsion at the idea of being taken for his girl-friend.

‘I'm sure there are other people you'd rather take,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Dozens,’ he retorted. Suddenly he leaned forward and his long fingers brushed the small curve of her breast. Startled, she pulled away, feeling oddly as if she had been scorched by a sudden flame.

‘Don't be a fool,’ he said. ‘Give me credit for a little more subtlety in my approach than that. I'm just curious to know what this is.'

It was the key that shared the chain with the ring.

‘That's just the key of my cashbox,’ she said a little nervously.

‘Cashbox?’ he queried, with raised brows. ‘What cashbox?'

So perforce Catriona found herself telling him about Auntie Jessie and the sale of Muir House.

‘So when all was settled I had about two hundred pounds altogether. I spent some of it of course on my ticket and on a taxi today. But the rest is in a box in my rucksack,’ she added, noticing with alarm that he was frowning again.

‘You've been carrying all the money you possess in the world around London with you all morning!’ he said with ominous calm. ‘And supposing you'd been robbed? Dear God, girl, you're not safe to be allowed out!'

‘I can look after my money and myself,’ Catriona said indignantly.

‘Can you now?’ he said softly. ‘So much so that you blunder into a strange man's flat, make all kinds of demands and stay for breakfast without any thought of what you might have to give in return.'

‘I'm quite willing to pay you——’ she began, but he silenced her by placing an authoritative finger on her parted lips. An odd shiver ran through her. She had never been touched, she told herself, by anyone she loathed as much as him.

‘But supposing I asked for payment in kind rather than cash?’ His eyes held hers and she was aware that her breathing had quickened involuntarily.

‘I'd scream for Mrs Birch,’ she found herself saying with amazing calmness.

‘You assume she'd be on your side. Well, she probably would. She has a weakness for waifs and strays.’ With an insouciance that infuriated her, he let the key and ring drop back inside the neck of her shirt. They felt disturbingly warm from his fingers and again she felt that unaccountable shiver.

‘Well,’ he slid off the stool, ‘studio for me, and bed, I think, for you.'

‘Bed?’ Catriona gasped.

‘Of course. Don't tell me you got much sleep on that train last night.'

‘No—but I can't sleep here.'

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘And don't start behaving like an hysterical virgin. I've already told you, I'm going to work. I'll get Mrs Birch to wake you around two-thirty and I'll be back at three to take you shopping.'

‘Shopping?'

‘Must you repeat everything I say?’ he said with studied patience.

‘But I don't need to go shopping.’ Catriona thought desperately of her small store of money. She could not go to Jeremy completely empty-handed.

‘Oh yes, you do. You need a party dress,’ he said coolly. Before she could argue, he was gone, and a moment later she heard the front door slam.

Catriona leant on the breakfast bar. Her head was throbbing, and she pressed her finger tips against her forehead with a little sigh. He was everything that was detestable, she thought, and he seemed to take a perverse delight in unnerving her. Only the thought that when evening came he would take her to Jeremy stopped her from grabbing up her things and running away as fast as she could.

‘Come along, lovey.’ Mrs Birch's voice was kind. ‘A nice lie down is what you want. You'll feel better in no time.'

Catriona found herself in a small bedroom furnished in muted browns and yellows with a thick continental quilt on the single bed. It was incredibly soft and warm and she felt an almost sensuous relaxation as she stretched out under it.

‘A good sleep,’ Mrs Birch was saying somewhere a long way off. ‘A good sleep.'

Catriona slept.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was awoken by a hand on her shoulder. Mrs Birch in outdoor clothes was standing by the bed, holding a small tray.

‘Coffee, miss,’ she announced. ‘Mr Lord will be back soon. I'd be ready if I were you. He hates being kept waiting.'

Catriona was sorely tempted to proclaim her total indifference to Mr Lord's likes and dislikes, but she knew that under the circumstances, that would be churlish.

‘The bathroom's just across the hall, and I've put clean towels in there in case you want a shower,’ Mrs Birch went on. ‘Now if that's all, miss, I'll be getting along.'

‘Thank you. You've been very kind,’ Catriona said sincerely.

‘It's been a pleasure,’ Mrs Birch replied brightly. ‘I hope we meet again, miss. And if I might say so'—she lowered her voice confidentially—‘I wouldn't wear the jeans, miss. Not up West anyway. Fine for the Kings Road, but I don't suppose you'll be going there.’ And she was gone.

Catriona finished her coffee and slid out of bed. The unpopular jeans and her shirt were lying on the dressing stool and she picked them up, her face a little mutinous. All she had in her rucksack were two cotton dresses she had made last week, and some woollen sweaters. Tossing her dark hair determinedly from her face, she marched off to find the bathroom.

She was brushing her hair back into a ponytail and securing it with an elastic band when Jason Lord returned. She heard him come whistling down the hall and pause outside her door, and she squared her shoulders.

‘Are you ready, Miss Muir?’ he called.

‘Quite ready.’ She picked up her duffel coat and walked to the door. Somewhat to her surprise, he gave her a mocking grin as she emerged into the hall.

‘I like a girl who sticks to her principles,’ he commented as his eyes ran over her. ‘Come, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.'

Her blood boiling, she followed him to the front door and down the steps to the sleek cream-coloured car that awaited them. Jason Lord held the door open for her and she subsided a little awkwardly into the low tan leather seat on the passenger side. She stared entranced at the dashboard, wondering what the various buttons and dials could be for.

‘Do you drive?’ He slid into the seat beside her, and flicked the ignition expertly. The car started immediately, and they pulled away.

‘I had a few lessons, but I never took the test.'

‘A pity. It's an advantage, wherever you happen to live,’ he said.

‘Perhaps Jeremy will teach me.'

‘Perhaps he will,’ he returned noncommittally.

Catriona tried to make note of each turn they took, but she was soon bewildered. The streets were wider now, and the traffic was getting heavy. The houses were giving way to shops too, and as they drove along Catriona saw signs advertising more theatres and restaurants than she had ever dreamed existed.

‘I've never seen so many people,’ she remarked impulsively, then regretted sounding so naïve.

‘You should see it on Sundays. It's almost as quiet as Torvaig,’ he said. ‘And what's more, I've seen a vacant parking meter. Here we go.'

A few minutes later, Catriona found herself in a huge shop. Jason Lord's hand was under her elbow, urging her forward through the crowds thronging the counters, as she caught tantalising glimpses of exquisite displays of scarves and handbags and sniffed exotic odours as she was whisked through the cosmetics department.

‘Lift or escalator?’ he asked, then quickly, ‘I'm sorry, I'm treating you like a child. But you look so damned young in those jeans with your hair tied back.'

‘I know—like a waif,’ she retorted, already more than conscious that she seemed to be the only person in jeans in the whole massive building. ‘And I've never been on an escalator.'

‘Up we go, then.’ He steadied her on to the moving staircase. ‘Hold on to me if you like.'

‘The rail is quite adequate,’ she returned stiffly, then spoiled it by stumbling as they stepped off at the top.

Her feet sank into a thick carpet, and somewhere soft music was playing. Everywhere there were clothes, displayed on models, pinned on wire frames, hanging on rails and circular racks. She felt she was dreaming, and then another more demoralising thought struck her. She caught at Jason Lord's sleeve.

‘My money! I—I left it in the rucksack.'

‘Well?’ He looked tall and forbidding as he swung to look at her. ‘What of it?'

Catriona gestured awkwardly around her.

‘I haven't enough with me to pay for anything here.'

‘I never suggested you should. Now come on. We've a lot to get through.’ He sounded impatient. ‘First things first. We don't even know whether you'll find a dress you like here.'

‘But they must have hundreds of dresses,’ Catriona gasped.

‘You're an unusual woman if that makes any difference,’ he said. ‘Ah, there's the person we want.’ He propelled Catriona towards a grey-haired woman in a smart black suit, standing by a rail of coats studying some papers. ‘Hello, Mrs Cuthbert. We need your help.'

‘Mr Lord.’ The woman smiled charmingly, then turned to Catriona. ‘My word!’ she said.

‘And that's putting it mildly.’ Jason Lord took Catriona by the shoulders and pushed her forward. ‘She's going to Mrs Lord's party with me and she hasn't a thing to wear. What can you do for her?'

Mrs Cuthbert studied Catriona, now flushed with humiliation.

‘Well, there are possibilities,’ she said cautiously. ‘What does she need?'

‘The works.’ Jason Lord released Catriona and stepped back. ‘And her hair, Mrs Cuthbert. I don't know who attends to my sister-in-law, but …'

‘It's Miss Barbara,’ said Mrs Cuthbert. ‘I'll phone the salon now and see if she can squeeze another appointment in.'

‘Fine.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Shall we say the restaurant in two hours?'

‘I'll send her to you,’ Mrs Cuthbert promised.

Catriona raged inwardly. They might have been talking about one of the dummy figures standing round the department, she thought furiously. And just who was going to pay for all this? She still had to find somewhere to live until she and Jeremy could be married. She could not afford to spend any of her little hoard of money on a party dress she did not need. But Jason Lord's tall figure was already disappearing, and Mrs Cuthbert was leading her gently but firmly to a fitting room.

Later that evening, Catriona stood in front of the mirror in the small bedroom at the flat and looked at herself in frank disbelief.

The dress was almost the same green as her eyes, and its low bodice cut square across her small breasts was covered with sparkling crystals with narrow matching shoulder-straps. The straight satin skirt reached the floor, hiding her delicately strapped high-heeled sandals.

She was really Cinderella, she thought wonderingly.

Her hair, expertly trimmed, had been set so that it hung smooth and shining to her shoulders, just turning up at the ends. She was lightly made up, with eye-shadow and mascara used just as the girl in the beauty salon had shown her, and her lips glowed a pale rose. A small evening bag, studded with crystals, lay on the dressing table. She picked it up, and putting the long stole that matched the dress over her arm, went down the hall to the room where she had met Jason Lord.

He was standing leaning on the mantelpiece, with a glass in his hand. He looked up as she entered, and she paused nervously waiting for some barbed remark. But the silence stretched on endlessly, and she felt oddly disappointed.

‘Would you like a drink?’ There was a formal note in his voice.

‘No—thank you.'

‘Right.’ He finished what was left in his glass and put it down. ‘We'll be off, then.’ He took the stole from her and placed it round her shoulders. She was acutely aware of his touch on her bare skin and moved away restively.

They drove for a long time in silence. Catriona kept stealing looks at her companion, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the road and all she saw was his hard profile. He too had a chin, she noticed, and a nasty habit of expecting his own way to match it. Which reminded her of the worry that had been nagging her all afternoon even through her bewildered enjoyment of choosing the dress, and its underwear and accessories, and the hair-do and beauty treatment that followed.

‘This dress is outrageous,’ she informed him.

‘I wouldn't say so.’ He still did not look at her. ‘A little more revealing than you're probably used to, that's all.'

‘I didn't mean that, and you know it,’ said Catriona hotly. ‘I mean the price.'

‘Don't worry about it,’ he told her lightly. ‘After all, it's in the family, isn't it? And Jeremy's mother has an account there, as you may have gathered. We could charge it to her, if you'd rather.'

‘We'll do no such thing——’ Catriona began, then saw his lips twitch. ‘You're laughing at me again,’ she said uncertainly.

‘A little,’ he said. ‘Why not forget about the cost of it all, and start thinking about what you're going to say to Jeremy. Surely that's more important than anything else. Concentrate on the dialogue, darling, and forget the props. They're just incidental.'

‘I wish you wouldn't call me darling!'

‘I know you do.’ He sent her a swift glance, one mocking brow raised. ‘And so—darling—I do it all the more.'

‘Just to annoy me?'

‘You do rise to the bait so beautifully—and so regularly,’ he said.

Catriona lifted her chin and stared through the windscreen into the darkness. Jeremy's parents, she had learned, lived just outside Staines near the river. She supposed that one day she would be familiar with this route, and with the house they were bound for. Now she felt totally at sea, and it frightened her to realise that she was wholly dependent on this stranger beside her. After all, she only had his word for it that there was a party at all. He could be taking her anywhere.

The car slowed steadily, then turned through a pair of white gates and up a shallow drive.

Catriona saw the lights of a large house and heard the steady beat of music close at hand. There were a lot of other cars parked in the drive and on the gravelled sweep in front of the house, and she sat quietly as Jason manoeuvred his vehicle into one of the remaining spaces.

When he opened the door for her, she sat still for a moment, marshalling her courage.

‘Cold feet?’ he inquired.

‘I'm perfectly warm, thanks,’ she returned, deliberately misunderstanding him. His hand closed round hers as he helped her out of the car, and for a moment she almost returned the pressure of his fingers. But just in time she remembered who he was, and the treatment she had been forced to put up with from him, and snatched her hand away.

‘Come along then, Miss Muir,’ he said, and she was startled to hear the harsh note back in his voice. ‘This is what you wanted. Make the most of it.'

Inside the house, Catriona was startled to find a uniformed maid waiting to take their coats.

‘Don't worry,’ Jason murmured. ‘She's not permanent staff. Just hired for the big occasion.'

He guided her expertly through groups of chatting people in the hall into a large room with a bar at one end. Catriona noticed that French windows stood open at one side, leading apparently to a big conservatory.

‘There's Clive—never far from the drinks,’ he remarked. ‘Brace yourself, darling, you're about to meet my respected brother, and Jeremy's papa.'

Clive Lord was shorter than his brother with slightly receding hair and a developing paunch. He looked much older than Jason too, but in his smile Catriona thought she could detect a reminder of Jeremy, and she warmed to him.

‘I don't think I've seen you here with Jason before, have I, Miss—er—Muir?’ he asked, handing her a glass filled with a glowing red liquid.

‘Please call me Catriona,’ she said, smiling up at him, and ignoring Jason's sardonic smile.

‘I don't suppose you know how honoured you are, Clive,’ he murmured. ‘When's the big moment, by the way?'

‘Oh—shortly.’ Clive looked round in a harassed manner. ‘I don't see the need for all this fuss. We had the same nonsense in Yorkshire last week. But you know Marion—not to be outdone, of course.'

‘Of course,’ Jason agreed smoothly. ‘Come on, my sweet, we don't want to miss anything.'

Catriona felt her temper rising. ‘What's going on?’ she asked heatedly. ‘Where's Jeremy? I must see him alone for a few moments.'

‘We're going to see him now. I should put that revolting concoction Clive gave you down if I were you. There'll be champagne in the next room.'

‘I don't want any champagne,’ Catriona insisted almost wildly.

‘Oh, but you must. It's traditional, and the fun's just beginning.’ He drew her across the hall into a room packed with people. It was quite true—there was champagne, and Catriona took the glass she was offered almost mechanically.

‘That's the ticket.’ Clive appeared beside them beaming. ‘Now I must do my stuff, I suppose.’ He went off through the crowd, and just as Catriona was turning to Jason, a demand to be taken to Jeremy at once framing on her lips, a sudden hush fell.

Startled, she looked round, and then—at last—she saw Jeremy. He was standing at the end of the room with two women. One of them, Catriona was immediately convinced, was his mother. She was tall and fair-haired, wearing an expensive dress, and stood toying nervously with her rings. Although she was smiling, Catriona had the feeling that in repose Mrs Lord's face would have a rather peevish expression, and she felt slightly chilled. At the same time she was registering incredulously that the other woman—hardly more than a girl, in fact—was clinging possessively to Jeremy's arm. He was in evening dress, and he had shaved off his beard and cut his hair. He looked quite different, Catriona thought with dismay, then he turned to the pretty, rather plump blonde at his side, smiling at something she had said, and his smile made him the familiar reassuring Jeremy again.

Clive's voice rang out over the room.

‘And now, everyone—friends—if you'll raise your glasses, we'll drink a toast to Jeremy and Helen. Long life and every happiness!'

Catriona stood numbly, her fingers clenched round the slender stem of the glass as Jeremy bent and kissed the girl, who smiled and held up her left hand so that everyone could see the glittering diamond ring adorning it.

Catriona gave a little choking cry. The room dipped and blurred and she heard her glass smash to the parquet floor as she turned and fled. A startled maid stepped forward, as she gained the hall.

‘Excuse me, madam——’ she began as Catriona began blindly to wrestle with the ornate ring that served as a front door handle. Her hands were slippery with perspiration, and she felt hysteria rising within her. Then Jason's hands were gripping her shoulders, and his voice was saying calmly, ‘Come into the conservatory, darling. It's cooler there, and you won't catch a chill as you might outside.'

His grip was inexorable. It was like trying to tear free from a vice, and Catriona did not have the strength to struggle any more. She allowed him to lead her across the room they had first entered to the French windows. He lifted one of the long beige velvet curtains, and she passed through like an automaton.

Ordinarily Catriona would have delighted in the warm exotic scents and sights around her. Hanging lamps had been festooned across the glass roof, and the lights were reflected back from the banks of glossy leaves and petals and from a tiny sunken pool. Small brightly coloured fish darted among the pebbles and the lilies, and Catriona stood watching them, her mind registering with complete detachment every swift movement and ripple of the water. In spite of the more than mild atmosphere, she felt icy cold.

‘Here.’ Jason appeared, holding a glass which he thrust into her hand. ‘Drink this, and don't drop it this time. Caterers’ glasses are an expensive item, as you being a thrifty Scot should know.'

Obediently she swallowed some of the amber liquid, then choked as the powerful spirit caught her throat. It was a violent revival, but it was what she needed, and it gave her the courage to face him.

‘You knew,’ she accused, her voice almost breaking. ‘You knew!'

‘Of course I did.’ He set one foot on the low parapet of the pool, and took a brief sip from his own glass.

‘And you didn't tell me?'

‘No.'

‘How could you be so cruel?’ she whispered, her eyes and throat smarting with the tears she wouldn't allow to fall.

‘I had to be cruel—to be kind,’ he said. His dark face was angry as he stared at her. ‘I did my level best to scare you off, to get rid of you, even. I told you to go back to Scotland, but no. Nothing gainsays Miss Catriona Muir once her mind is made up, does it?'

‘Why didn't you tell me the truth?’ she asked, trying to control her trembling voice.

He looked at her steadily. ‘Because nothing on God's earth would have convinced you that it was the truth. You had Jeremy cast as the hero, and me, most definitely, as the villain of the piece. Any warning I had given you about Helen's existence you would have dismissed as having an ulterior motive, though God knows what makes you think I harbour any towards you,’ he added.

She stood silent for a moment, torn between the justice of what he had said and the misery that was threatening to engulf her.

‘Here,’ he said quietly, as if he sensed her struggle, and passed her the white handkerchief from his breast pocket. This unexpected consideration was the final straw. She sank down on to a wicker lounger and let her tears have full rein at last.

To her relief, he made no attempt to touch her, apart from taking the remains of the brandy from her. Except for the sudden flare of his lighter as he lit a cigarette, she was hardly aware of his presence.

Eventually, as her self-control returned and the tearing sobs began to subside, she sat up slowly, dreading that he would be watching her, mocking her woebegone appearance, but he was merely sitting by the side of the pool, staring down at the immaculate toe of one of his black shoes.

She forced herself to sound calm. ‘Who is she, please?'

He glanced up. ‘Helen? Oh, the original poor little rich girl. Her father's in wool—the family live near Bradford. She met Jeremy in Kitzbuhl a couple of years ago.'

‘If he's known her all that time, how could he have been the way he was with me?’ she said slowly.

He shrugged. ‘As you may have gathered, I've never had much time for Jeremy. He was damnably spoiled when he was a child. I don't think Clive ever realised how much until it was too late. Marion's a bit of a fool, and I've never thought her feelings go particularly deep, so maybe Jeremy takes after her.'

‘Just like that,’ she said unsteadily.

‘What do you want me to say?’ he countered, harshly. ‘It's all been a terrible mistake, and it's you he really loves? And all you have to do is go back in that room looking like the Queen of Elfland and he'll be yours for ever more?'

‘He did love me,’ Catriona whispered, her lips trembling. ‘He did. I know it.'

‘I daresay he did in his way for a while—if that's any consolation. But I can promise you this, even if he did love you as you believed, he still wouldn't give up Helen's money for you. And Marion wouldn't let him either.'

‘You devil,’ she said very distinctly.

He gave a slight laugh. ‘Poor Cinderella! All the way to the ball to find Prince Charming's turned into a pumpkin, and you have to go home with Bluebeard.'

Catriona stared down at the handkerchief she was still holding. It had his initials in the corner, she noticed, and she recalled that Jeremy's had been the same. Her eyes began to prick again.

‘Oh no,’ Jason Lord said decisively, and stood up. ‘I've had enough of that, Miss Muir. You've probably raised the humidity in here already and killed off Marion's prize specimens. Now we're going to do some straight talking.'

‘What is there to say?’ she said hopelessly. ‘I just can't understand why you brought me here—like this.’ She touched the shimmering length of her skirt with distaste.

‘Then you're even less perceptive than I gave you credit for,’ he said coldly. ‘That charming piece of nonsense you're wearing is a disguise. Do you think anyone here tonight gave you a second glance except as an extremely attractive young woman? If I'd just given you the address and allowed you simply to turn up in those damned jeans and that rucksack, it would have made a nine days’ wonder for all of them in there. Is that what you wanted? Everyone staring at you, and laughing—because they would have laughed, make no mistake about that, my child. Okay, so you've been humiliated, but no one knows that except the two of us. Oh—and Jeremy, I think,’ he added sarcastically as she turned startled eyes towards him. ‘I think he caught your misguided exit just now. He looked as if he'd just been poleaxed anyway. But to everyone else, you're just Jason's new girl, whether you like it or not.'

‘I must leave,’ she said.

‘Presently. We still have things to discuss.'

‘I have nothing to discuss with you, Mr Lord,’ she said quietly.

He threw down his cigarette, stubbing it out with his shoe.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘You're hurt and you're angry because I've brought you down from Cloud Seven with a jolt. But you'd have been forced down eventually, Catriona, don't you see that? You came to London of your own free will, and you saw Jeremy as you insisted on doing. Now it's time to pick up the pieces. You weren't just crying for Jeremy just now, you know. You were crying for first love and all it means. Well first love isn't everything.'

‘Oh, I believe you,’ she said with bitter sarcasm. ‘I'm sure you're an expert. It must run in the family.'

‘You little bitch,’ he said slowly. ‘But even if you were right, at least I conduct my affairs with women who know what the score is. I don't take sweets from babies. Only a child could have been taken in by someone as callow as Jeremy.'

‘I suppose I deserved that,’ she said wearily. She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lord. It's been salutory, if nothing else.'

He ignored the gesture. ‘How do you intend to leave here, and where do you propose to go?'

Catriona was taken aback. ‘There are taxis, I suppose. And hotels.'

‘There are,’ he agreed. ‘But only if you have money. And some of the more respectable hotels also like you to have luggage.'

Catriona was silent. It was like playing chess with an expert, she thought. Every move she tried to make was anticipated and blocked.

‘So let's look at the alternative,’ he went on calmly. ‘Go upstairs and repair your make-up and have the inevitable confrontation with Jeremy. Oh yes,’ he took her chin in his hand as she flinched involuntarily, ‘you can tell him what tale you like, as long as it's not the unvarnished truth. Don't let him have that satisfaction. And then I'll take you home, pride intact.'

It did not occur to Catriona until she was sitting in one of the elaborately furnished bedrooms, renewing her lipstick, that Jason Lord had not specified precisely where ‘home’ was.

As he had predicted, it was inevitable when she emerged from the bedroom that Jeremy was waiting outside.

‘Trina!’ His face was white, and he moistened his lips nervously. ‘I couldn't believe it. What on earth are you doing here? Who brought you?'

Afterwards Catriona was amazed at the way the lie sprang so readily to her lips.

‘Oh, I know it was mean,’ she said, smiling radiantly at him. ‘But Jason and I just thought what a joke it would be if I—turned up, like a skeleton from the past. And your face was marvellous when you saw me. I wouldn't have missed it.'

Relief was struggling with incredulity on his face. ‘You're Jason's girl?’ he queried sharply.

‘Quite correct.’ Jason himself joined them, looking faintly amused. ‘I don't think you realise just what you've let slip through your fingers this time, dear nephew.'

Jeremy laughed uneasily. ‘Oh, Trina's an angel. I—I don't blame you at all. It was just such a—surprise.'

‘Well, the world's full of surprises,’ Catriona said gaily. ‘Poor lamb, I should have let you know I was here, but Jason has hardly given me time to breathe since I got to London.'

Jason came to stand beside her, dropping his arm lightly across her shoulders. She felt the usual urge to draw away, but was forced to stand still in his embrace, trapped by her own pretence. She noticed he was carrying her stole over his arm.

‘Are you leaving already?’ Jeremy asked, his voice sharp with curiosity.

‘Why, yes.’ Before Catriona could move, or protest, Jason bent and kissed her slowly and deliberately on the mouth. ‘It's time, I think, that all good little girls were in bed,’ he went on, smiling down into her outraged eyes.

Jeremy flushed, and he looked at Catriona with unmistakable speculation.

‘So that's how it is. Fine. Be happy,’ he said, with a fair attempt at nonchalance.

‘Besides,’ there was no disguising the amusement in Jason's voice, ‘Sally would never forgive me if I kept Catriona out too late.'

Jeremy looked at him quickly. ‘Sally Fenton? Is Trina staying with her? I—see.'

‘I doubt it,’ Jason said lightly, and took Catriona's hand. ‘Come on, love, time to go. Tell your mother I'll phone her,’ he added to the nonplussed Jeremy as he led Catriona away.

In the car she turned on him furiously. ‘How dared you?'

‘How dared I do what?’ He was infuriatingly unruffled as the car moved down the drive and nosed out on to the road.

‘Paw me in that insulting way!’ she raged, and was further incensed by his laughter.

‘You flatter yourself, Miss Muir.’ He flashed her a swift glance. ‘Surely that can't have been the most strenuous embrace you've experienced. I must have a word with Jeremy.'

‘Oh, shut up,’ she said bitterly. ‘At least with Jeremy I never felt—besmirched.'

Something came and went in his face, but his voice was still amused. ‘I'm sure you would have done—in time.'

She sought for a retort that would silence him once and for all, but none was forthcoming, so she retired behind a hostile tight-lipped barrier of silence.

Jason Lord seemed totally unconcerned. He hummed snatches of tunes, commented on the road conditions and eventually with a courteous, ‘I hope you don't mind,’ switched on the radio. It was a foreign station. Catriona could not recognise the announcer's accent, but the music they were playing had an oddly soothing quality. The street lights and the white lines on the road became fused in a soft blurring of consciousness. Her head slipped sideways on to her companion's shoulder, and her breathing became soft and even.

She was floating on a cloud, weightless and carefree. Jeremy was beside her, his kisses light as Highland mist on her face. How warm she was, how safe. Then a shadow came between them, and someone was shaking the cloud, which was breaking up and dissolving. It was Jason Lord, his face satyr-like. ‘Come down off Cloud Seven, Miss Muir,’ he was saying. ‘Come down. Come down.’ And his hands were hard on her shoulders, shaking her so that she tried to cry out, only the cloud was muffling her.

Gasping for breath, she struggled out from under the Continental quilt to find Jason Lord standing over her with a cup and saucer.

‘You are a violent little thing in the mornings,’ he commented sarcastically. ‘Do you want this coffee in bed or over it?'

Catriona stared at him for one panic-stricken moment, then huddled the quilt over her bare shoulders.

‘It's all right,’ he said with studied patience. ‘It's only your dress that's missing. I assumed you wouldn't want to ruin it by sleeping in it, so I put it on a hanger in the wardrobe.'

‘You did—what?'

‘Oh, grow up,’ he snapped. ‘You surely don't think there's anything indecent in that boned effort and long waist slip you're wearing. There were women at the party last night showing twice as much.'

Catriona was crimson from head to foot. ‘Do you mind telling me what I'm doing here?’ she inquired icily.

‘With pleasure.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed, to her immediate alarm. ‘You're here as a very temporary lodger, and as soon as I can get Sally Fenton on the telephone and talk her into taking you on, you're leaving.'

Catriona quivered. ‘I don't know that I care to be passed on like an unwanted package,’ she began.

‘And I don't know that you have any choice,’ he interrupted. ‘I happen to know Sally is looking for another girl to share with, and it could be a way out of the woods for us both. I'm not happy at the idea of you drifting out into the city jungle with no one to keep an eye on you.'

‘I'm not a child,’ Catriona said defiantly.

‘Oh, no. Your actions have been characterised by your maturity since you got off the train,’ he retorted.

‘But I don't know this Sally,’ she protested.

‘You know her as well as most girls who share flats these days. Often they just answer each other's ads. In your case, it's me doing the arranging instead of a newspaper. And I'm sure you'll like Sally.'

‘Well, that makes everything all right, doesn't it?’ she said, trying to emulate his sarcasm.

‘Only you can do that,’ he told her. ‘You say you have nowhere to return to in Scotland. You may as well live up to the story you told nephew Jeremy and try enjoying yourself in London for a change. Sally'll help you find a job of some kind. She's an actress, so she's used to finding herself temporary work between engagements.'

‘I see.’ Catriona stared unseeingly at the pattern on the quilt. ‘All right, I'll give it a try. And—thank you,’ she added with difficulty.

‘Well, let's not strain common civility any further,’ he said, but he was smiling. ‘Come on, drink this while it's still hot.'

Catriona accepted the cup meekly and began to sip. She allowed Jason Lord to reach the door before halting him with a wide-eyed, ‘Oh, Mr Lord. Forgive me for asking, but is Sally—one of your women?'

She expected an angry outburst, but instead he leaned against the door, smiling lazily.

‘No, as a matter of fact, though I'm flattered by your interest,’ he said. ‘Can it be because you imagine you've joined those select ranks yourself?'

In spite of the sheltering quilt and her quite adequate covering beneath it, Catriona felt naked under his insolent gaze.

‘If so, let me disabuse your little head of any such notion.’ His voice lengthened to a drawl. ‘As I told you last night, I don't take sweets from babies, especially when they're asleep. Among other things I require of “my women”, as you so elegantly put it, is that they at least remain awake and give me their undivided attention. You fail on both counts.'

And the door closed behind him, as the pillow, hurled with all the force Catriona could muster, thudded against it.

Almost in spite of herself, Catriona found that she liked Sally Fenton on sight. Sally was small and red-headed with delicate mobile features and an impish smile. Her eyes were dancing as she flung open the front door of the flat.

‘Jason, angel!’ She flung herself rapturously at him. ‘You've saved my life. Ever since that idiot Jill went back to Birmingham, I've been desperate.'

‘Careful, Sal.’ Jason disengaged himself and sent a glinting look at Catriona. ‘You'll be giving Miss Muir the wrong idea.'

‘Miss Muir? Oh, surely not. It's Catriona, isn't it, just like in Robert Louis Stevenson,’ Sally said gaily, taking her hands. ‘Please come in and say you like it and that you'll stay for at least a little while. I need the extra rent—not to mention the company.'

‘Don't tell her that,’ Jason admonished, sitting on the edge of the table and lighting a cigarette. ‘She's a Scot and intensely money-conscious.'

‘That's not true,’ Catriona began indignantly, then subsided as Sally exclaimed, ‘Oh, just ignore him. He says the most appalling things about everyone. But we have to forgive him because he's so important—aren't you, darling?’ And she wrinkled her nose at him.

‘Not important to you, at any rate, Sally,’ he said drily. ‘I'll fetch Miss Muir's things from the car.'

‘And we'll make up the other bed,’ Sally said. ‘The bedroom's only tiny, I'm afraid. I hope you haven't got too many clothes.'

Catriona swallowed. ‘I've hardly got any,’ she admitted.

‘Oh.’ Sally swung round and regarded her for a moment. ‘Well, that's super. We can go shopping. Don't look so frightened—you don't have to spend the earth to create a good effect. And it will be no good applying to the agency I go to in jeans,’ she added practically. ‘A trouser suit, perhaps, but those have rather seen better days, haven't they?'

It was impossible to take offence, Catriona thought amusedly, as she helped Sally unload sheets and covers from an old-fashioned blanket box that doubled as a window seat in the little bedroom. In spite of its size, it was gay with cheerful wallpaper and sparkling white paint and there were pretty turquoise curtains at the window.

‘Here's Jason with your stuff,’ said Sally, tucking in a corner of the bedspread. ‘Give him a hand while I empty a couple of drawers for you.'

Catriona went back reluctantly into the living room in time to see Jason depositing her guitar case on the floor beside the table. Her rucksack was there already, and so were a pile of silver dress boxes marked with the name of the store they had visited the day before.

‘I think there's some mistake,’ Catriona said quickly.

‘What have I forgotten?’ He straightened, eyeing her.

Catriona pointed at the boxes. ‘They don't belong to me.'

‘Don't be a fool,’ he said curtly. ‘Of course they're yours. What earthly use could they be to me? And don't say I could give them to one of “my women” or I swear I'll turn you across my knee and give you the hiding you've been asking for since I met you.'

‘I wasn't going to say that,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can't accept these clothes. You must see that. I—I can't afford to pay for them just now either, as you know. I only took them to begin with because I thought that …’ her voice trailed away miserably.

‘You thought Jeremy would pay for them as your husband,’ he finished for her. ‘But as I told you, it's in the family. Of course——’ his voice took on that drawling note she had come to dread—‘if you insist on repaying me in some other way, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.'

‘Please don't,’ she said with difficulty. ‘I want to thank you for everything, and you don't make it easy.'

‘I don't make it easy for myself either,’ he answered abruptly. He came over and stood looking down at her. ‘Thank me, then,’ he said, smiling faintly.

She lowered her eyes hurriedly to the faded pattern on the carpet. ‘I'm much obliged to you,’ she said eventually.

Jason gave a swift, impatient sigh. ‘Don't be,’ he said brusquely. ‘I'm sure Cinderella would never have said that to Bluebeard. Goodbye, Catriona. Keep in touch.’ And he was gone.

‘Now you see him, now you don't,’ said Sally cheerfully from the doorway. ‘Old Moira will certainly have to go some, if she intends pinning him down for life.'

‘Moira?'

‘Of course you don't know. Stupid of me,’ Sally sat down on a battered-looking armchair and sighed. ‘Moira Dane, I mean. She's playing the lead in the TV play I'm in, and at the moment she's hell-bent on letting us all know it. And now she's got her beady eye on Jason. She's been sticking to him like glue ever since casting.'

‘Does he produce plays as well as his other work?’ Catriona asked.

‘No-o.’ Sally looked at her oddly. ‘Didn't he explain? Well, perhaps not. Anyway, he's in and out of our rehearsals quite a bit for one reason and another, and I'm afraid one of the reasons could be Moira.'

‘I suppose she's very attractive,’ Catriona said.

‘Absolutely gorgeous. She's a redhead like me, but that's about all we have in common. We're supposed to be sisters in the play, so our colouring had to be similar, I suppose,’ Sally said. ‘It's a marvellous chance for me as long as I don't let Moira goad me into walking out or anything daft.'

‘Is she that bad?’ Catriona was sympathetic.

‘She gets us all down at times—except Jason. He doesn't let anyone, especially a woman, get to him to that extent,’ Sally said. ‘But she can be really nasty. I suppose she's the sort who would stand on your foot if she thought you had a corn.’ She got up briskly. ‘Now, I have a rehearsal in about an hour. I'd better show you our splendid kitchen.’ She whisked back a gingham curtain in one corner to reveal a miniature sink and cooker crammed into an alcove. ‘Food in left-hand cupboard, under fridge. Soap, cleaning stuff and everything else in the other one. Any questions?'

‘Is there any room for them?’ Catriona laughed.

‘Not really,’ Sally twinkled back at her. ‘I am glad you're here. Are you going to have a few days’ sightseeing and general enjoyment before you look for a job? I should.'

Catriona looked at her doubtfully. ‘If that's all right.'

‘Of course it is. I'll try and get you a pass to see round the TV centre too. Perhaps you could watch the dress rehearsal for the play. I'm sure Hugo wouldn't mind—he's the producer. I'll mention it to him.'

‘I don't want to be any trouble——’ Catriona began diffidently, and Sally grinned at her.

‘That's not what Jason said about you on the phone this morning. He said you were a permanent thorn in his flesh—a little Scottish thistle.'

‘And he,’ said Catriona clearly, ‘is quite the most arrogant, detestable—creature I've ever met.'

‘That's because you haven't met Moira,’ said Sally.

CHAPTER THREE

THE rest of the week passed in a buzz of sightseeing for Catriona. To Sally's amusement she bought a guide book and settled down to visit all the places that had hitherto been only names to her.

‘The Tower?’ Sally gasped. ‘I've never been there, and I've lived within twenty miles of London all my life.'

‘Then you should be ashamed,’ Catriona told her with mock severity. ‘It's a fascinating place—all those stones steeped in history. Just think of all the suffering that's gone on there down the centuries, the tears and blood that have been spilled there.'

‘There's enough blood and tears at the TV centre to last me for a while,’ said Sally with a groan. ‘Keep up the good work, darling, and I'll try and make it to the Zoo with you at least. I can't resist the bears.'

Under Sally's guidance, Catriona had made one or two modest additions to her wardrobe and a dark green trouser suit with a sleeveless tunic top had proved a favourite buy. Sally had shown her too how to blow-dry her hair into the style she had worn at the party and encouraged her to experiment with cosmetics in the day-time as well.

She had put the boxes with the evening gown and other articles on top of the wardrobe, and to her relief Sally had never questioned her about them.

Nor did she hear from Jason Lord, although he had told her, ‘Keep in touch.’ It was one of those meaningless phrases, like his perpetual ‘darling', she told herself. For the first few days, she had tensed each time the phone rang, but it had always been for Sally, and Catriona found herself in the odd position of not knowing whether she felt glad or sorry. She could tell herself vehemently that if she never saw Jason Lord again, it would be too soon, and yet at the same time it was not pleasant, she found, to be completely ignored.

She was homesick too in many ways. The air of London felt thick after the sparkling clarity of Torvaig with its sea and heather-laden breezes. The anonymity of the place distressed her too, coming from a closely knit community where a kindly interest was expressed in one's most mundane doings. Catriona soon gave up searching the faces of the people she passed in the street for some trace of friendly recognition.

Above all, she missed the sunsets and the blazing jewel colours that used to herald twilight over the western sea. Aunt Jessie had told her when she was a child that it was possible to pick up amethysts and sapphires in the hill burns, and Catriona had been convinced for a long time that these jewels were really pieces that had broken off the sunsets and been washed ashore by the whispering tide.

Jeremy and she had spent one rainy day wading in one of the burns looking for precious stones, she recalled with a pang. But they had found nothing, which made the little ring he had bought her in Fort William doubly precious. She still wore it on the chain round her neck because she could not think what else to do with it. To wear it openly was out of the question, but she could not bear to throw it away either.

Sometimes at night, when the noise of the traffic came between her and sleep, a sudden wave of misery would sweep over her, and she would cry into her pillow, fearful of waking Sally. In a way she welcomed the tears. She felt this continual longing for Jeremy proved that Jason Lord was wrong with his cynical remarks about the transitory nature of first love, although why she felt it necessary to justify her emotions in this way was something she did not probe too deeply.

Sometimes, as she wandered alone among crowded art galleries and museums, she let herself daydream that Jeremy was with her. Once in fact she had stepped through a doorway in the National Gallery and seen him standing there, his back to her, studying a catalogue. It was only when she ran to him and touched his arm and a stranger's face turned and stared down at her that she realised her mistake and stepped back blushing hotly.

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