Comparative Strangers
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

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD RAINED during the week, and the river was in spate, crashing between its banks and hurling itself at the stone bridge as if it sought to sweep it away.

A torn-off branch from some tree came whirling downstream, carried helplessly along by the angry brown waters. From her vantage point on the bridge, Amanda watched as it submerged, drawn down by some unseen vortex, and her hands tightened on the stones of the parapet until the knuckles turned white.

A few seconds, said the small cold voice in her head, and then—oblivion. No more hurting. No more betrayal, cutting at you like a knife, slashing away at all that was warm and joyous and trusting in your life. Nothing.

The rush of the water, the roar of the wind in the trees, seemed to fill her head like a scream of outrage at the life which had turned against her.

She lifted her foot, searching for a hole, feeling the rough surface of the bridge ripping at her fragile tights, scraping her legs. Panting, she dragged herself up on to the parapet and crouched for a moment, closing her eyes against the swift giddiness which assailed her.

She thought, ridiculously, I hate heights.

Slowly, gingerly, she uncurled herself, and stood up. One step was all that she needed to take, she told herself, swaying slightly. Or perhaps the force of the wind would do it for her.

She felt herself lifted, snatched, and she screamed aloud as she realised she was falling, not forward towards the water, but back on to the bridge again.

From a thousand miles away, a man’s voice, drawling and vaguely familiar, said, ‘It isn’t as simple as that, believe me.’

She said a name in anguished disbelief, but it was lost in the inner tumult consuming her, overwhelming her, and consigning her at last to the dark forgetfulness she had sought.

She opened her eyes dazedly to movement and the noise of a car engine, found that she felt deathly sick, and closed her lids hastily.

Later, she became dimly aware of voices in the distance, and of the softness of cushions beneath her. The same familiar voice said, ‘Drink this,’ and she drank obediently, too weary to protest. Whatever liquid it was, it seemed to run down her throat like fire, but it dissolved away the last of her resistance, and she slept.

She woke to lamplight and firelight, and lay for a few puzzled moments, coming to terms with the fact that she was at home, lying on the sofa in her mother’s drawing-room.

She thought, drowsily, But I went to Calthorpe to be with Nigel. How did I get back here?

Memory hit her like a blow, and she sat up with a little stifled cry, her shocked eyes meeting the cool, level gaze of the man who sat on the opposite side of the fireplace.

She said, ‘You—Oh God, you …’ Then her voice broke, and she began to cry, her body shaking under the impact of deep, gulping sobs.

‘Why did you stop me?’ she wailed between paroxysms. ‘Why the hell did you stop me?’

He got up silently, handed her an immaculate white handkerchief from his breast pocket, and vanished.

Amanda buried her head in the cushions and wept until she had no more tears left. When she eventually lifted her head, he had come back into the room and was putting down a tray, laden with tea things, on to a table in front of her.

He said, conversationally, ‘They say tea is the best thing for shock. I wonder if it’s true?’

She said huskily, ‘I don’t want any bloody tea! What are you doing here, Malory?’

‘I followed you from Calthorpe,’ he said. ‘I had a feeling you were contemplating something foolish, and I thought I should stop you. That’s all.’

‘All?’ she echoed bitterly. ‘Didn’t it occur to you to mind your own business?’

‘You’re engaged to my younger brother,’ he said. ‘I felt that gave me—a kind of responsibility.’

‘Your half-brother.’

‘If you want to split hairs.’

‘And I’m no longer engaged to him.’

‘So I infer.’

It was that coolly precise way of speaking which had so often needled her about Malory. She supposed it came from a lifetime of analysing things in those damned laboratories of his. But she wasn’t a substance under his bloody microscope—and how dared he be so calm and matter of fact when he knew quite well her heart was breaking?

He poured out some tea and handed it to her. She would have liked to have thrown it over him, to see if that would ruffle that distant poise of his, but instead she sipped the hot brew, watching him sulkily over the rim of her cup. This was only the second time he’d been to the cottage, she realised, and he’d lost no time in finding his way around the kitchen.

She said, frowning, ‘How did we get in here, anyway?’ Her keys, she remembered painfully, were in the car, parked at the bridge.

‘Luckily, your cleaning woman was still here,’ he said. ‘I told her you weren’t feeling well, and I’d brought you home. I also said I’d stay with you until your mother returned.’

‘Then you’ll have a long wait,’ she said childishly. ‘Mother’s in London staying with a friend. That’s why …’ She stopped abruptly.

That was why I went to Calthorpe—to be with Nigel. Because it seemed prudish—ridiculous in this day and age—to hold back any longer, with the wedding so close now. Because I didn’t want any more rows—any more accusations about being impossibly old-fashioned, or not loving him enough to trust him.

But that wasn’t something she could confide in Malory, or anyone else, for that matter.

She thought of her mother, happily shopping for something to wear for her important role as mother of the bride, and felt another wellspring of grief rising inside her. Damming it back, she drank some more tea.

Malory said gravely, ‘You probably wouldn’t have drowned, you know. Just injured yourself quite badly.’

‘I can’t swim,’ she returned defiantly.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘But, when it came down to it, you’d have fought. You’re a survivor, Amanda. In fact, you were having second thoughts about jumping, even before I got to you.’

‘That’s not true,’ she said shakily, replacing her cup on the table. ‘I wanted to die. I still want to.’

‘Simply because you found Nigel cavorting in bed with another lady?’ He shook his head. ‘I think you’re made of stronger stuff than that, my child. I think, when you ran, you were hurt and confused and wanting, in some muddled way, to hit back at Nigel—to punish him—hurt him as he’d hurt you. I followed you, in the first instance, because I was worried about you driving in the state you were in. I thought you might crash the car.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

‘I didn’t intend you to,’ he said equably. ‘Would you like some more tea?’

She said an ungracious, ‘No,’ then added reluctantly, ‘Thank you,’ because she supposed he meant to be kind, although kindness wasn’t a quality she’d particularly associated with him before.

But then, she didn’t really know very much about him at all, except that he was Nigel’s older brother, and the head of Templeton Laboratories. When she had first met him, she’d been conscious of a vague disappointment, because she supposed she’d been expecting an older edition of Nigel, with the same outgoing charm and rakish good looks.

But Malory Templeton had been totally different, shorter than Nigel—barely six feet, she estimated—and built on a more slender scale, too. Their basic colouring was the same, they were both brown-haired and blue-eyed, but Malory’s skin was almost pale when contrasted with Nigel’s robust tan.

He had been quietly polite, his handshake firm as he greeted her, but Amanda had found his manner chilling, and was absurdly glad that he and Nigel inhabited such very different worlds. He was almost like Nigel’s shadow, she’d thought.

Now, at the worst moment of her life, their worlds seemed to have collided, and she felt uneasy about it.

She said abruptly, ‘What were you doing at Calthorpe, anyway? You don’t usually go to watch Nigel. You’re not interested in rally-driving. He told me so.’

‘I’m not,’ he said briefly, and there was a silence. At last he said, ‘I suppose I went there for a confrontation.’ His mouth twisted slightly. ‘You see, you’re not the only injured party in all this.’ His gaze met hers squarely. ‘The lady with Nigel was someone I’d come to think of as mine.’

Amanda’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

He added pleasantly, ‘Or did you think the sole object of my affections was a test-tube?’

The blunt answer to that was ‘probably’, but she didn’t give it. Yet, if she was honest, it was difficult to imagine anyone as colourless as Malory Templeton being involved in a passionate, full-blooded affair.

She said stiltedly, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I,’ he said. ‘But at least I had the advantage of suspecting what was going on. I didn’t just—walk in on it.’ He paused. ‘If I’d arrived there sooner, I might have been able to stop you.’

‘But you wouldn’t have been able to stop it happening,’ she said in a low voice, staring at the flames flickering round the logs in the hearth.

‘No,’ he agreed, and there was another silence.

At last, curiosity impelled her to say, ‘And what about you, Malory? Are you a survivor, too?’

He said drily, ‘Well, I’m not leaving here to look for another flooded river. My pride may be damaged, but my heart’s still intact. I hadn’t got anywhere near the stage of offering it—or my hand.’ He flicked a glance at Amanda’s fingers. ‘I note you’re no longer wearing your ring.’

‘I threw it at him,’ she confessed. She had bruised her knuckle wrenching the solitaire off. The slight pain had seemed the only reality in an increasingly nightmare situation: Nigel’s sex-flushed face turned unbelievingly towards the door, the glazed eyes focusing, his mouth gaping ridiculously, like a fish’s. All that, she thought, would haunt her for ever. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. That, and the image of the naked girl straddling him so ecstatically.

Malory said, ‘It would be far better not to think about it.’ He looked at her expressionlessly, and her colour deepened. Was he some kind of clairvoyant? she wondered angrily. It was bad enough that he was here, intruding on her life at all—prying into her misery. She didn’t want him trampling over her thoughts as well.

She said with faint defiance, ‘You have a better idea?’

‘I think you should change your skirt and stockings,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘The ones you’re wearing are in rather a mess, and you don’t want to look as if you’ve been through some kind of trauma when Nigel shows up.’

She gasped. ‘You think he’ll come here?’

‘I’d put money on it,’ he said laconically. ‘He’ll be coming to confess his fault and ask for absolution. But not,’ he added, ‘for penance.’

Amanda felt as if she was dreaming. She said, ‘You can’t be suggesting that I should overlook this—simply pretend it never happened and forgive him?’

‘I’m suggesting nothing. Just telling you what Nigel will expect. My stepmother, you see, always forgave him everything, so he’s grown up with the idea that none of his peccadilloes will ever be held against him.’

Amanda said hotly, ‘Sleeping with his brother’s girlfriend is hardly a—a whatever.’

‘I don’t think he’ll agree with you. It isn’t a serious relationship between them, you know. Just a little sexual romp, with some mutual guilt for added spice.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I expected him some time ago, but no doubt he’s still preparing his defence.’

‘Defence?’ Amanda repeated. ‘What possible defence can there be?’

Malory considered for a moment. ‘Well, the best form of defence is supposed to be attack, so in his shoes I’d probably opt for that. I’d claim that you’d driven me to infidelity through sheer sexual frustration.’

Amanda sat very upright, and stared at him. She said, ‘How do you know that—I mean, that Nigel and I don’t—that we haven’t …’ She broke off, flushing furiously.

‘Because you have virginal eyes,’ Malory said almost casually, adding, ‘Quite a rarity these days.’

Amanda had always presumed he was as uninterested in her as she’d been in him. It was, therefore, disturbing to realise that, in fact, he’d been observing her so closely.

She took a breath. ‘That’s a—bloody chauvinist remark.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he said cordially. ‘I’m not immune from the normal male responses, or faults, if you prefer.’ He paused. ‘You really think I’m a dull stick, don’t you, Amanda? Well, compared to Nigel, I suppose I am. And apparently Clare thought so, too.’

The faint bitterness in his voice wasn’t lost on her, penetrating momentarily her own unhappiness and resentment. But she didn’t want to know about this more human side of him. She preferred him civil, but aloof and bloodless, the way she’d always thought of him.

Twenty-four hours ago, she hadn’t known that Malory was involved even marginally with anyone. Now, the picture of this Clare with her beautiful face and lush, full-breasted nakedness seemed indelibly printed on her mind. As, no doubt, it was on Malory’s.

She got to her feet. ‘Well, I’ll go and change.’

He cast a slightly frowning glance at her legs. ‘And put some antiseptic on those scratches while you’re about it.’

She was tempted to salute smartly, but controlled herself. Instead, she was half astonished, half appalled to hear herself saying, with faint challenge, ‘Anyway, they’re not stockings. They’re tights.’

She’d expected to embarrass him, to see him avert his gaze hurriedly. But, deliberately, he allowed his scrutiny to intensify, to linger where her still-damp skirt clung to her thighs.

‘What a disappointment,’ he drawled. The frown had vanished, and the challenge was being returned, she realised, with interest. ‘Like most men, I much prefer stockings.’

She wanted to say, ‘Another chauvinist response,’ but she couldn’t because she was the one who was embarrassed now, knowing that she would stumble over the words. Or, indeed, anything she attempted to say.

The most dignified, in fact, the only course seemed to be a silent retreat upstairs.

In her bedroom, she took a long look at herself in the mirror, and grimaced. She’d dressed so carefully for that surprise reunion with Nigel. Now, the straight cream skirt was stained with damp and streaked with lichen, and she’d scuffed the toes of her new shoes, too.

And her skin was dreadful, she thought with a pang: blotchy with weeping, her eyes red and puffy.

If Nigel was really on his way here, she didn’t want to face him like this. In fact, she never wanted to see him again.

She stripped and put on her robe before crossing the narrow landing to the bathroom. She ran herself a warm bath, adding a capful of Savlon to the water before lowering herself into it.

In spite of the warmth, she found she was shivering. She supposed it was reaction to everything that had happened. She’d set out that day for Calthorpe, as nervous as a kitten, but burning with anticipation at the same time.

‘Love me,’ Nigel had pleaded hoarsely so many times. ‘Trust me.’

And she’d been prepared to do just that, telling herself it was absurd to attach so much importance to the symbolism of a white wedding—a wedding night. She loved Nigel, she wanted to give herself to him, and her mother’s departure for London, coupled with the few days’ leave allotted to her by her grateful, vacation-bound boss, had seemed to provide the ideal opportunity for her to prove to Nigel, once and for all, that she desired him just as much as he seemed to want her.

He had finished third in the rally, one of his best results ever, and she had rung the hotel where he was staying to congratulate him the previous evening, so she knew his room number.

But the planned surprise had rebounded on her, she thought, wincing, as the pain of his betrayal lashed at her again. She had never loved anyone else but Nigel. And now she never would. Never could.

She had first met Nigel just over a year ago, when the company she worked for had been helping sponsor a rally in the Lake District, and had held a lavish reception for the drivers. Amanda had been roped in to help, making sure that everyone mixed socially, and that the drinks circulated too.

She didn’t know what had made her look up at one point, but it had been to find Nigel watching her from the other side of the room. He had raised his glass in a silent and admiring toast, and she had turned away, blushing and biting her lip, wishing savagely that she had several more years’ maturity and a wealth of sophistication to draw on.

When he had made his way to her side, she hadn’t been able to believe it. He was already a name in rally circles—one of its young, rising stars, the papers said, although a few sports writers had commented in caustic terms on his good fortune in having the Templeton money to back up his ambitions.

Amanda had no illusions about herself. She was attractive enough, she supposed, if rather over-slender, with her green eyes, and a mane of reddish-chestnut hair which she kept tied back for work. But she had no wealthy background, nor any kind of star quality to compete with Nigel’s.

But, miraculously, that seemed to be what he wanted. And when, after a few months of wining, dining and dancing together, he’d asked her to marry him, she’d agreed without hesitation, hardly able to credit her good luck. And she’d been living in a fool’s paradise ever since, she reminded herself with angry bitterness.

She was brought out of her unhappy reverie with startling suddenness by an imperative rattling at the bathroom door.

Malory’s voice said sternly, ‘Are you in there, Amanda? What’s taking so long?’

‘I’m having a bath,’ she called back, remembering too late that she’d forgotten to lock the door, and looking round frantically for the nearest towel.

Through the panels of the door, his voice sounded grim. ‘As long as that’s all. I’m counting to ten, Amanda, and if you’re not out of there by then, I’m coming in.’

She realised he was concerned in case she was overdosing, or cutting her wrists with her own miniature razor, and a tiny bubble of hysteria welled up inside her.

But, meanwhile, the countdown seemed to be proceeding, and she hauled herself rapidly out of the cooling water, blotting the excess moisture from her body before tugging on her robe and knotting its sash firmly round her waist.

Malory had reached ‘Two!’ when she flung open the door and confronted him.

She said, ‘I don’t need a minder.’ She sounded altogether more uptight than she’d intended and, as his brows rose, made haste to modify her approach. ‘Malory, this afternoon I went slightly crazy. I don’t quite know what happened, but I do know that it’s not going to happen again.’

‘So will I please go and leave you to your own devices,’ he finished for her.

Amanda flushed. ‘Well—yes.’

He studied her for a moment, his face expressionless. Then he said, ‘Just as you wish,’ and, turning, went downstairs. She was brushing her hair in the bedroom when she heard his car drive away, and drew a breath of profound relief.

She couldn’t deny that he’d been very kind, but it irked her that it should ever have been necessary. She had behaved like the top hysterical idiot of all time, and that was quite bad enough, without having Malory Templeton observing the whole performance as if she was some specimen for dissection.

Of course, he’d had an emotional set-back of his own, although he’d seemed to take it pretty much in his stride. Amanda put down her brush. If she was honest, she decided, she couldn’t altogether blame Clare for chasing Nigel. He had a glamour that Malory totally lacked. Malory might be rich, and be the brains behind Templeton Laboratories, but in other ways he was pretty much of a nonentity. In fact, she found it difficult to recall exactly what he looked like. But what did that matter, she asked herself impatiently, when almost certainly she would never be obliged to see him again?

Nigel arrived an hour later. Amanda hadn’t heard his car, but the two imperative rings at the doorbell were his trademark and, reluctantly, she went to answer his summons.

Face and voice subdued, he said, ‘Hello, darling. Are you going to let me in?’

She stood silently aside to admit him to the hall.

His blue eyes surveyed her wryly, then he said, ‘Well, say it, love. Scream at me, hit me, tell me what a bastard I am. You’re perfectly justified to call me anything you want.’

Amanda was thankful to hear her own voice so steady. ‘What’s the point of calling you names? It won’t change a thing. I don’t know why you’ve come here, Nigel, but …’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he interrupted passionately. ‘I’m here because I love you, Manda. Oh, I know that must be hard for you to credit, after what you saw today, but it’s true all the same. This—Clare—doesn’t mean a thing to me. We had a few drinks last night—and everything snowballed.’

‘What was she doing there in the first place?’ Amanda asked quietly.

‘At Calthorpe?’ He shrugged. ‘Search me, love. Watching the closing stages of the rally, I suppose.’

She said, ‘But she was Malory’s girl, wasn’t she?’

Something flickered in his eyes, then he shrugged again. ‘They may have been seeing each other—who knows? Mal’s private life is a closed book to me, and I doubt whether he opens it very much himself, either. After all, he’s hardly a turn-on for any woman, in bed or out of it.’

The casual cruelty of it made her wince in swift distaste.

‘You shouldn’t say things like that about your own brother.’

‘Half-brother,’ he corrected, and she remembered picking Malory up on the same point—a lifetime ago, it seemed now. ‘But we’re not here to discuss Mal’s sexual proclivities, if he has any.’

‘Then why are we here?’ Amanda asked wearily.

‘To talk out this stupid mess, then put it behind us for ever,’ he said intensely. ‘For God’s sake, Manda, we have too much going for us to allow one idiotic slip on my part to come between us. After all, it’s you I want to marry, not some silly little slag.’

She heard herself say, ‘It’s not as simple as that …’ and heard yet another echo from her conversation with Malory.

‘But it is, or it could be if you’d let it.’ Nigel took a step towards her, his face darkening a little as she backed away. For a moment, a sharp tension enwrapped them both, then he relaxed deliberately, giving vent to a little sigh.

‘So, what do you want me to do?’ he demanded resignedly. ‘Plead with you? Grovel? Go on my knees? I will, if that’s what it takes. But just remember, Mandy, all this would never have happened if you’d been less of the icy little virgin.’

She’d been warned to expect this, but it was still a shock to hear the words on his lips.

She said, ‘Are you saying it’s my fault that you couldn’t stay faithful—even for a few weeks?’

‘It’s nothing to do with faithfulness, as such,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘I just happen to have a very high sex-drive, and this look-but-don’t-touch thing of yours has been driving me up the wall. If I’d had you, darling, all the Clares in the world couldn’t have lured me away. Can’t you understand that?’

‘And if you’d really loved me as I thought, then it couldn’t have happened, either,’ Amanda said tiredly. ‘I don’t think we’re even talking about the same things. I’m sorry, Nigel, but I’ve stopped trusting you, and I can’t marry a man I can’t trust.’

He said, ‘Darling, you can’t mean that. I’ve apologised. What more can I do?’

‘There’s nothing.’ Tears were threatening again, and she lifted her chin. ‘I’d just like you to leave, please.’

Nigel was staring at her, as if he could not believe his ears. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. ‘Now, listen, you little bitch! You’re not throwing me over like this. I’ll …’ He stopped abruptly as the kitchen door swung open with a small creak, and Malory walked into the hall.

He said dispassionately, ‘I think for once in your life you’re going to have to take “no” for an answer, Nigel. Why don’t you go?’

Nigel’s eyes narrowed as he looked from one to the other. ‘Well, this is all very cosy,’ he said tightly. He turned a glittering look on Amanda. ‘No wonder you were so well informed about the lovely Clare, darling. So, old Mal came whingeing to you, did he? I wondered why you’d just happened to turn up at precisely the wrong moment today.’

She was about to protest that he was wrong, that it hadn’t been like that, but realised in time that the truth might lead to explanations about the real reason behind her trip to Calthorpe that she would much rather keep secret, and her courage failed her.

She said, ‘That doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters. Just go—please.’

‘Leaving you to weep on each other’s shoulders? How very touching,’ Nigel said mockingly. ‘Like two ice-cubes meeting in a fridge. My God, you two could be the pairing of the century—the Virgin and the Stuffed Shirt!’ He sent them both a blazing look, then turned on his heel and strode to the front door. The whole cottage seemed to shake as he slammed it.

Amanda thought, I’ll remember this moment until the day I die.

She felt the pain uncurling, beginning to tear at her again, and heard Malory say gently, ‘Are you all right?’

Proudly, she raised her head. ‘Yes,’ she said.

CHAPTER TWO

AMANDA SAID, ‘Why did you come back?’

‘In actual fact, I never went away.’

They sat facing each other across the kitchen table.

Malory went on, ‘I simply drove my car round to the back lane, and walked up through the kitchen garden.’

Amanda said stonily, ‘I asked you to leave. I thought you had left.’

He gave her a weary look. ‘Yes, I know, and you don’t need a minder, and you’re no longer suicidal. But that wasn’t all of it. I’d gathered you intended to give Nigel his marching orders, and I wasn’t sure how he’d take that. I wanted to make certain there was no—rough stuff.’

Colour rose hotly in Amanda’s face. ‘That’s an abominable insinuation to make!’

‘Then I withdraw it unreservedly,’ he said calmly. ‘Nigel would have taken your dismissal on the chin, and left like a lamb without my unwarranted intervention.’ He paused. ‘Wouldn’t he?’

Amanda bit her lip and didn’t reply. At last, she said curtly, ‘Hardly very dignified, skulking in someone’s kitchen. Supposing I’d come in and found you?’

He shrugged. ‘We’d be having this conversation then, rather than now.’

‘You think you have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she said crossly.

He shook his head. ‘On the contrary. But I have had the advantage of knowing Nigel for the past twenty-six years, which gives me an insight into the way he’s likely to respond to any given situation.’ Another pause. ‘Which is why I don’t think you should be alone tonight.’

‘My God!’ Amanda’s brows lifted contemptuously. ‘You really believe in putting the boot in, don’t you? What do you imagine he’ll do? Come back and rape me?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘And if I say I don’t want you here?’ she bit back at him. ‘What then? After all, I hardly know you. For all I know, you might be planning to rape me yourself.’

‘How very true,’ he said. ‘What a fascinating night it promises to be.’ There was an icy distaste in his voice which got to her.

She mumbled, ‘I’m sorry. That was—a stupid thing to say. I’m still not thinking very clearly.’ She made herself meet his gaze. ‘But I can’t honestly put you to any more trouble. I—I’m sure you mean well …’ She stopped again. ‘Oh, God, that sounds even worse. What I’m trying to say is, you must have plans of your own for this evening, and I’ll be all right—really.’ It sounded lame, and she knew it, but she wasn’t even convinced herself. She was tense and on edge, emotionally vulnerable. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was to be alone.

She found herself saying reluctantly, ‘Although there is the spare bedroom …’

‘Then it’s settled.’ His tone was matter of fact, without a trace of smugness. ‘Now, let’s get down to practicalities. Did you leave your keys in the car, or were you planning to jump with them?’

She gaped at him for a moment. ‘Oh—they’re still in the ignition.’

He nodded. ‘Then I’d better walk down to the bridge and bring the car back, before someone takes a fancy to it. Shall I put it away for you in the garage?’

It had to be one of the most bizarre conversations she’d ever taken part in! She wondered crazily what he’d have done with the damned car if she had really jumped, then pulled herself together.

‘Er—yes, please.’ She paused. ‘And I’ll make a meal for us.’ Nigel had always been incredibly fussy about food, requiring even a simple steak to be cooked to the exact minute he specified. Perhaps it was a family trait. ‘Have you any particular likes or dislikes?’

He said politely, ‘I don’t think so. Whatever’s going will be fine.’

Neutral could well be his middle name, Amanda thought crossly when he’d gone.

Her mother invariably left the refrigerator stocked as if for a siege, and Amanda extracted some lamb chops and the ingredients for a salad, before scrubbing two large potatoes, wrapping them in foil, and putting them in the Aga to bake.

She wondered whether Malory would expect to be entertained formally in the dining-room, and decided to pre-empt the issue by laying the kitchen table.

She still wasn’t sure why he was staying, or why she was allowing it, but she had a feeling it was going to be a long, awkward evening. Perhaps a drink might ease the situation, Amanda thought, although he’d probably opt for a small, dry sherry. She decided she’d better go along to the drawing-room, and see what there was. As she went through the hall, the telephone rang.

Her heart sank. Mother, she thought. Somehow, she was going to have to break the news that all the wedding arrangements undertaken so far were going to have to be cancelled. She only hoped Mrs Conroy hadn’t bought her outfit yet.

Sighing, she lifted the receiver and gave the number. But, instead of the excited rush of feminine chatter she’d expected, she found herself greeted by a profound silence. Puzzled, she gave the number again, and jiggled the rest. But the silence continued.

She said rather doubtfully, ‘Hello—can you hear me?’ Still nothing. But it wasn’t a dead silence, she realised. It was very much alive, because she could hear the faint sound of breathing at the other end.

Amanda’s nose wrinkled, and she slammed the receiver back on the rest, just as Malory walked back through the front door. He gave her a surprised look.

‘Is something the matter?’

‘Not really,’ she said tautly. ‘Just a crank phone call.’ She managed a smile. ‘And all in silence, too. I didn’t even manage to learn any useful obscenities.’

He glanced at the phone, his brows drawing together in a swift frown. ‘Well, I know a fair number. You’d better let me answer next time.’

‘Oh, there won’t be a next time.’ Amanda tried to sound breezy. ‘Once they realise you’re not going to flip, they try someone else.’

‘You’ve experienced this type of thing before?’

‘Loads of times,’ she lied. ‘Would you like a drink?’

Malory shrugged off his overcoat. ‘Thanks, I’ll have a large whisky.’ He gave her an enquiring glance. ‘Have I said something funny?’

‘Oh, no.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘You’re just—rather unexpected sometimes.’

‘Having always believed I was all too predictable, I’ll take that as a compliment.’ The phone rang again, and he reached for it, saying curtly, ‘Hello?’

If that’s Mother, she’ll have a heart attack, Amanda thought faintly. But she could hear no outraged squeaks. She looked at Malory, her eyes mutely enquiring, and he nodded. He was leaning against the hall table, looking very relaxed, a thumb hooked into the belt of his trousers. And he continued to stand there as minute after minute ticked past.

At last he said smoothly into the mouthpiece, ‘I’m prepared to stand here all night, if that’s what you want.’ He replaced the receiver with a slight grimace. ‘Our caller rang off,’ he said. ‘I think only one can play this particular game.’ He gave Amanda a long look. ‘Well?’

She bit her lip. ‘It’s a crank, I tell you.’

Malory shrugged. ‘Anything you say. Now, how about that drink?’

He followed her into the drawing-room, and watched as she poured a generous measure into a crystal tumbler, adding a splash of soda at his direction.

She said passionately, ‘It isn’t Nigel. It isn’t!’

He lifted his glass to her with an ironic glance. ‘Here’s to loyalty, however misplaced.’

She said, her voice shaking, ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’

He considered that for a moment or two, then said, ‘No.’

‘Then why are you so down on him—imagining that he would do anything as childish as those phone calls?’

‘Because it’s the kind of mischief he used to revel in,’ Malory said, after another pause.

‘In the past, maybe.’ Amanda shrugged that away. ‘But you haven’t lived under the same roof with Nigel for a long time now. He’s changed. He’s grown up. Can’t you understand that?’

‘There was certainly room for some maturity,’ Malory agreed caustically, ‘but his recent behaviour doesn’t show much evidence of it.’

It was infuriating not to be able to contradict him flatly, and Amanda seethed in silence.

Finally she said, ‘Are you sure you’re not just jealous—because the lady you wanted preferred Nigel?’

‘Oh, I’m jealous all right.’ He was smiling faintly as he said it, but Amanda felt a small frisson of something like fear shiver its way down her spine. ‘In fact, I don’t think I shall ever forgive him for it.’

She felt as if the cool, civilised mask had slipped for a moment, and it disturbed her. He had definitely cared for Clare more than she’d realised, she decided, and was brought, reeling, back to the conventional world by his polite, ‘Do you mind if I switch on the television?’

She said hastily, ‘Do—please,’ and beat a retreat back to the kitchen.

It was becoming evident that Malory Templeton was something of an enigma, she realised as she made the vinaigrette dressing for the salad. She had never thought Nigel and his half-brother were over-fond of each other, but now it seemed her erstwhile fiancé had made himself a real enemy.

‘This is a charming house,’ Malory commented later as they ate the blackberry ice-cream Amanda had produced from the freezer for dessert. ‘Do you live here all the time?’

She shook her head. ‘Mostly, I live in London. I share a flat with three other girls.’ She smiled faintly. ‘But I come down here every chance I get.’

‘I’m not surprised. Has your mother been alone for some time?’

‘Yes, Daddy died four years ago of a heart attack. It was—very sudden.’

‘They often are,’ he said. ‘My father died of the same thing, but in his case he had a number of advance warnings—all of which he chose to ignore.’ He sounded rueful.

‘Do you miss him?’

‘Yes, I do,’ he admitted. ‘We weren’t very close when I was a child, but we became friends as I got older.’ He paused. ‘Particularly after my stepmother disappeared from the scene.’

‘You didn’t like her?’

‘When she married my father I was prepared to worship her.’ He shook his head. ‘She was quite the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. But it didn’t take long to discover that she didn’t want my adoration, or any other part of me. However, I even forgave her that when she had Nigel. I’d always wanted a younger brother.’

‘Then it’s a pity you haven’t—a closer relationship now,’ she said stiltedly.

‘There was never really an opportunity,’ he said. ‘Camilla had decided in advance I was going to be jealous of her baby, and would probably try to harm him in some way, so every attempt I made to approach him was regarded with the gravest suspicion. I was shunted away to school as soon as was decently possible, and Nigel didn’t even follow me there. We grew up like parallel lines—close but never meeting. By the time we did get to know one another, it was to discover how very little we had in common.’

‘That’s a pity.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s the way it goes.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re an only child?’

She nodded. ‘Didn’t Nigel tell you?’

‘He actually told me very little about you, except that you were engaged, accompanied by a reluctant invitation to meet you and your mother.’

Amanda smiled wryly. ‘That was a rather heavy evening. I had the feeling you didn’t altogether approve of me.’

‘That would have been very presumptuous of me.’ He added, after a pause, ‘I think I was merely amazed that Nigel had decided to settle down. Also, we’d had a row on the way here. Nigel is due to inherit some shares in the company on his marriage, and he wanted to push matters forward. I had to tell him it couldn’t be done, and he wasn’t very pleased. He thought I should have bent the rules in his favour.’

‘Could you have done so?’ she asked gravely.

He said, ‘No,’ and there was a silence. Then he said. ‘May I help with the washing up?’

‘There isn’t any. I simply load the dishwasher.’ Amanda got up. ‘And, as it’s rather ancient and temperamental, it prefers a hand it knows.’

‘Then I’ll make the coffee,’ he said promptly. He had beautiful teeth when he smiled, she noticed. ‘Don’t look so stunned, Amanda. I’m reasonably house-trained. If you’ll show me where the sheets and blankets are kept, I’ll even make up my own bed.’

‘It’s already done,’ she began, and paused as the phone began to ring again.

‘Load the dishwasher,’ Malory said. ‘I’ll answer it.’

Amanda found that her hands were trembling as she scraped the dishes and put them into the machine.

‘Wrong number,’ Malory said briefly when he returned, but she didn’t believe him.

They drank their coffee in the drawing-room, watching a re-run of The French Connection. Watching Malory covertly, Amanda decided that the violence of the New York drugs scene must be as far removed from his environment as it was possible to get.

‘He’s got a bijou residence where he’s waited on hand and foot by devoted retainers,’ Nigel had told her once, derisively. ‘And when he’s not at the labs trying to produce a wonder-drug that will cure every known disease, he’s in his box at the opera. Coming into contact with the real world must be a hell of a shock to his system. Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to do it very often.’

But today’s events had been the real world with a vengeance, Amanda thought with a little sigh, which she hastily converted into a yawn as he looked at her.

‘You’re tired?’

‘I think I must be.’ It wasn’t strictly the truth, but she was eager to go upstairs and shut her door. The evening had turned into a rather unnerving experience, and it wasn’t altogether due to the crank calls. Sharing this kind of intimacy with Malory was—strange, and she would be glad when it was over.

She had tried phoning her mother earlier, but there was no reply, and she guessed that she and Elaine had gone to the theatre. I’ll have to get through to her in the morning, she thought.

And then, slowly and painfully, she would try to get her life back on to an even keel again—learning to live without Nigel.

She yawned ostentatiously, and got to her feet. ‘Well—goodnight. I hope you have everything you need.’ She tried a smile. ‘I’m sorry I can’t provide pyjamas.’

‘That’s no sacrifice. I never wear them.’ He had risen, too, and was walking over to her. Amanda had kicked off her shoes as she often did, and she felt oddly dwarfed suddenly.

He said quietly, ‘Goodnight, Amanda, sleep well.’ And for one brief, troubled moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, and her whole body went into shock at the idea.

She found she was backing away, babbling something incoherent about the spark-guard for the fire, and fled.

She was still awake an hour later when he came upstairs to bed, but he passed her door without hesitating, and she lay in the darkness, castigating herself for having behaved like an idiot in front of him, yet again.

She was just asking herself for the umpteenth time where the harm would have been in a brief, farewell peck on the cheek, and still receiving no satisfactory answer, when she fell asleep.

The crash seemed to shatter the room. For one terrified, screaming moment, Amanda thought the cottage had been bombed, then she made herself reach for the switch of the bedside lamp, realising as she did so that a strong current of cold air was reaching her from somewhere.

As the lamp came on, she cried out. There was a gaping hole in the middle of her window-pane, and a half-brick lay on the carpet, surrounded by shards of broken glass. There were even some splinters on her duvet, she realised, shuddering.

Her door opened, and Malory put his head, and one bare, surprisingly muscular, shoulder into the room.

‘What the hell was that?’ he demanded, then stopped. ‘Christ!’

‘Don’t come in.’ Amanda’s voice shook. ‘There’s glass everywhere.’

‘I’ve no intention of coming in until I’ve put something on,’ he said curtly. ‘In the meantime, stay exactly where you are.’

He was back, it seemed, within seconds, still fastening his zip as he came into the room.

Amanda said with a little sob, ‘It must be vandals.’

‘Of course.’ His voice was heavily ironic. ‘There are always hordes of them at this time of year.’ He looked around him. ‘Where are your slippers?’

‘With your pyjamas.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Then it seems I’ll have to provide transport.’ As he approached the bed, Amanda could hear glass scrunching under his feet. He leaned down and pulled back the duvet. ‘Put your arms round my neck, and I’ll carry you,’ he directed.

‘Carry me where?’ Amanda made an unavailing snatch at the duvet, thankful that her nightgown had been bought for cosiness rather than glamour.

‘To the room I’m using,’ he said, rather too patiently.

She swallowed. ‘But where will you go?’

‘I’ll clear up the glass and fasten something over that window, then spend what remains of the night in here.’ He paused. ‘Or have you some objection?’

She said, ‘Aren’t you going to see if you can find—whoever did this?’

His mouth twisted. “‘Whoever” is probably in a car, and well away by this time. I’m not embarking on any wild-goose chase at this hour of the morning. Now, shall we make a start?’ He bent towards her and, reluctantly, Amanda allowed herself to be lifted out of bed and into his arms.

He wasn’t anywhere near as effete as she’d thought, she discovered with amazement. He’d picked her up without the slightest effort, and she could feel the play of his muscles under her hand as she steadied herself.

On the landing, she said, ‘There isn’t any glass here, so you can put me down,’ and he obeyed so promptly it was almost an insult.

He said prosaically, ‘Where will I find a dustpan and brush?’

‘In the kitchen cupboard, next to the back door.’ She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘And there are some cardboard boxes, too, that you might be able to use to cover the window.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘Oh, this is all crazy! None of it can be happening.’

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Malory gave her a gentle push in the direction of the spare room. ‘Now, go and get some rest and tell yourself in the morning that it’s all been a bad dream.’

But she couldn’t relax. Lying in the warm hollow his body had created, Amanda listened tensely to the sounds of movement along the passage. When they eventually ceased, she called to him.

‘What’s the matter?’ He came to stand in the doorway.

‘I’m frightened.’ Her teeth were chattering, but not because she was cold. ‘Do you think he—they will come back?’

If he’d noticed that revealing self-correction, he made no comment. ‘I don’t think so. I imagine the purpose of the exercise—to give you a good fright—has been achieved.’

She stared at him. ‘You really do think it’s Nigel, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ His voice was matter of fact.

‘It can’t be!’ she denied vehemently. ‘No grown man could be so—childish.’

He smiled. ‘I don’t think you can have known a great many grown men,’ he said with a touch of cynicism. ‘But perhaps we could continue this debate in the morning. I’d like to get some sleep.’

A voice she hardly recognised as hers said, ‘I don’t want to be on my own. Stay with me—please?’ She saw the blank incredulity in his face and began to stammer, ‘I—I don’t mean …’

He said rather drily, ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ He hesitated. ‘Very well, Amanda. I should have realised that appointing myself your guardian would have its drawbacks.’ He walked over to the bed. ‘At the same time, I hope you don’t think I plan to spend the rest of the night in that chair or on the floor.’ He kicked off his shoes, and lay down beside her, on top of the quilt. ‘This seems a suitably chaste arrangement under the circumstances.’

She ventured, ‘But won’t you be rather cold? You can use the duvet, if you want.’

He said evenly, ‘No, thank you. Don’t push your luck, Amanda. In spite of anything Nigel may have told you, I am not a eunuch.’ He reached out and switched off the lamp. ‘Now, go to sleep.’

Face burning, she mumbled, ‘Goodnight.’

She must be completely insane, she thought, asking Malory to share a bed with her like this, but the prospect of lying alone in the darkness, waiting for the next unnerving incident, was more than she could bear. She hadn’t really stopped to consider Malory’s feelings or reactions at all.

Yet she couldn’t deny the reassurance of the weight of his body beside her on the bed, and the steadiness of his breathing. She didn’t feel she deserved this kindness from him, but it seemed to be there for her, just the same.

With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, and within a few minutes, against all her expectations, was fast asleep.

She awoke slowly the next morning to the aroma of frying bacon, and lay for a few minutes staring at her unfamiliar surroundings, wondering confusedly why she wasn’t in her own room. Then remembrance flooded back, and she shot out of bed and down the passage to her doorway.

The square of cardboard over the broken window was like some grim exclamation mark, she thought, as she trod with care to the wardrobe and extracted jeans and a sweater. She washed and dressed swiftly, and ran downstairs.

Malory was seated at the kitchen table. The smile he sent her was polite, but guarded. ‘I was just coming to wake you,’ he said. ‘Your breakfast is keeping warm.’

Blushing a little, she brought her plate to the table and sat down opposite him. ‘You shouldn’t wait on me.’ She added self-consciously, ‘I—I went out like a light, last night.’

‘So I noticed.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I really should be going. Is there someone in the village who can fix that window for you?’

‘Mr Ambrose does all the jobs like that. I’ll phone him presently.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘You seem to have got rid of the broken glass.’

‘I used the vacuum first thing, while you were still giving your Sleeping Beauty performance.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘You did that? Well, it makes me feel worse than ever—about everything.’

‘Entirely unnecessary,’ he said calmly. ‘Last night, you needed a friend. Well, you’ve got one.’ He held out a hand to her. ‘Agreed?’

She allowed his fingers to close round hers. ‘Agreed.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool.’

‘You’re probably entitled to be.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Will you be all right alone today, or is there someone who could stay with you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said brightly. ‘And my mother will be returning later.’

‘Excellent.’ He got to his feet. ‘Goodbye, then.’

And this time, Amanda discovered, he really had left. When she checked, trying to be casual about it, a little while later, his car had vanished. And so, apparently, had he—on a permanent basis.

She wandered back into the cottage and shut the door. In spite of his remark about being her friend, she never expected to see Malory again. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

He must think she was a complete nutcase, she told herself, and, what was worse, something of a tease as well.

Stay with me—please, she mimicked herself savagely. God, what must he have thought? She was lucky he hadn’t even made a token pass. And it wasn’t very flattering to his masculinity that she hadn’t really considered such an eventuality when she’d made her plea. She’d only been thinking in terms of companionship and comfort.

Perhaps, in spite of his rather edged remark, he didn’t have a very high sex-drive, she thought, shrugging. It occurred to her with an ache of her heart that Nigel would have made more than the most of such an opportunity.

No, Malory was a mystery all right, and she had enough confusion in her life already, without embarking on the pointless exercise of trying to figure out what made him tick.

Ships that pass in the night, she told herself resolutely as she headed to the phone to call Mr Ambrose. And better that she and Malory Templeton remain that way. Far better.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SHE HEARD the sound of a car outside two hours later, Amanda found she was mentally nerving herself to meet her mother’s reproaches. Mrs Conroy had been almost distraught when Amanda phoned her with the bald statement that her engagement was over.

‘Darling, you can’t be serious!’ she had wailed. ‘You’ve had some silly tiff, that’s all. I know it is. I’m coming home immediately to talk to you.’

She had rung off before Amanda could tell her that the time for talking was long past. But then, her mother adored Nigel, and probably wouldn’t have listened.

Amanda put down the crossword puzzle she’d been staring at as if the clues were in Sanskrit, and went into the hall to meet her mother, trying to think of some placatory remark as she did so.

When the doorbell rang, she felt almost reprieved. It must be Mr Ambrose, she thought with relief. He’d promised in response to her urgency to ‘pop along as soon as maybe’ and see to her bedroom window. With luck, it might even be repaired before Mrs Conroy returned, and her mother need know nothing about it.

The last person she expected to see on the doorstep was Nigel.

If she’d had her wits about her, she would have slammed the door in his face, but, as she stood, gaping at him, he walked past her into the hall. He was rather pale, and there was a small muscle jumping at the corner of his mouth. He stood flicking his driving gloves against the palm of his hand.

He said, ‘Manda, I had to come here. I couldn’t keep away. We’ve both had time to think—to calm down. You’ve got to listen to me.’ He looked round. ‘Are you alone this time?’ The question was edged. He was asking if Malory had gone, she knew, yet she felt curiously reluctant to tell him she was alone in the house.

She lifted her chin. ‘I have someone fixing the bedroom window.’

‘Oh?’ His surprise was too elaborate. ‘Is it broken?’

She said thickly, ‘You know it is, because you did it. What with that and those phone calls, you really surpassed yourself last night.’

He looked away, flushing. ‘I know—I know,’ he said heavily. ‘I think I must have gone slightly crazy. That’s one of the reasons I came here—to ask you to forgive me for all that rubbish.’

‘A brick through the window is hardly rubbish,’ she said angrily. ‘I could have been killed.’

‘I told you, I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He took a step towards her. ‘Darling, can’t we sit down and talk our problems out, quietly and sensibly?’

‘No, we can’t. I thought I’d made that clear already.’ Amanda stood her ground. ‘There’s nothing to discuss, Nigel. It’s finished between us—over for good.’

‘But when you said it you were too angry to listen to reason,’ he said.

‘Reason?’ she echoed. ‘Nigel, I caught you making love to someone else—to your brother’s woman. What reason can there possibly be for that? What excuse?’

‘That’s what I’m here to explain.’ He spread his hands in appeal. ‘Manda, you have to let me defend myself. You can’t just—condemn me like this. We still love each other—you know that, darling.’

‘You have a very strange way of showing it,’ Amanda countered coldly. ‘But say what you have to say—if you must.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘You don’t have to tell me I’ve been a crass, insensitive fool. I know that. Since I met you, I always considered I was immune to temptation from other women. But it always existed.’ His mouth twisted in self-deprecation. ‘Rally-drivers have their groupies, too.’

‘But I can’t believe Clare was one of them.’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘But she made all the running, once she realised who I was. She kept phoning me—throwing herself at me.’

‘So, she didn’t just happen to be at Calthorpe?’

‘No, she followed me there deliberately. I—I lied about that. She wouldn’t let me alone. She kept pestering me.’

‘Poor Nigel,’ Amanda said with irony. ‘How very trying for you. And, I suppose, in the end temptation just became too much. Or did she rape you?’

Dull colour rose in his face. ‘No, of course not. But I’m no saint, sweetheart. I have my weaknesses, and maybe it’s better for you to know about them before rather than after we’re married.’ As her lips parted in protest, he lifted his hand to halt whatever she was going to say. He said intensely, ‘Because you are going to marry me, darling. You must. You’re not going to let one stupid, spoiled little tart ruin our lives.’ As he said it, he smiled at her, the blue eyes suddenly ingenuous and appealing. ‘I need you, Manda.’

His hands reached for her, and she stepped back, away from him.

She said, ‘You talk as if your—fling with Clare were the only issue involved, but it isn’t. It’s the way you’ve acted since. Those beastly phone calls—my window.’

‘Darling.’ Nigel was still smiling. ‘I was beside myself—coming here and finding Malory with you was an awful jolt. I hung around for hours, waiting for him to leave.’ He shook his head. ‘When I realised he wasn’t leaving, I went a bit mad, thinking all kinds of crazy things.’ He laughed. ‘I had this image of him in bed with you—up in that room. Somehow, I convinced myself that it was true, that it was happening, and something—snapped.’ He gave a self-deprecatory sigh. ‘Guilty conscience, I suppose, but I had this idea he was spending the night with you to get his own back over Clare. As if a sexless nonentity like Malory could ever dream up such a scheme!’ He held out his hand to her. ‘And as if you’d let him, anyway. After all, if I couldn’t get near you, it’s hardly likely you’d sleep with Mal.’

There was a long silence. Amanda could feel a slow, hot blush reaching up from her toes.

‘Well, say something, darling.’ Nigel sounded half amused, half impatient. ‘Don’t just stand there, or I shall start to think you let my dear brother into bed with you last night, after all.’ And, as Amanda lifted her hands and pressed them to her burning face, he said slowly, his voice sinking to a whisper, ‘Christ—it’s true, isn’t it? You slept with him, didn’t you, you bitch?’

Sheer embarrassment, as well as anger, lit the fuse of Amanda’s temper. ‘Yes, I did.’ She flung her head back defiantly. ‘And I don’t care if it was just vengeance for Clare.’

As soon as the words were out she regretted them, but it was too late. She couldn’t go back and explain the truth about her night with Malory, because it would only expose them both to Nigel’s scorn, and Malory didn’t deserve that.

Nigel said hoarsely. ‘You little whore! I wish that brick had killed you both.’

‘I get the general idea.’ Her voice shook. ‘Now, get out of here, and don’t come back.’

He half turned, then swung back towards her, his eyes raking her with a kind of furious greed. ‘No—why should I? Now that Malory’s given you one, you haven’t got the excuse of your everlasting virginity to hold me off any more.’ He laughed savagely. ‘Maybe I should even be grateful to him for—opening the way for me, so to speak.’

His crudity made her cringe. She took another step backwards. ‘Don’t come near me.’

‘You should have said that last night,’ he jeered. ‘You and Malory—my God! I didn’t think it was possible. Does he have a chemical formula for sex, too? He’s probably writing up the results of the experiment in triplicate at this very moment.’

‘Don’t you dare say things like that about Malory!’ Amanda threw back at him fiercely. ‘He has all the qualities you so signally lack—kindness and compassion, among them.’

‘Oh, is that what you look for in a bed-partner?’ His tone dripped contempt. ‘My mistake, sweetheart. What did he do as foreplay—cry on your shoulder?’

‘You’re despicable …’

‘And Malory, of course, is Sir Galahad,’ Nigel almost snarled. ‘If he’s such a paragon, my sweet, why don’t you marry him, instead?’

She said recklessly, ‘I intend to …’ and stopped with a little gasp as she saw Nigel’s face darken with more than anger.

‘That,’ he said, too evenly, ‘is if he still wants you, when I’ve finished with you.’

She’d retreated as far as the kitchen door, her hand clumsily, desperately fumbling with the handle, when she heard the back door open, and Mr Ambrose’s stolid, dependable tones call, ‘Miss Conroy—are you there, love? I’ve come to see to that little matter you mentioned.’

Her voice cracking, she called back, ‘I’m here—in the hall.’

The door behind her opened, and Mr Ambrose stood there, looking at them, red-faced and sturdy, with shrewd eyes under bushy eyebrows. He said, ‘Not butting in, am I?’

‘No,’ Amanda said breathlessly. ‘Mr Templeton was just leaving—weren’t you, Nigel?’

For one shocked moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Then he said, ‘Yes, I’m going. But you’ll be sorry for this, Amanda. I promise you that.’

As the front door closed behind him, she felt her legs begin to shake under her.

Mr Ambrose said, ‘Seems in a bit of a state, your young man.’ He paused, then added expressionlessly, ‘A window, was it?’

She flushed. ‘Yes.’

He had almost finished replacing the pane when Mrs Conroy arrived back. She was laden with parcels which she dumped on the drawing-room sofa before turning her gaze on Amanda.

‘My dear child, you look positively dreadful. You’re fretting for Nigel, I know you are. So why don’t you go and phone him, and tell him you’re sorry for whatever it was, and then we can all be happy again?’

Amanda said quietly, ‘What makes you think I’m the one who should apologise?’

Mrs Conroy shrugged. ‘Darling, what does it matter? It just needs one of you to make the first move.’

‘The question’s academic, anyway,’ Amanda said. ‘Nigel’s been here already, and I sent him away.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ her mother almost shrieked.

‘I don’t think so—not any more.’

‘But what in the world could you have quarrelled about so drastically?’ Mrs Conroy wailed. ‘You were so well-suited—so perfect for each other in every way. And Nigel adored you.’

And flattered you, Amanda thought suddenly, but didn’t say it.

She sat staring at the carpet while her mother continued her diatribe, naming Nigel’s manifold perfections and desirability as a son-in-law.

She wished she could tell her the whole story, but it was impossible. The first thing her mother would want to know would be why she’d gone to Calthorpe in the first place. And that was unanswerable. One of the cornerstones of Mrs Conroy’s philosophy was that unmarried people did not sleep together. The permissive society had only served to strengthen this firmly held belief, although Amanda suspected with wry affection that, as far as her mother was concerned, sex, even for married people, was not a major priority.

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